Journal #10
High school was, by no means, the best of my social life. Being a by-the-book band geek, in a by-the-book suburban town- probably didn’t help that experience. And being a drum major (that’s the person that stands in front of the entire marching band, with a feather on their head, and waves their arms) was perhaps the absolute worst choice I could have made, in regards to my social life. However, being a drum major taught me something that has helped me in, virtually, every relationship I’ve had. (It’s all very ironic, I know).
To become a drum major, I had to go to this thing called “George N. Parks Drum Major Academy”. It’s a week-long intensive drum major training school held at UMass Amherst. Evidently, I liked the 6 am mornings and ice-cold showers enough to go twice. Heidi, was the woman who ran the whole thing. Really, she was just the resident motivational speaker. She was, like most motivational speakers: stuck in her cadence of stories meant to bring young people to tears, and keep them from making mistakes that could ruin their lives. The second time I went, there was one thing that was different in her innumerable stories and speeches. This time, she talked about how George (yes, THE George N. Parks) gave her one piece of information that she wouldn’t forget even if she had Alzheimer’s. I hadn’t heard this one yet, so I actually listened. She said, “He told me, ‘Heidi, you can’t inspire anyone. You can give them a reason to get inspired, but you just can’t do it for them.'”. And then she went on to say a bunch of stuff about hazing.
But ever since, Heidi’s point remains as something I consider every time I start to talk to someone. It’s this universal piece of advice that reins true in marching band, my personal relationships, the fourth graders I work with, and as a writing fellow. In band, I couldn’t inspire anyone to practice their instrument. I could list the consequences if they didn’t, or the potential rewards if they did- but I could never inspire them. And I don’t mean physically force, or incentivize them to practice. I mean, like, Dead Poet’s Society inspire. But, I just couldn’t. They’d only get inspired if they wanted to. And most of the time- they didn’t.
In writing fellows, the same is true. I can’t make my peers get inspired about something they totally don’t care about. Or inspire them to write an amazing paper about archeology. I can’t even inspire them to use parenthetical citations. Unfortunately, professors can’t either. The absolutely maddening part about being a writing fellow, for me, is that I am so inspired for them. Just like professors are (usually and hopefully). But, because I know this, the question I often ask myself when going into a meeting with a peer isn’t ‘how can I inspire them to write?’. Rather, it’s ‘how can I talk about writing so they can see that I’m inspired?’. This has been the most useful way to approach being a writing fellow, for me. It makes me responsible for how the meeting goes, and it makes them responsible for what happens after the meeting. Just like the writing fellow can’t write their peer’s paper- they can’t get inspired for them either.
