Woe is my classmates

Last night, I engaged in a sample-size debate with my professor that was exciting, and interesting and inspiring until I looked around and saw my classmates doodling and checking the clock.

Balance - where art thou?

Two weeks ago, I felt like I used to feel on the playground in the fourth grade. Now I'm Reese Witherspoon at Harvard. Or I will be after I see Eddie at the salon, later. Well, no, I won't ever be Reese Witherspoon at Harvard with or without Eddie's help. But I won't be that girl in the plaid dress with her finger in her mouth near the swings anymore either, and that's a relief.

I have to digress: I have a fundamental belief about parenting. No matter how old you are, no matter what stress befalls you, no matter what, no matter what, no matter what, it's easier than being a kid in grades four through eight and sometimes ten. It helps to remember, when children are wretched at any point in this range, that it's still easier to be you.

So my own student-child Courtney Dollface and I talked yesterday about the little glow that comes after you speak out in class, engage others, and get that reinforcement in return even if forces you to face your inner praise junkie. It's especially yummy to realize that as long as we engage the world it doesn't end. Ideas that are released into the world - through a novel, in a classroom - create a very inviting place for the new ones.

So I will no longer be thinking about withdrawing after all, for at least five more days.