Cedars, Spring 2023

On valuing the insignificant By Heidie (Raine) Senseman Everything in my life has felt so intense lately. This winter, I vowed myself in marriage (a wonderful and sobering commitment); and I sent graduate school applications to 11 univers ities (my future rests in these) ; and I completed an internship to see if I'd enjoy being a professor (spoiler : yes) ; and I began the process of changing my name (very emotional, if you were wonder ing) ; and I opened up a TD Ameritrade account (made me feel 45) ; and I'm realizing that the first quest ion people ask me after "what's your name?" is "what are you doing after graduation? " (answer : beats me) . With every life -altering decision and step toward graduation and beyond, I was feeling my shoulders tighten . When did my classes begin to feel secondary? When did professiona l networking and managing investments become my higher priorities? Life's intensity began to detract from my love of school. I wrote essays try ing to distingu ish between w ifely submission and oppression, and each English class rem inded me that my professorial dreams could die with a rejection letter. And it all left me frantic. Nothing was just a class anymore. It was mentorship. It was preparing me fo r the future . It was cr itical to my personal, spiritual and profess ional development. I began to feel l ike every project or paper I wrote had to carry the weight of my whole l ife as it unraveled into the unknown. To pick a top ic separate from my present concerns - marriage, grad school, creative writing , growing into a new identity - was to turn down an opportunity to refine myself that much more. And I couldn't take the pressure. So, when it came time to select the topic for my journalism capstone course, I picked something random. "Lake Michigan !" I chirped when asked what I'd be reporting on . For reference, my peers picked weighty topics : the ethics of environmental marketing, human trafficking in Ohio, the journey of a first-time head coach . And I chose Lake Michigan . I don't know how I conjured up that idea, but I latched on to it. I loved how uncharged and different it was from all the concerns floating around my mind. I loved the idea of studying something to discover what it was, not how it could contribute to my ongoing mental puzzle of becoming the best Christian-wife-essayist-student in the Western world . My first story on Lake Michigan is about how the lake symbolized resilience to Chicago after the great fire of 1871. My second story will be about zebra mussels - an invasive species that has ravaged the lake 's natural wildlife. For my third story, I want to interview a vocational 4 CED.RS Graphic by Nata lie Cherry fisherman . Some may say I'm wasting an opportunity to write about something big, something important, but I heartily disagree. Here's a few reasons why : If we only ever study the things that seem significant, we 'll miss a whole lot of magic that's only uncovered with curiosity, a face in a book and qual ity questions. Learning about the way Lake Michigan swallowed Chicago's rubble and woe after the fire, the way that Shedd aquarium educates the community about native species, the way that fishermen imagine the lake is an ocean - these pieces of information are soaked in wonder whether or not I can directly apply them to my life circumstance . All the "big, important" topics that I've been writing about are choking me like mustard gas - not because they're bad, but because they're so important that I'm preoccup ied w ith and, I confess, sometimes crippled by the moral, personal implications of the matter. And so, hear this charge: not everything has to be of eternal significance. Read the book on Lake Michigan or French botany or Ireland 's noteworthy stews . Maybe you'll find some rest. Maybe you'll find some awe. Hopefully both. Heidie (Raine) Senseman Heidie (Raine) Senseman is a senior English major with a concentration in creative and journalistic writing. When she isn't doing lit theory homework, she likes drinking La Croix and reading Brian Doyle essays. Spring 2023

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