Another assignment, another due date. Write a personal essay. I’m an English major. This should not be tough. Yet, I’m staring blankly at the white concrete brick wall of the library, bright fluorescent lights beating down on my immaculate paper, both constant reminders of mind and inscription. It’s the whole “personal” aspect of the assignment that is stopping me from whipping off a couple of pages and slapping on a title. Perhaps I just don’t understand myself. After all, most assignments are mindless activities meant to determine your dedication to the class; this essay, however, was an assignment that had to be molded and shaped so that it would be a direct representation of me. There is nothing mindless about that.
Discouraged and annoyed that my essay is at a standstill, I head downstairs past the smiling librarian and the dozen or so other college students struggling to meet their deadlines, out the door and towards my dorm room.
Good, roommate’s asleep. I’m nearly alone. No excuses about why I can’t write my essay. A personal essay. . .hmm. I could talk about my grandfather’s death. Nah, overused. My life growing up in a small town in Iowa? Yeah right, how exciting is that. You would think a personal essay would be the easiest type to write—the only entity I need to understand is myself. Yet, once again, I’m staring at a fake brick wall, the only difference is that this time it’s green.
Okay, so I can’t write the essay today. I’ll just push it back into the next day’s “to-do” list, the story of my life. I grab the telephone and dial my boyfriend. . .no answer. So, I try another friend. No answer. I’m at a social standstill here. Roommate’s sleeping, friends are out and about, and here’s me on an early Saturday evening with nothing to do. Oh yeah, except that essay. Muttering under my breath about how sad it is to be stuck on a Saturday night with nothing to do but homework, I grab my backpack and head out to my bike.
I pedal towards the river, legs aching because my bike seat has gradually slid down and I, of course, have no tools to fix it. Crossing just over the river I hang a left, avoiding the crowded bike trail. Never having taken this particular road, I pedal faster, legs still throbbing, as it begins to hit dusk. I look for a spot in solitude to write my essay so I can be done with it. A half-mile or so down the road there is a nice stretch of river-front land marked “Waverly Water Ski Club: Private Property, NO TRESPASSING.” Hmm. . .ah, what the heck, I’m a college student—that fact in and of itself is excuse enough to claim ignorance against the bright yellow warning sign. I ride around the chained off entrance and away from the road to the river. Laying my bike down (and stretching my legs out of their ninety-degree angle), I drop my backpack on the ground and sit up against a large maple, branches stretched above me in a canopy extending over the river. Okay, so now what? I’m sitting, rather almost hiding, along the river waiting for a brilliant essay topic to pop into my head. The sun is beginning to set, I’d better hurry. An uneasy emptiness settles in as I picture all of the people back at school preparing for an exciting night; perhaps they’re going out for dinner and a movie, dancing at the local club, or maybe just hanging out in the dorm playing Egyptian Rat Race, laughing, joking, and interacting. . .without me. I realize my friends might be back soon—lets get this thing written so I can get back to the “real” world.
The maple above me rustles in the wind, its leaves humming back and forth in rhythm to the lapping of the water against the shoreline. It has a relaxing effect. I continue to stare across the quiet river, wishing I could think of a topic that will earn me an A. It’s a sad but true reality: the majority of assignments done in any school setting are forced efforts that detract from the real purpose of learning, expanding and clarifying one’s own mind. Yet, somehow this assignment was different.
I’m distracted for a moment as I look up and find myself staring across at a fawn on the other side of the river, its gaping brown eyes staring directly into mine. Wow, I realize I’m having a “Thoreau moment” as I look around and realize there is not a single soul in sight. I’m alone, completely and undeniably alone. What a strange feeling. At school, there is no such thing as being alone. Roommate, suitemate, friend, boyfriend, classmate, prof, student—all, everywhere. You can lock yourself in your room, but that’s still not really alone. After all, the screaming in the hall, the music in the next room, or the laughter from the stairwell prevents you from ever feeling, ever being, truly alone. Sitting out on the riverbank, just me and my outstretched maple, I was alone. How long had it been since I had been alone? Or, have I ever really been alone? It was just me and my thoughts—a scary companion.
A fish jumped, breaking my contemplation. The deer had long since left, and it is back to just me again. The emptiness that I had felt earlier has now surprisingly dissipated into a quietly content mood. I have never really thought about it, but my life is all about not being alone. It’s college after all, the best time of my life. The time to make friends, to party, to get involved. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do anyway, to be the socially “ideal” student? Otherwise, why else am I in tennis, Bible study, a volunteer group, and a homecoming committee? My entire life is planned so that I am never alone. But that’s the glamorous part, right? After a long day of classes, then practice, then dinner and homework, my few spare moments are spent hanging out with other people. Which, in and of itself, is wonderful. The only problem I’m wondering is what about me, me alone?
They say that college is the time to find yourself, to discover your own life purpose. What suddenly occurs to me is if we’re supposed to be finding ourselves, why am I never with myself? Why does it seem like the one person I don’t make time for is me? The “real world” in college—and really, in life—is connecting with other people, forming a network of alliances that will be there when you call. The unreal world, then, must be solitude—time spent unequivocally alone. As college students, as a nation, as a people, we seem to shy away from experiencing the “unreal” world. Our lives are caught up in a spinning cycle of friends, relatives, and lovers—but, perhaps, would it be so terrible to enter the realm of the “unreal” world from time to time?
We live in fear that being alone might turn into living alone. The thought of losing the bond with others is frightening, to the extent that we ensure we are never alone. If we are seen alone, others may perceive us as being alone, an image that in our country has become a societal nightmare. Why go on a walk alone or eat alone when I have my network built so that I don’t have to be alone? Because, it is only when we are alone that we can meet ourselves; alone, we can discover ourselves, our own personalities, our own thoughts, away from the distraction of others. Alone, we can judge ourselves honestly, without the influence of the world around us. Being alone should not be viewed as a punishment for us, but a gift. Time alone is rare, why not utilize the few precious moments we receive in life? If I am to discover my true self in college, why is my first word of encouragement from others “oh, but you don’t have to do it alone.” Don’t I? Shouldn’t I?
The sun is setting and has nearly disappeared. A small fishing boat meanders by and steals—for a few brief seconds—my solitude. The silence returns. The wind picks up and my essay assignment sheet blows away, settling momentarily in a nearby shrub, and carries on into the river, slowly floating downstream. The assignment is gone, and all that is left are my silent lonely thoughts. . .
And, of course, this essay.