Confessions of an Former English Major

Tonight I find myself wishing for a TARDIS, a souped-up DeLorean, or some other time-traveling device. Why? You see, I  want to go back and rewrite every half-effort paper I've ever turned in. I want to re-do school. 
What prompted this Time-traveling, rewriting, second-chance scheme? Well, it all started when I stumbled across some old documents on my computer. A title, "Faerie Queene" to be precise, caught my eye and immediately I was thrown back to my first semester at Bryan.

But first, some back story. When I graduated from high school--Peden Academy, Class of '09--I decided to go to community college for a little while. I wasn't ready to leave home yet, and Nashville State was a good fit at the time. Two years and 48 credit hours later, I was almost a junior and needed to move on. So I came to Bryan.  Bryan had the Liberal Arts degree option that I wanted, and so I changed my major from English to Liberal Arts with an Arts and Humanities option.
Coming to Bryan, I had, as a good transfer should, completed most of my General Education courses: Freshman English, Intro to Literature, Fine Arts, Western Civilizations etc. The schedule I received was made up for me by the registrar, and I came to Bryan a naive social sophomore, academic almost-junior.
Having all my core English classes out of the way, I was put in British Literature. At Nashville State, I can hazard a guess that I was probably one of the more well-read students on campus. I was published in the creative writing journal and had won a writing award. At Bryan, I was out of my league. I could write, in that I could string words together in an order that came across as a passable sentence, but at that time, I didn't know how to think. You must be able to think in order to write.

I was young, unseasoned, and slightly immature. I started strong but quickly became overwhelmed. Dr. Jones, who regularly teaches Brit Lit at Bryan, is one of the best professors we have here. His passion for Spenser and Chaucer should have inspired me to great lengths, yet I didn't try. He gave me every last chance to succeed, but I chose instead to give up. I'm not proud of it, but that's what it is. I look at the "Faerie Queene" interpretive paper I wrote for him and cringe. I don't even know what I was writing. I didn't fail the class; I passed it with a gracious D+, but I wish I could go back and do it again now. Now that I have a little more experience and a little less self-assurance, I'm starting to learn how to read, how to write, how to think.
But I know that life doesn't work that way; I wouldn't be where I am now without having been where I was then. I'm thankful for people who don't give up on me, even when I have.

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