At this point, we’re fully a month and change into the autumn semester of college. I’m only taking two classes this semester, which is by design as I’m currently still working two different jobs. The other classes I could have added in don’t have to be done in any particular order, so it’s easy enough to delay them to next year when I’ll have less on my metaphorical plate.
Everything started off well enough, and then as I tend to do I started to really begin to doubt myself. It wasn’t absolutely glaring and weighty; more of a sort of still, small voice creeping in, asking me things I didn’t dare voice out loud. “Who do you think you are?” “What makes you think you’ve going to be good enough to be an interpreter?” “Honestly, this isn’t going to be everything you expect it to be. Might as well just get used to disappointment now.”
So much is riding on my success, but in different ways than people might assume reading this sentence. It’s not like a typical-college-aged-person’s set of pressures, my parents don’t have any set opinion of me on this, honestly I don’t think they ever expected me to go to college but that’s a whole other post. My pressures are wholly personal. If this doesn’t work out, I can’t afford to move into town in a house that is mine and not in my parents back yard. If this doesn’t work out, I won’t make enough to do more than just survive with the way the economy is going. All the hopes and grand visions I have of living entirely on my own that would have seemed impossible even just 5 years ago are just waiting on my finances to catch up, but without this degree and the possibilities it allows, they will remain out of reach. And while I’m grateful for the tiny house on my parents land, mentally this isn’t the best situation for me. I’m trying to make the most of it, but there’s only so much optimism can do for a person, especially one who seems to be living an existence that could inspire many different plot lines of quite intriguing books such as mine.
In all this, I told myself to just keep going. You’re already here, you’re doing the thing, you might as well keep going unless or until it gives you a reason to stop. You’ve barely begun and there’s so much left to experience that could surprise you. Do your best and see what happens and take it all in stride.
No sooner I did, I had a week where two of my three classes left me feeling like I’ve made the right decision. The first happened on Monday’s ASL 3 class when I walked in and my teacher asked me if I could help her. She had a call she had to take at 9am, which is the same time our class starts, and she asked if I could lead the class in reviewing the unit we were on. She said it shouldn’t take long, but if we get through all of that, she gave me the papers for the project we were to work on afterwards. Now I’m not sure why she asked me. I’m typically the first or second person in class, so it’s possible it was simply because I was available. Whatever the reason, she knew she could trust me to do what she asked and also that I was capable enough to handle doing such. I was nervous not so much for the task—the program we use has videos of Deaf people showing the proper ways to do each of the signs—but mores of my fellow classmates opinions. I don’t know many of them enough to recall their names (I’m trying!) and I think I’m the only (or one of the only) one(s) without a connection to the Deaf community already. I tried to keep my brain quiet, and everyone was kind and attentive, asking good questions and pointing out if I had my hand wrong (thanks, Roland!) When our teacher finished her call, she let me keep going, until she had stories she was telling which had her going to the front of the class to be seen by everyone and then she went ahead and took over as it was most logical. When I sat down, one of my new friends, Taylor, gave me the sign for cheering, which was really nice. When we left class, my other friend Drea told me that I did a really great job and my signs were very clear and understandable. It was really nice to hear, especially as that’s something I’m typically concerned about internally—that my signs aren’t clear or don’t make sense. Leading the class in the review made me feel similar to how I felt when I first started teaching ballet classes. I noticed then that it made me a better dancer as I was having to think more critically about each step I was doing in order to properly teach it to my students. With this, I was having to think more critically, paying attention to the NMM’s (Non-Manual Markers) and hand orientation than I may have typically. Really, I was grateful to have been given the opportunity to challenge my thinking in a way I hadn’t attempted yet.
In Thursday’s Intro to the Interpreting Profession class, I was the second one there and again my teach came up to me shortly upon arrival. She asked me where I worked and I told her I worked at the Courthouse and the Ballet Studio. She asked me if I’d be interested in volunteering the following Thursday (this week) at the Deaf and Hard of Hearing Center’s annual fundraiser event. I’d need to be there from 3-9pm and wear all black. I told her yes, that would be great! I get off work at the Courthouse at 3 but I could leave a little early and my ballet job is only on the weekends right now. She was so relieved. Again, I’m not sure why she asked me and my brain can come up with numerous conclusions, but the fact remains that in asking me she is giving me a vote of confidence in my abilities to be successful in volunteering at such an important event to our local Center. This will also be my first real time among our local Deaf community, having missed out on the previous Friday’s “Deaf Chat” event I was hoping to go to.
Now that the event is two days away, I’m nervous as hell. I don’t have too many details about what to expect, only where to be, at what time, and what to wear—which, arguably, are the most important details. I’m sure I can figure out where to go and who to report to once I get there, but the childhood version of me that was too afraid to ask an adult I was familiar with for a glass of water when I was thirsty has made herself known again. There’s also the added uncertainty of if the person I will figure out I need to report to will be Deaf or hearing; I’m going to err on the side of signing as that makes the most sense in regards to respect.
I know one day I’ll look back on all of this with a completely different view that can only come with experience. Just knowing that that version of myself is possible for me to imagine gives me the bit of courage I need to face all of the anxieties that scream at me and would normally result in me cowering under the covers safely in my bed instead of facing whatever it is. I want this more than I’m scared of it.
Stay tuned, y’all.
1988- 