"communication, major."
Aced my Biology CLEP today (and that is my lab req met!), the proctor joked about my having scored even higher on the analyzing lit test than on this one. "I guess you're just more interested in minds than bodies." I suppose that's true, in the sense that he meant it, but really I don't think there is a difference between the two.
As I walked out to my car, I pondered it further (since you know I can't leave anything unpondered.) By nature, I am a lover of mysteries. I love mysteries because I love solving them (or, more accurately, discovering their solution.) I love questions, because I love to find out the answers. I love riddles, trivia, brain-teasers, and puzzles - because I am addicted to the eventual understanding, the climax of the mental foreplay that is wondering. Actually, that is quite an apt metaphor, sex. When denied the prize after the buildup, the result is very analogous to emotional blue balls. When I can't figure something out, or can't formulate a cohesive theory that makes sense and incorporates all the known variables, it absolutely guts me.
I am good at science and math, and have always been a strongly analytical person in terms of approach. In school, I scored higher on math aptitude tests than I did on verbal - a fact that utterly perplexed me at the time. I suppose the answer to that riddle - at long last - is that the scores reflected simply aptitude and ability to grasp the subject, not affinity for it. But shouldn't you love what you're good at? Shouldn't aptitude and passion for a subject go hand in hand? Why would a math-and-science-geek-by-nature be so much better at language-related pursuits in practice? Why would someone who has been told she'd make one hell of a rocket scientist prefer to read and write?
I think some of it lies in the fact that with math and science, there is an answer already. Even if you don't know what it is yet, it's there. All the laws of the universe already exist, and you can't add to them. You could work your whole life toward discovering a new property of numbers or matter or energy, or explaining the inner workings of a cosmic body or a living whatzit, but you didn't CREATE it; you just investigated, observed, and documented. That's not to downplay such an accomplishment, just pointing out that it's a descriptive process and will fulfill people to varying degrees as compared to a deconstructive one. It's the latter that tends to blow my skirt up, more than the former.
"Analyzing and interpreting literature" happens to be a fine compromise between the two. It's fluid, and there isn't a set of rules by which one can always determine the One Correct Answer. There is room for humanity in creative expression... room for different perspectives and audience participation. However, the 'analysis' bit still feeds the need for problem-solving. It's not YOUR art; you are observing and taking in someone else's perspective, and using your own only as a sort of flexi-matrix to translate their expression of it into your own terms. Applied Empathy, if you will. In that experience, you connect with the person as you observe and investigate, and if you're not careful, you can actually learn something about yourself (and about human nature in general) in the process. Bonus!
This begs the question, though, of how someone who is apparently skilled at interpreting the expressive legacy of various writers can be so terribly inept at reading people in life? Why am I always so baffled by the people I actually know personally? How is this possible? Random stranger who lived 100 years before I was born: I read you loud and clear. Person I know in real life who said/wrote something to me: run that by me again?
Maybe it's to do with the nature of literature versus interpersonal communication. An author is pointedly trying to convey something to you and have you receive it fully and understand where she is coming from. She is invested in a direct hit, and has no motivation to manipulate the message or subconsciously misfire to insulate against the (real or perceived) consequences of too much candor. She is guileless and frank because the semi-anonymous nature of the medium insures against too much intimacy; safe behind the ink, she's not vulnerable, so she communicates forthrightly. Wouldn't it be fabulous if that happened in real life - if everyone said just what they meant to say, without coyness or hesitation?
So here I am at the end of this pondering, having established two things: 1) I very much prefer open, candid, honest, unambiguous communication... and 2) I'm a total hypocrite.
As I walked out to my car, I pondered it further (since you know I can't leave anything unpondered.) By nature, I am a lover of mysteries. I love mysteries because I love solving them (or, more accurately, discovering their solution.) I love questions, because I love to find out the answers. I love riddles, trivia, brain-teasers, and puzzles - because I am addicted to the eventual understanding, the climax of the mental foreplay that is wondering. Actually, that is quite an apt metaphor, sex. When denied the prize after the buildup, the result is very analogous to emotional blue balls. When I can't figure something out, or can't formulate a cohesive theory that makes sense and incorporates all the known variables, it absolutely guts me.
I am good at science and math, and have always been a strongly analytical person in terms of approach. In school, I scored higher on math aptitude tests than I did on verbal - a fact that utterly perplexed me at the time. I suppose the answer to that riddle - at long last - is that the scores reflected simply aptitude and ability to grasp the subject, not affinity for it. But shouldn't you love what you're good at? Shouldn't aptitude and passion for a subject go hand in hand? Why would a math-and-science-geek-by-nature be so much better at language-related pursuits in practice? Why would someone who has been told she'd make one hell of a rocket scientist prefer to read and write?
I think some of it lies in the fact that with math and science, there is an answer already. Even if you don't know what it is yet, it's there. All the laws of the universe already exist, and you can't add to them. You could work your whole life toward discovering a new property of numbers or matter or energy, or explaining the inner workings of a cosmic body or a living whatzit, but you didn't CREATE it; you just investigated, observed, and documented. That's not to downplay such an accomplishment, just pointing out that it's a descriptive process and will fulfill people to varying degrees as compared to a deconstructive one. It's the latter that tends to blow my skirt up, more than the former.
"Analyzing and interpreting literature" happens to be a fine compromise between the two. It's fluid, and there isn't a set of rules by which one can always determine the One Correct Answer. There is room for humanity in creative expression... room for different perspectives and audience participation. However, the 'analysis' bit still feeds the need for problem-solving. It's not YOUR art; you are observing and taking in someone else's perspective, and using your own only as a sort of flexi-matrix to translate their expression of it into your own terms. Applied Empathy, if you will. In that experience, you connect with the person as you observe and investigate, and if you're not careful, you can actually learn something about yourself (and about human nature in general) in the process. Bonus!
This begs the question, though, of how someone who is apparently skilled at interpreting the expressive legacy of various writers can be so terribly inept at reading people in life? Why am I always so baffled by the people I actually know personally? How is this possible? Random stranger who lived 100 years before I was born: I read you loud and clear. Person I know in real life who said/wrote something to me: run that by me again?
Maybe it's to do with the nature of literature versus interpersonal communication. An author is pointedly trying to convey something to you and have you receive it fully and understand where she is coming from. She is invested in a direct hit, and has no motivation to manipulate the message or subconsciously misfire to insulate against the (real or perceived) consequences of too much candor. She is guileless and frank because the semi-anonymous nature of the medium insures against too much intimacy; safe behind the ink, she's not vulnerable, so she communicates forthrightly. Wouldn't it be fabulous if that happened in real life - if everyone said just what they meant to say, without coyness or hesitation?
So here I am at the end of this pondering, having established two things: 1) I very much prefer open, candid, honest, unambiguous communication... and 2) I'm a total hypocrite.