Interpretation

For a final project in one of my PhD classes, I worked with a group of incredibly talented writers to create a body of collaborative work. I am still not sure how I lucked into being a part of that group; whenever I was with all three of those guys at the same time, I always felt uber intimidated by their skill and intelligence. Individually, they are all people I would consider good friends, but together, they seem like a united front that I'm not so much a part of. And my professor seemed to pick up on that through the medium of our final performance. In his comments, this professor mentioned my one friend's snarky irony, another's straight delivery, and my "defensive knowingness."

This is something I know is true: a lot of times, I feel like I don't know as much as I think I do. Something else I know is true: sometimes, I am certain I know more than other people think I do. That last statement applies more to this past semester of my visual narrative course than any other time in my life.

I am defensive in my knowingness. That I don't doubt for a minute. I am also constantly surprised to find myself as a part of the in group. For instance, with the group I collaborated with. All four of us are creative writing PhDs. All four of us are friends, and all three of them are guys with whom I've spent time outside of class. Yet, I found myself surprised to be in on their group. Like I had invited myself alone.

This same thing happened to me as an undergrad. Two of my guy friends had a standing lunch date twice a week. One day, I invited myself along. They had each invited me at different times, and for whatever reasons, I had not been able to join them until one day when they didn't ask. So I said, "I'm inviting myself along" and had a miserable time of it because I felt like I was imposing. Until I sat back and thought about it. Both of these guys were my friends. I took classes with them, had drank beer at each of their houses, knew the girls they dated, and so on. They had invited me to this exact same happening before. So I tuned into their conversation instead of sitting there feeling awkward while picking at a grilled turkey and cheese sandwich (which is what I ate most days in college--delicious). They were talking about interpretation and how it varies from person to person. At this point in my life, I was a literature major, not creative writing. One of them said something about how perspective shifts as we grow older.

Then it came to me. The exact point I had been trying to figure out the whole time I'd been sitting there feeling like I wasn't apart of the conversation (which I wasn't because I wasn't letting myself be). I finally contributed something and it was this: everything that I have read up to this point changes how I read the next text. Having read Joyce seven years ago changes how I read Joyce today, but also how I read Stephanie Meyers' _The Host_ or Dave Eggers. Having read the newspaper headlines this afternoon and sixteen weeks ago will change how I read my email tomorrow. Having written and re-read this post will change.

And certainly there are big things we read that become favorites and change how we read in big ways. For instance, reading Hemingway's _The Sun Also Rises_ for the first time changed my idea of how a book can deal with people in love. And that is a big thing since I now write about people falling in love. But it's not just about those big things. Everything I read makes me better at reading, changes the way I know a subject, whether or not it changes the way I know myself.

I didn't make that point exactly when I first thought of it. I saved it for awhile, let my two undergrad friends talk their talk. Why? Because I thought, clearly, it makes so much sense to me, they must have already thought of it. Certainly it is an obvious point that goes without saying. But then, when I said it, they both surprised me. They stopped talking, looked at me for a minute, and I could see the way their thoughts shifted. "Wow," one might have said.

I'm defensive in my knowingness. First because I feel a lot of the time like I maybe don't belong. Second because I sometimes think that my opinions must be obvious to everyone because they make so much sense to me.

But here's the real question: how many of you reading this who know me were surprised to hear that I really am so defensive about my knowingness? Because most of the time, I think I am pretty good at hiding it.