ORB #2 - Deciding To Go To The Philosophy Workshop in Bologna
Two days ago, on the Thursday, I had to go 'verbalise' an exam result I had achieved in Italy. Verbalisation basically means going into the professor's office to discuss what you had written and, I suppose, to confirm it was indeed you who wrote the exam. I arrived 15 minutes before the closing time of her office hours. I tend to procrastinate things to the latest possible minute when I'm nervous. I don't know why I was nervous; I had done tremendously well. I suppose it's that I don't particularly know what to do with praise, and I've never managed to be fully comfortable buddying up with authority figures. I don't know why this is. Growing up I've always just maintained that artificial boundary between me and my peers and those in authority, and it has always stuck. I know now that authority figures are just human beings like I am, but the boundary is hard to dissolve.
I walked up the marble (or granite, I don't know the difference; perhaps the material was neither; in any case, it was some smooth, cold stone) steps of the lettere building and found the location of her office, which was odd. Unlike the offices of many other professors -- just a closed door in a corridor -- hers, along with a few other professors', was sectioned off behind large double doors with opaque screens. I was having difficulty figuring out how to get in, and I could feel the anxiety within me trying to grab at this minor confusion, to use it as an opportunity to flee and not have to face the source of my anxiety. However, I had already missed my opportunity to verbalise last week, and I knew it would only be a short interaction (I had already done the exam, after all), so the circumstances were tipped in reason's favour, and I was able to ignore the noxious suggestions of anxiety. (Oh well, just leave it until next week, she's not here, she's probably gone out to lunch anyway; you're too late, you've missed it, your moron.)
Ignoring the gnatty voice of anxiety, I managed to discover that this section of the philosophy department was entered by pressing a buzzer and being granted access. So I did this, with a couple instances of trouble. I pressed it, and the door didn't seem to budge. I couldn't get in. I heard the Access Granted buzz go off twice, but still couldn't get in, until eventually she made her way out and I felt silly.
So anyway, I finally went in and we switched to English almost immediately (because I had written my exam in English) and we had a pleasant conversation about the differences between UK and Italian university and her interests in philosophy. During the course of this conversation, I was invited to go to a workshop on Truth and Pluralism, which I responded I would be quite interested in going to.
This conference is tomorrow and it begins quite early, and I don't know exactly where it is nor do I know whether it is exactly open to the public or not. In any case, I've been invited, but my anxiety is tingling in respect of two things: 1) I feel like I won't belong and I will be notably young, so people will assume I'm precocious, when in fact I'm average; and 2) something deep down is incredibly opposed to buddying up with authority figures (my lecturer); it just feels wrong.
I know I need to get over that. I want to enter academia, be a philosopher; this is an excellent thing to go to. What's more, it's a topic I'm interested in: truth and pluralism. And yet anxiety is urging me to sleep in, forget it, don't go. But no. As I've written elsewhere, I should use fear as an indication that the thing is worth doing. If I'm wrong, I will learn something. If I'm right, I will enjoy myself. So I will figure out where it is and I will go.
In most cases, fear is my friend, not my enemy. In most cases, fear is telling me what to do, not telling me to avoid it. If I face the frightening things, stories will pour forth.
I will go.
I walked up the marble (or granite, I don't know the difference; perhaps the material was neither; in any case, it was some smooth, cold stone) steps of the lettere building and found the location of her office, which was odd. Unlike the offices of many other professors -- just a closed door in a corridor -- hers, along with a few other professors', was sectioned off behind large double doors with opaque screens. I was having difficulty figuring out how to get in, and I could feel the anxiety within me trying to grab at this minor confusion, to use it as an opportunity to flee and not have to face the source of my anxiety. However, I had already missed my opportunity to verbalise last week, and I knew it would only be a short interaction (I had already done the exam, after all), so the circumstances were tipped in reason's favour, and I was able to ignore the noxious suggestions of anxiety. (Oh well, just leave it until next week, she's not here, she's probably gone out to lunch anyway; you're too late, you've missed it, your moron.)
Ignoring the gnatty voice of anxiety, I managed to discover that this section of the philosophy department was entered by pressing a buzzer and being granted access. So I did this, with a couple instances of trouble. I pressed it, and the door didn't seem to budge. I couldn't get in. I heard the Access Granted buzz go off twice, but still couldn't get in, until eventually she made her way out and I felt silly.
So anyway, I finally went in and we switched to English almost immediately (because I had written my exam in English) and we had a pleasant conversation about the differences between UK and Italian university and her interests in philosophy. During the course of this conversation, I was invited to go to a workshop on Truth and Pluralism, which I responded I would be quite interested in going to.
This conference is tomorrow and it begins quite early, and I don't know exactly where it is nor do I know whether it is exactly open to the public or not. In any case, I've been invited, but my anxiety is tingling in respect of two things: 1) I feel like I won't belong and I will be notably young, so people will assume I'm precocious, when in fact I'm average; and 2) something deep down is incredibly opposed to buddying up with authority figures (my lecturer); it just feels wrong.
I know I need to get over that. I want to enter academia, be a philosopher; this is an excellent thing to go to. What's more, it's a topic I'm interested in: truth and pluralism. And yet anxiety is urging me to sleep in, forget it, don't go. But no. As I've written elsewhere, I should use fear as an indication that the thing is worth doing. If I'm wrong, I will learn something. If I'm right, I will enjoy myself. So I will figure out where it is and I will go.
In most cases, fear is my friend, not my enemy. In most cases, fear is telling me what to do, not telling me to avoid it. If I face the frightening things, stories will pour forth.
I will go.
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