L to R: Hakop Ter-Akopyan, Mercy Sherman, Professor David Roman, Henry Cilek, Cody Kaneshio and Constance Chan. Not in the picture; Matt Eighmy who was already in Spain teaching.
L to R: Hakop, Casey Gauntt (Jimmy’s Dad), Cody, Mercy, Professor Roman, Henry, Hilary Gauntt (Jimmy’s Mom), Brittany Kirby (Jimmy’s sister), Constance and Ryan Kirby
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By the end of my first week as a Business Administration major, I knew I’d made a mistake.
Seven days later, I walked out of one of the many brick buildings that line Trousdale Parkway, equipped with a new major and a renewed sense of hope for the four years ahead of me at USC. Most of my childhood took place in a patch of grass or on the branch of a tree, nose pressed close to one of the books I’d pulled, for the thousand-and-first time, from my tiny library. Over the years, my stories transformed from childish chapter books to the thick works of David Foster Wallace, Donna Tartt, and Charles Dickens, who, just like the authors who had composed my first favorites, had the magic power to create complex, compelling worlds into which I was only too eager to delve.
In high school, my primary past time was writing bad, unintentionally imitative fiction. Thanks to my magnetic attraction to the backspace button, I didn’t end up having much to show for the hundreds of hours I spent writing, aside from an unfinished novel and a love-hate relationship with the process of producing art. At the start of my sophomore year at USC, when I was ready to register for my first creative writing workshop, I was dismayed to find that Introduction to Fiction with Dr. Susan Segal was full, so, with great hesitance, I signed up for Introduction to Poetry with Dr. Anna Journey instead.
For the next five semesters straight, I either took a class or enrolled in an independent study with Professor Journey. By teaching me how to write good poetry—and then convincing me that the poetry I had written was good—Professor Journey encouraged me to be confident in my writing and in myself. So far, my poetry tends to concentrate on the most important aspects of my identity: my relationships with family, friends, and my partner; my passions for surfing, climbing, riding bikes, and cooking; and the intense ambivalence, the alternating waves of joy and despair, that I feel about my life. On the day we met, I told Professor Journey, “I’m not a poet.” Thanks to her, at this point, being a poet is one of the most important aspects of who I am.
That said, that same part of me that applied to USC as a Business Administration major has spent the past six months obsessively seeking employment that comes packaged with a May 15th start date, dental insurance, and a 401k. As I prepare to launch into the unknown of my first career, I feel comforted to know that I will always be a writer. I’ve promised myself that I will continue to improve and expand my poetic voice, and that I will go out of my way to explore additional genres, such as kids’ books! For now, these creative pursuits may be on the back burner due to other goals of mine, but I’ll make sure to stoke the flames of my inner muse through one new artistic exploit— the one-panel comics I’ve been writing and watercolor painting about Shelly, a spunky, spotted snail.
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