I pulled out my sketchbook as everyone got out their supplies to carve out their images into linoleum sheets. I resisted sinking down in my chair; some of my supplies--the ones that I needed today--were yet to arrive, and I wasn't even sure my sketchbook idea was adequate for the assignment.
Pretending like I had a lot of important things to work on in my sketchbook, I began drawing out my idea for the third time. My professor talked with different students as they worked on their projects. I had my nose in my sketchbook, occasionally looking up and listening to the conversation, pretending like I found it interesting enough to distract me from my work.
Finally, I finished the sketch and I ran out of an excuse to stall. I forced myself to ask the professor to look at my idea so he could tell me if it would work for the assignment.
I glanced around at everyone else's progress and my thoughts raced through its normal routine. Is my idea good enough?
Maybe it's too simple.
What if people question how this relates to me? What if they think I am weird or depressed?
But it's a good idea, right? It tells a story.
Is he going to tell me to find a better idea?
All of a sudden my sketchbook was in front of the professor, and I was asking him if the sketch was adequate. His face went from his usually unamused expression to an encouraging enthusiasm, and his normally monotone voice sounded excited. "Yeah, it will turn out great! This will be perfect."
What a reassuring thing to know that I am in a class where I am trusted to use my creativity and to be genuinely encouraged by a knowledgable source while doing so.