I have spent the last several weeks thinking about an essay that was due today. I wrote it last night, and I was… less than satisfied with the outcome. I could feel the teacher’s red pen before I even turned it in–Dangling modifier! Unsubstantiated claim! Too Verbose!

I toiled over this essay, but my professor is a challenging grader, and even with my best foot forward, I might get a B+, if she’s feeling especially generous. All day yesterday, as I was crafting this paper, I tap danced on the infinitesimally fine line between motivation and demotivation. There is something motivating about wanting to improve yourself, think stronger, think smarter. There is something demotivating about realizing that you can’t.

Fortunately for me, as I was feeling all glum about my abilities,  I ran into precisely five people from the same class, all turning in the same paper, all haunting the Professor’s office begging forgiveness for their essay’s outcome or pleading for mercy because their essay was so poor.

And I do, I do, I genuinely feel ashamed for this, but– all five of us shared an empathy sandwich and expressed to one another the true massacre that our essays became–and that felt awesome.

One of the students put it nicely. “I knew this class was going to be a challenge, and I liked the idea of the challenge. But now I don’t like the challenge. I only like a challenge when I’m doing well at it.”

So alas, t’is true. I don’t feel like I’m doing particularly well at this challenging class, but all is well. Class let out twenty minutes early today, three other classes got cancelled this week, and I like Thai food.