When I was an undergraduate studying English, one of my professors nominated me for a scholarship. I ended up winning it, mainly, I suspect, because there was a lack of interest in the award. But I was excited to get it, and I was even more excited that a professor I admired thought enough of me to put me up for an honor.
When it came time for the awards ceremony, I arrived at the specified conference room and settled in to await my recognition with the other recipients of various awards and prizes. My professor got up at last and delivered a speech in which he said the central distinguishing feature of my personality was that I was earnest. Not brilliant. Nor smart. Not even “outgoing.” When he said that word, I tried to look around at the expressions of the people sitting near me without actually turning my head. Did “earnest” sound to them the way it did to me? Were they looking at me with condescension and pity as I sat, wide-eyed and attentive, as my professor heaped this praise on me with his teaspoon?
I walked up to the podium, shook my professor’s hand, and grabbed my check. Earnest. For a long time I thought of it as a dirty word. I knew it wasn’t, and of course there’s value in being earnest. If that’s what I was.
I received an e-mail today from my sister-in-law to which she attached a picture of herself taken during her first year of college (high school? It’s so hard to tell with the perennially youthful). The picture broke my heart a little bit. I looked at it with the same demeanor I imagined those faculty and students had when they looked at me a decade ago as I waited to hear my mentor say my name. I believe the picture affected me that way because my sister-in-law is the most earnest person I know. But there’s nothing negative or demeaning or backhanded about Rachel’s earnestness. She’s well-meaning. She’s attentive to her friends and family, and she’s thoughtful. She’s not a saint, but she’ll cry if she thinks she’s genuinely hurt someone’s feelings. Rachel is honest, loyal, and even fairly diplomatic when the situation calls for it. Getting Rachel as a sister-in-law was a real perk to marrying Leah. Had I been up against Rachel for that scholarship, I wouldn’t have had a chance.
And because I know Rachel would turn beet red if she saw that picture of herself here on the blog (no worries; she doesn’t read it), I’ll link to a shot of myself, taken circa 1983. No earnestness there.