If raising your hand in class isn’t on the verge of extinction, then it’s probably already extinct.
I remember the first time I spoke without raising my hand (channeling my inner-rebel) and was abruptly overpowered by the strong, dominant voice of an upperclassman’s opinion.
I thought my life was over.
I felt like someone shot me in the heart.
I wasn’t sure if I’d ever recover.
It was brutal, but it needed to happen. I indeed learned my lesson.
Now, when my brain works up enough mental strength to extend my arm in the air, I know I’m allotted a certain amount of time and attention to minimize interruptions.
But what is it about our heads that make us think we’re some articulate masterminds?
You’re sitting in class and the professor throws out a topic and opens the class up for discussion.
It’s the second week of school and you really want to differentiate yourself from the few other people that make up your largest class.
So, you cough up the courage to finally speak up.
This is your shot.
Your chance.
Your moment to shine and win your professor’s favoritism. That “A” is in the bag now!
But not so fast.
What sounded like a vicarious quote from Einstein in your head, somehow turned into the babble of a third grader.
As you’re realizing the ignorance of your words and your tone begins to reflect the struggle in your train of thoughts, the professor, meanwhile, is giving you a blank stare awaiting the clarification of your ever-so-brilliant input.
And just when you think things couldn’t get any worse, your loving professor showers you with their honesty in a brutal fashion and lets you know how wrong your answer was, loud enough for the classes below and above you to become aware as well.
Or maybe the tone of rejection just seems louder to me, and slightly exaggerated, kind of like the psychological damage that red ink does to our minds when professors grade with them – but that’s a whole other issue.
So, the next time you want to add your two cents to a class discussion, be prepared to elaborate on your vague and irrelevant answer.
Or hope to God that your inner-Einstein shines through.