Learning Years

Ah, high school. Those years are very special and extremely important. The birth of many an artist, writer, musician, presidential candidate, intellectual and talented person finds themselves in debt to the upper levels of grade school. My particular high school experience, which I just finished, (a year early) was quite different from the average. After I graduated from the sixth grade in the public school system, I opted to follow my brother into a Christian home schooling program.

It wasn't your standard home schooling either. It was self-taught for the most part. You are given books on various subjects; you work these books, and turn the completed work in. You then take tests on the material. As far as guidance, I was given very little more than a far away deadline sometime in the next year to finish a large amount of tests. A standard school year would range from thirty tests to as many as fifty or more, depending on what you chose and your abilities.

Being one's own teacher is fairly difficult, especially since there's no one else for you to converse or compare with to see if you really are advancing, or if you're just getting better at remembering workbooks for five to seven days at a time. I often times regretted leaving the public school system, not because of the child-to-child interaction I've missed but the teacher-to-child interaction. Never once during my time in school, save for senior year, did I relish the idea of learning. Never did I appreciate it, or look at it as an opportunity. By the time I realized exactly what high school could have been; it didn’t matter. It was over. Now I have only the ability to think of what high school was, rather than what it could’ve been.

I used to complain with a friend about how nearly the first twenty years of a person's life is spent in the educational system, and that's far too much time to be wasting. Together we would protest; “Why can’t a person just be taught basic mathematics and reading skills? Why not teach them just enough to live in the world, and let them be on their way?” However, I only wish I could go back and make better use of my time. I'm discovering these feelings and desires at the relatively young age of seventeen, but it still feels that I'm learning all too late. It's far too late to apply these feelings to my life as a high school student.

I'm not a fan of tests either. Save for those in mathematics, I feel they are merely measurements of a person's ability to memorize. Especially in my particular home school where tests were basically proof that you worked the books. They were 100% memorization skills, not just the general information you read. But often it was down to the exact wording, line for line as it appeared in the textbooks. The only useful thing they can prove is that the person studied the materials. This was undone by the fact that the test was only worthwhile for that particular workbook; it felt as if I gained very little real world knowledge. This is not to mention the religious influence this school enacted on all of the students. I am not a religious person. Needless to say, going to a Christian home school felt a bit awkward from time to time. However, the people were very kind and did nothing to alienate me personally.

I do recall one particular test that I enjoyed. I opted to receive a book report assignment. My task was to select a book, read it and pass a test that consisted of a few questions you could only answer if you had read the book. I chose White Fang, the excellent book by the very talented Mr. Jack London. Upon finishing the book I was filled with inspiration; it was a marvelous piece of literature. The test actually consisted of two or three questions, and I found that I had to shorten my answers, as I did not have enough space to write everything the questions provoked from my mind. If I had been given the ability to take the test home and type my full answers, I think the grading teacher would’ve reconsidered that 94%. A timeless and potent surge of inspiration exploded onto my mind and drenched my heart with the desire for self-expression and forth from this leapt the fires of creativity once more.

For as long as I can recall, I’ve felt like a writer. However, I have recently found that my understanding of the common writer is somewhat undefined. After considering it for many months, I was left to feel that it would not be in my best interest to try and earn a living with this passion. My options appeared to be limited to writing a book or becoming a journalist .To write a book would be the greatest gift to me as a writer; however, I feel I am not at the proper point in time in my life. I’m no journalist either! At the time, writing was all I knew of as far as ways of revealing my true feelings.

I have spent many a night conversing with good friends, who are professional artists, about what their forms of art mean to them. They are extremely interesting people and appear to have within them the same yearning to share as I feel growing inside of me every day. I learned of the fields a visual artist can take. I became extremely interested in storyboard designs and concept art. With encouragement flowing freely, I put down the pen and embraced pencils and paper. I was certainly unsure, but I was also optimistic. The few weeks that were to follow this shift in creative energy were absolutely terrifying. With college around the corner, could I manage to become a skilled enough artist in the time I had left before taking higher educational courses? To be honest, I did not think so. I had never before and have never since felt so insecure about myself. To pour your emotional being, life energy, and heart into something for weeks and find that it is a complete mockery of the beautiful scenes in your mind is heart breaking. The hands betray the heart and this treachery is terribly glorified by the eyes and exaggerated by the exhausted and tattered mind before being absorbed into the defeated soul for the destructive face value. Reading between these lines did not exist; only disappointment lied in wait for me. I could not communicate the helpless feelings I faced in my every waking moment. I felt that I might go insane. I knew in my heart that I was not cut out for the life I was attempting to lead; however, I was also convinced that I had taken the path too far to turn back. I made my bed, and now it was time to die in it. One chilly morning, I perused my sketchbook and decided to leave for a little while. I took a walk through our back pasture and down into the low-lying area in our back yard. I stood there for about forty-five minutes, watching the sunrise and listening to music. On that morning I wrote about my fears and desires, and finally I realized who I was.

I now recognize one of the key errors of my ideology during those few difficult weeks. Like many others, I have within me the urge to create and share. My attempt to become a visual artist was about manipulating the creative potential inside of me, and forcing it to be applied to a different type of art. A transition from textual thought to visual appearance was the center of my endeavors. Alas, I failed myself. Altering you natural way of thinking can often times lead to lifeless, synthetic attempts at showing the world what you see inside. What you want to say will come out the way it is most comfortable for you. There is no need for you to conform to more popular methods; just be true to yourself, as that is the whole point of creative self expression. I look ahead to the future now, especially with my recent confirmation of myself as a writer.

Many people today attempt leaps of faith. Well, how about I propose one to you? You may feel as though learning is something that will never interest you. Please be aware that even if you do not see it yet, you will not feel this way forever. You will have regrets, painful memories, and mistakes that lash out at you every day. These are not signs that you are a bad person; not at all, but they are mile markers on the road of evolution. I now look forward to college; I hope I can make up for wasting my high school years by being an attentive and open-minded student. I can only hope that I am that lucky.