Contagion
Certain things in life are contagious: the bubonic plague, the common cold, and enthusiasm. I plan to use my enthusiasm for the writing process as a means of fighting apathy. Don't get me wrong: enthusiasm is by no means a cure-all for the problem. I cannot make anyone be as enthusiastic as I am about writing. (Unless I somehow physically force them and I'm sure you can all imagine that, right?) However, I can communicate my love of this crazy process of putting words onto paper, moving them around, and cutting some of them out entirely (and doing all of this not just once, but multiple times!).
My first college composition professor introduced the class like this: "This is a GE. You all have to take it. Most of you don't care about it and I don't care about teaching it. So just do what I ask and you'll get a passing grade." Nobody I knew enjoyed attending that class. My second writing professor began like this: "I love to write and I hope I can help you to love it too. But if you don't, that's okay." I don't recall ever hearing students complain about that class.
Each professor communicated an attitude: one positive, one negative. And the students reacted accordingly. In a situation like this, Newton had it right: for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction. I find it difficult to discount any topic that has the ability to throw my professor into a frenzy of excitement. On occasion, a student might watch an overly excited professor or tutor and think, Where can I get the drugs she's on? But more often than not, the student will watch the enthusiasm and think, Perhaps there may be something to this subject after all. A passive attitude does nothing to stop the apathy, but an enthusiastic attitude causes the apathetic person to realize that, if nothing else, it is possible for people to care about things. In my opinion, opening someone's eyes to the possibility alone causes a little bit of the apathy to drain away.
Over time, I have reconciled myself to a sad fact of life: no matter how much I enthuse, I can almost never make anybody love something to the extent I do. And I may not always be able to help them care, but I can help them understand why I care -- and that's a start.
My first college composition professor introduced the class like this: "This is a GE. You all have to take it. Most of you don't care about it and I don't care about teaching it. So just do what I ask and you'll get a passing grade." Nobody I knew enjoyed attending that class. My second writing professor began like this: "I love to write and I hope I can help you to love it too. But if you don't, that's okay." I don't recall ever hearing students complain about that class.
Each professor communicated an attitude: one positive, one negative. And the students reacted accordingly. In a situation like this, Newton had it right: for every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction. I find it difficult to discount any topic that has the ability to throw my professor into a frenzy of excitement. On occasion, a student might watch an overly excited professor or tutor and think, Where can I get the drugs she's on? But more often than not, the student will watch the enthusiasm and think, Perhaps there may be something to this subject after all. A passive attitude does nothing to stop the apathy, but an enthusiastic attitude causes the apathetic person to realize that, if nothing else, it is possible for people to care about things. In my opinion, opening someone's eyes to the possibility alone causes a little bit of the apathy to drain away.
Over time, I have reconciled myself to a sad fact of life: no matter how much I enthuse, I can almost never make anybody love something to the extent I do. And I may not always be able to help them care, but I can help them understand why I care -- and that's a start.
posted by Anonymous at 3:05 PM
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