Exceptional Student Work: 'The Ugly and Illogical Things That Happen in the World'
In which Travel Writing student Lexi A. reckons with the traumatic, life-altering, painful, and incomprehensible
It’s midterm season. I’m nearly done working through first efforts from my Medical Narratives crew. There’s some astonishing work! I just read an ode to the library that I enjoyed so very much. It was generous, kind, and lovely.
It’s a gauntlet, these classes I’ve built. From day one, you’re writing, then I hit you with that first midterm and there’s no real slowing of the weekly grind. Worse still, there’s a second midterm two weeks later. Geez.
Which makes it so satisfying when you guys really bring it. Who doesn’t like a good deadline? A chance to shine?
Before I submit my feedback, I wanted to break away to share a piece from my Travel Writing group. Lexi A is the kind of student who maybe flies a tiny bit below the radar at first. Smart, thorough, hard-working? Of course. Then the pressure of a midterm.
I remember first opening the document. I could tell almost immediately something special was happening. Take a look:
I’m On My Mind
By Lexi A.
Time is precious and I seem to never have enough of it. I’m currently sitting on my L-shaped couch, buried under a blanket because I’m frequently cold, but content because I have the time to write; I also have the time to think and reflect. Recently, writing and reflection have become increasingly important to me. This is definitely unchartered territory for me. I spent most of my life happily keeping myself very busy, ignoring my real feelings and pushing away the uncomfortable admission that not only I may not be truly happy, but I also may not even know what it means.
I think I’m happy—most of the time. However, the thought has become more pressing over the last several months than ever before in 21 years. Am I trying to convince myself that I’m happy? Throughout my life, multiple teachers have asked me to write about what the word “happiness” means. I came up with some bullshit answer to get the task done, ready to move on to the next busy-work assignment thrust upon us in the confinement of a classroom. Forcing introspection and deep connection to emotions has not worked for me. These tasks were hard; they were uncomfortable. So, I found them generic and empty. As I gravitated toward Psychology as a major, I continued moving with blissful ignorance, deaf to the grumbling of the volcano about to erupt.
I self reflect on everything and psychoanalyze most events and people. If we have met, I’ve probably psychoanalyzed you. I enjoy it; I believe the practice of psychoanalysis makes me happy. After taking Psychology 127C, a clinical psychology course, last quarter, I have diagnosed almost every person in my life with some sort of mental disorder. This class swept through me completely, persuading me to take a deep dive into Lexi. It was serendipitous–its timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
How to describe the start to my 2025? A few words pop into my mind: Traumatic. Life-altering. Painful. And– incomprehensible. I miss my friends and my family. I haven’t hung out with anyone in a while, distracting myself with training (I’m a figure skater) and school (my irrational choice to take five classes last quarter). I was so excited to be back on campus in January after four months abroad in Madrid. Four days after landing in L.A., the fires pushed me and my roommates to leave campus. Upon our return, we remained optimistic for a great quarter– a pinkalicious-themed invitation, edited and crafted with our heads on fairies, had already been sent to a list of 50+ of our closest friends. Within a week, however, on January 29, unexplainably, ten of my childhood friends, who I consider family, were gone forever. They were flying back to Washington, D.C. when their plane was struck by a military helicopter. They died instantly. I’m crying now.
I haven’t cried in a while. Okay, well that’s not true. I cried this week in therapy. I haven't cried about this in a while. It kind of feels good. I think... Let’s try this again. I know that I have been distracting myself, hiding from the thought of what happened two months ago and pushing those thoughts and feelings to the side.
Life is short; nothing is certain. These six words seem to be the definitive message–the mantra and belief that have enabled all of my mutual friends to move forward. I feel stuck, like I’m in quicksand. Help! I suddenly feel the need to write that essay on Happiness. I cannot, yet. But, I am determined to spend more time, a lot of time, with my friends this quarter. I’m calm. I create space and open my mind. I will slowly be released from the quicksand.
Why do we exist? Now I’m asking the questions. This one is a question that I’ve been struggling to understand. It seems to be the question. The one to which no one has the answer. I laugh at myself. I am thinking about the girl who avoided tapping into her feelings and making connections between her experiences and behavior; the girl who demeaned others when they openly communicated their feelings. And, now I am the young adult who chooses and who needs to write about her feelings, and absurdly, to propose an even more esoteric question about the meaning of life.
Right now, though, I’m focusing on Am I happy? My friends view me as funny and outgoing and therefore, assume that I am. But, I question the direct relationship between my outward persona and internal feelings of happiness. I’m happy when I am engaged in things that are meaningful, which includes psychoanalyzing others and myself and taking this writing class—the second serendipitous event of 2025—as it gently urges me to be open, to explore, and to slowly surface. I’m also happy experiencing many ordinary daily activities: watching the sunset on the beach, comforted by the warmth of my oversized sweats; gliding on an empty sheet of ice, guided only by my program music; and crafting silly little evites with my roommates, satisfied by the limitless creativity of our imaginations. Have I achieved happiness? It remains a tough question for me to answer. While I still don’t have an answer, I am no longer frustrated by not knowing (which I think indicates personal growth). I’m happy that I am able to identify some specific parts of my life that bring me joy. I’m also happy to be on my journey of self-discovery, realizing that with my profound sadness and some ugly and illogical things that happen in the world, I also have moments of great delight and an ongoing curiosity. I have the Time to question—the Time to pause—and the Time to learn about myself. I’m happy about that too. :)