In an attempt to engage my sentimental side, I often find myself sparing some precious moments of study time and indulging in The New York Times’ Modern Love columns. Believe me when I say they’re not as sappy as they sound. Through these columns, I’ve taken in short snippets about everything from war, addiction, technology, religion and, inevitably, Tinder.
I used to take advantage of the myriad topics covered by these columns in hopes that they would spark inspiration and fuel my writerly side; that by reading the slick, song-like language of the contributors, I would somehow pick up pieces of their talent. Recently, this endeavor took on a life of its own, serving an entirely different purpose than I intended it to, offering up a lesson on vulnerability in addition to one on writing.
While scrolling through the endless array of columns, I stumbled upon and read one that struck me not so much for its content or quality as for its frankness. The article began with the simple story of the author at the doctor’s office, and then transitioned seamlessly into a brief narration of his past love life in order to describe his current romantic situation. Again, it wasn’t the timeline of the article that intrigued me: it was the author’s candor. In recounting his past actions, he admitted to many vices: struggles with alcohol, with finances, with remaining faithful in a relationship…the list went on.
Whether or not it was the first time this author had discussed such struggles with anyone was no matter to me. He was fully admitting to serious imperfections without making any semblance of an excuse for them, and he was doing so in a space so public that it would be made forever accessible to the entirety of the surrounding world.
To be fair, these personal blemishes received minimal attention in the article itself — they were mentioned quickly and secondarily to give context to a larger, broader point. But the two lines of text that they took up were, to me, the most moving piece of the entire article. I initially turned to the Modern Love columns to find hints and help for how to improve myself as a writer, and in that short section, I found my answer: be honest.
Despite the fact that I, like many others, view writing as an outlet and release, I still find it difficult to be fully honest in that practice. Even when restrained to my own personal, unpublished musings, I regularly qualify and justify my actions and thoughts, re-structuring sentences to make myself appear more polished, more put-together, less flawed.
The situation is the same when my writing is going to be published: God forbid I come across as erroneous or faulty, as full of mistakes, slip-ups or miscalculations of judgment. God forbid I appear as — gasp! — human.
Of course, while writing, I’m conscious of my struggle with sharing “the whole truth.” But then there are those moments, such as when reading the aforementioned column, when I see complete honesty in writing, and appreciate it endlessly. If I so value seeing unapologetic admissions of mistakes and failures in the writing of others, why do I find it so hard to do that myself?
If I’m being honest (how fitting), the answer to that question is that I earnestly want to appear “good.” Perhaps not perfect, but something close to it. And this may be a reach, but I don’t think I’m terribly alone in that desire, especially in a school such as U.Va.
But if one’s writing is supposed to relate to others, is it not crucial for that writing to make its author feel vulnerable? How better to appeal to others than by being simply and entirely honest in one’s depictions of personal experiences?
Honesty is a two-way street: shouldn’t we practice what we preach and expect from ourselves exactly what we trust and expect to see in others?
I would hope that people — be it in private or in publications — are comfortable enough to be fully honest with me in our discussions. But in order to gain that trust, that level of comfort, someone has to make the first move. Someone has to sacrifice the image of untouchable near-perfection we all so wish to embody in order to become heartbreakingly and heroically human.
Mary’s column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at m.long@cavalierdaily.com.
Read More
Students practice art of persuasion at Karsh Institute of Democracy Oratory Competition
By Grace Roddy | 21 hours agoThe finalists — four undergraduate students and four graduate students — answered the prompt “Tell the story of a hero of our American democracy” for the chance to win $1,000.
A look into expanding Native American resources on Grounds
By Mia Tan | YesterdayStudent organizations, activist groups and academic programs have focused on highlighting individual differences among Indigenous students and bridging the gap between the University and Virginia tribes.
Pumpkin bread for chocoholics
By Malone Morchower | 5 days agoThe combination of fall spices creates a nutty and earthy taste, while the sweetness of the chocolate enhances the rich pumpkin flavor.
