i had my last english class as an undergrad today and it was, predictably, bittersweet for all the obvious reasons. in some ways, that i will hold an english degree in a few short weeks is wild-- mainly because there are so many books i've never read, so many literary theorists of whom i can't even begin to decipher, so many classes i could still take...so much more left to me in the world of literature. english majors are good punchlines; we manage to get ourselves stuck in an ever going see-saw about whether or not we're majoring in a silly passion that will render us poor, beaten down by our failed dreams, or in a "great, flexible major that produces students with excellent critical thinking skills that employers seek". i don't really care about either of those possibilities. i loved my english education and even if i'm not graduating with a career-job lined up, i'm leaving having learned what i love; i finally have answer for the question my favourite professor asked on the first day of his class, "why have you decided to major in english?".
my sophomore year i took ENG298, a required class for all english majors in order to register for upper level classes. part of the typical first-day-of-class introductions was answering title question. at the time i said something about loving words. since then i have realised what my answer really is: i love the stories of people. the world is amazing because of the vast number of its inhabitants, from the beginning and into the future, and each individual person has a story as intricate and full as every other single person. there is no better way to connect with others than to know their story; it makes it easier to love and to find peace with one another. when we learn somebody's story, we are knowing them, we are sharing in their experience, and we are being given the gift to understand a new perspective, a different way to look at the same world. each person has a story full of beauty and heartbreak, of love, hope, inspiration, of tragedy and delight, and isn't it astounding that we can feel and understand the experiences of all of those around us if their story is properly articulated?
when we hear the stories of others we are led into them and that opens so many wonderful possibilities. understanding of the other can only happen when they allow us to step into their experience and we do this by telling stories. this is how we relate to others. this is how we fall in love, how we make connections, how we share happiness and sadness and laughter and everything. i can't help being in love with the world when i am part of its huge, collective story. what more is literature than the stories of so many others? that is why i have majored in english: to hear the stories of countless people and to be able to tell these back to others.
