ÐÓ°ÉÔ­´´

This is a strange experience, writing about myself. My name is Paige.

The thing I probably love most in the world is reading. I mean, my family and friends, and then reading. And writing. Books, etc.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’m not entirely an student at ÐÓ°ÉÔ­´´; English is my second major, but it’s the department where I feel at home. This is the place where the world has opened up to me in so many ways, and I regret my snobbish self-involvement in my first years here when I didn’t get involved. At the moment, I’m one of the co-presidents of the English Literature Society. That means that I run events and generally do cool things for English students. One of those things is a weekly writer’s circle. In/Words (our student–run magazine!) has a great one as well, but ELS wanted to do something that might be less intimidating to new students and new creative writers. And what I realized at our circle this past Tuesday is that I have an incredible love for this other book-related thing: talking about writing.

I would love to say that my experience in university has been constantly inspiring, that I am a conscientious, motivated student and wake up every morning eager to soak up all that book-learning. And for me, that is true sometimes — even a lot of the time — but not all the time. In the interest of full disclosure, sometimes it gets exhausting/stressful/overwhelming/rough. Life is like that — you know that — not composed solely of perfect moments. The good is interspersed with writing assignments you’d rather not write, studying an author you can’t stand, waiting for what seems like forever for a late bus in the Ottawa winter.

But then:

on Tuesday, early evening and the eighteenth floor, so you can see the sun setting. The window in the English Department lounge overlooks the . And cozily, excitedly, you settle into that circle and know that these people — your cool, talented peers — are about to share with you something they’ve created, with their own hands and minds, perhaps in their bedrooms in the early hours of the morning or strung out on coffee between classes… and you get to read it.

That, to me, is precious.

This is life in English: it’s school, but it’s also peppered with those instances of inevitable wonder — a perfect phrase in a poem, an insight that makes the world clearer, sharper, more sensible, even just for a moment. It’s inspiring.

I’m grateful for the privilege to share my thoughts with you over the course of my final year. Happy Thanksgiving!