Dear Professor Chris Butynskyi,

Your 9 AM

 Monday Wednesday Friday 

Ancient Western Civ course was the very first college class I ever attended. 

I made sure to arrive early.

Much too early. 

And came fully prepared,

 not really knowing what to expect.

I sat in the front row to set myself apart,

 and waited nervously for you to begin. 

You appeared to be very confident, 

almost arrogant, 

striding back and forth in front of us. 

You introduced yourself, 

Told us to never call you Doctor, 

and that you had absolutely no sympathy for us as students. 

You began by promising us you were going to destroy us. 

You read us your class introduction entitled "Welcome to Purgatory"

and followed with the assurance of our emotional demise. 

I believe the words were something like

"I will strip you of all positive thoughts you have about yourself, 

and reduce you down to nothing but a pile of ashes. But as the phoenix, you will then rise from the ashes and be stronger for it." 

You told us you HOPED to offend us. 

That you would challenge us in ways we had never even thought about prior to stepping foot in your class. 

That you would dispel within us the notion that education is tied to utility,

 and that "higher education" is synonymous with "employment agency."

You promised to help teach us how to live a "life of the mind."

And I was TERRIFIED. 

Initially, 

I was fearful I would be unable to meet your standards. 

This was my first college class.  

I had to prove to you but also to myself that I was capable of this. 

I was always a good student, 

and unflinchingly determined to succeed, 

but the promise to vanquish what little confidence I had evoked a deep seated fear in me. 

My stomach began to flutter and turn like Satan's wings in the innermost circle of Hell in Dante's Inferno. 

What if my insecurity kept me there?

What if like Satan in the Inferno I was desperately trying to rise from the ashes and fly, 

but couldn't?

What if I was beaten down and destroyed,

but then became so entangled by my own feelings of inadequacy that I remained entrapped in the ice of cold criticism? 

I remember turning the thought over and over in my mind. 

I have a sincere passion for learning.

It feels like the most incredible luxury to be in college. 

To have the chance to read and study so many different and amazing things I otherwise would not have the opportunity to. 

To glean wisdom from countless inspiring professors with diverse backgrounds and stories, 

not to mention perspectives and beliefs. 

To wake up and be genuinely excited about going to my classes. 

I refused to be fearful or defeated. 

The next class I came prepared and excited to see what class with you would actually be like. 

Before long your class was one of my favorites. 

I loved everything we read and was so eager to discuss the topics. 

The class period is far too short.

50 minutes to discuss some of the most remarkable minds, 

to analyze questions philosophers have been grappling with for years, 

and to completely alter our perspective on life and literature.

I leave every single one of our classes completely reaffirmed this is where I am meant to be. 

Some of the reading is hard.

The papers take me hours, 

You expect a lot out of us, 

And really make us earn an A. 

I could't possibly be more thankful for each of these things.

I have grown beyond what I could ever possibly measure through your class this year.

You've challenged my views and made me question just about everything I believe.

I've laughed, cried, and yes even bled over class discussions, readings and papers, 

desperately seeking to earn my place. 

You have corrected, rebuked, and encouraged us when appropriate, 

shown us how literature and philosophy impacted history and vice versa, 

dispelled various false ideas we've been trained to know, 

empowered us to break the cycle, 

shaped us into better writers and debaters, 

made several of us ponder converting to Catholicism and History majors,  

told us countless stories and somehow always tied it seamlessly into our readings, 

connected with us,

inspired us, 

given us a stellar summer reading list through all of your suggestions, 

and taught us how to seek after a life of the mind. 

I have been waiting my entire life to be in a class like yours. 

The feedback you've given me has meant so much more than you know. 

For the first time I really believe I could make something of myself. 

I don't know how to articulate it exactly, 

but I feel like I can hold my ground. 

Like maybe, just maybe, 

I could really do well here. 

That my unquenchable passion for learning and literature can transpire into my work and I could be genuinely proud of it. 

That I can be more than a listener, 

I could be a participant. 

I've always been incredibly fearful of mediocrity.

I want to look back 50 years from now and know that I never settled in my education. 

Even through writing this letter, 

there are still so many thing I wish I could find the words to say.

I am so incredibly thankful for all of the time, work, dedication, and energy you pour into your job.

Your passion is infectious and has inspired me in so many ways. 

I am sincerely going to miss your class.

Thank you so much for terrifying, exacting, and supporting me. 

I sincerely appreciate the standard of what you expect from us and how you help us reach it. 

Words are futile in trying to adequately express my gratitude,

But once again, 

Thank you. 

With all my love, Meg