I took American Literature & Culture Before 1865 with Professor Bromell during what was one of the most difficult semesters of my college career. I was living in my boyfriend's dorm during the school week and commuting to work at a pizza joint an hour and fifteen minutes away in my hometown on weekends only to work a measly fifteen hours at minimum wage. 

            I’m just glad my 07’ Ford Taurus didn’t break down in the middle of the woods with no cell service. The two-and-a-half-hour round trip was peaceful though. My radio didn’t get any channels and I didn’t own a Bluetooth adapter. I did have a small box of CDs hidden under the center console - Hannah Montana, Selena Gomez, The Jonas Brothers…I was a big Disney kid growing up. I spent the first few weekends blasting those CDs; but soon after, I just let the car cabin fall into silence. It was a peaceful ride with only the occasional car passing by the whole trip. In truth, I saw more wildlife than people during those drives. 

            I’d get back to campus around midnight and crawl into the long twin with my boyfriend, then get up for my eight am’s. Exhausted, I’d show up to Bromell’s class, with about ten pages of the hundred paged reading completed. 

           “Let’s start off with our meditation, feet planted on the floor, eyes closed if you’d like. Let me just set a timer for five minutes…” Bromell would say while swiping through his phone for his meditation app. Those five minutes were a safe haven for me. For five minutes I’d close my eyes and breathe, picturing: what few scenes from the reading I’d done, the winding roads lit by my two yellowed headlights or nothing at all. Admittedly, I’d dozed off more than once during those meditations but, could you blame me? 

            It was all a part of the course: contemplative pedagogy acted as the cornerstone of our studies. We would read and then react; how did this piece make you feel? What character did you connect with most? How is it that a narrative from over a century ago is able to contain relatable material? I’d never been asked to insert myself into a piece before, let alone pieces that acted as metaphors for historical movements in the US. Yet I found parts of myself in Bartleby in Billy Budd, Bartleby, and Other Stories. I fell in love with reading, just as Miss Kelso fell in love with her work in The Silent Partner. I found peace and reflection through Henry David Thoreau’s Walden: or Life in the Woods. 

            With whatever meager amount of notes I had on the reading, I found more meaning through our class discussions. Hearing how people’s lives intertwined with the story began to seep within the margins of my books. Our conversations swirled around the room, creating a network of themes that all formed a more modernized story: we were authors, we were children, we were philosophers, we were human. 

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            I was disorganized; in reality and on paper. My first grade back had notes sprawled across my paragraphs. The phrases, “Good! But, how does this connect?”, “Your thesis should include this…”, “Your Intro doesn't match your Body…” written in red. Professor Bromell allowed rewrites; in fact, he encouraged us to try to resubmit work for a higher grade. His course was the first in college where I found the feedback to be brutal but so obviously said with the desire to help you grow. 

            Bromell’s office was cozy. His shelves were decorated with books, posters, and picture frames. His desk was equipped with an espresso machine; the petite mugs stacked neatly next to it. Of course, due to this, the aroma of rich coffee hung in the air. I remember nervously sitting and taking out my paper to go over revisions, I’d never been to a professor's office hours before and it sort of felt like I was in trouble at first. Soon, the two of us were in deep conversation regarding the topic - personal meditation. In addition to my research-based evidence, professor Bromell challenged me to add my own experiences from class to the paper. I’d mentioned that it worked for me in practice but I was missing how it worked. This left me stumped for a bit. Was it the focus of attention, the relaxation aspect, the permission to zone out for a bit, or something more? At first, I assumed personal meditation was to get rid of unwanted thoughts or to clear your head. That didn’t feel right, it seemed so negative. Instead, I determined it was allowing a controlled flow of thoughts. Professor Bromell described meditation as a small stream; one's stream of thought. As you focus on that stream, you move the pebbles clogging up its path. I thought of my drives; stopping for critters running across lanes and then continuing. 

            In a reality where I had so much to worry about, I thought personal meditation was an escape. Instead, I discovered a way to ground myself: become aware of my surroundings, my thoughts, and my wellbeing. It has continuously helped me in times of stress and I utilize many of the skills learned in Bromell's class for others - not only in English but across my studies. As someone who struggles with generalized anxiety, I find myself unable to focus throughout the day. Any falter in my weekly routine leads to stress, dissociation, and brain fog. Before meditation, I would use dance as an outlet for my stress, I was on a competitive team for 8 years. I had no choice but to focus on my body rather than my mind for multiple hours a week. However, I quit dance after high school to move away for college and for the first time I was forced to face my mental state alone. Through meditation, I’ve found a fairly reliable way to silence my rushing thoughts before feeling overwhelmed. This way I can focus on what actually matters. Which if you were wondering, did result in me completing my readings rather than skimming them.  

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            In my second semester of sophomore year, I had a project to interview and write a column on a figure you found to be impactful on your college career thus far. Bromell’s class was the first thing that came to mind and I knew immediately that his style of teaching would be my topic. Since taking Bromell’s class, I’d declared my second major in Communication Disorders, joined a club for Pre-SLP (Speech & Language Pathology), and began the courses for an additional certificate in the medical humanities. I also quit my pizza slinging gig for a campus job; selling tickets at the Fine Arts Center. I loved my job at the box office, I got to attend all of the shows as an usher. Jazz bands, dance performances, and art galleries made my weeks lively.  I finally felt confident in my decisions and was enjoying my studies again; I had meditation, and Bromell, to thank for that. 

I was back in Bromell's office with a pad of paper and a pen to ask him questions surrounding meditation. I was left speechless when Bromell asked me what year I was, “ I’m a sophomore.” I told him.

            “A sophomore…” he leaned back in his chair, “What grade did you end up receiving again?”

            “A B+”

            “For some reason, I was under the impression you were a junior when you took my class. I have to say, you present yourself in a much more professional way than most of your colleagues.” 

            I laughed and thanked him, but there was an unspoken acknowledgment in that comment. Or maybe I just imagined it, but, it felt as if he understood everything I’d gone through that past year. There was a sort of ‘ah-ha’ moment for the both of us; I was only a sophomore. 

            Bromell asked me where my favorite place to meditate on campus was. I had to think for a moment because I’d mostly used meditation as a tool rather than as a pleasure. “The Durfee Conservatory.” I decided. 

            “Ah! I think that’s mine too.” He’d said. 

             The Durfee Conservatory is still my favorite place to go to meditate. There’s a sort of unspoke rule to be quiet there. It’s almost comical to watch a rowdy group fall into silence shortly after stepping inside. I had the same reaction the first time I visited, I remember it being a cold winter day, but the moment you enter the greenhouse it’s as if you’d been teleported to an oasis. The air is always heavy and humid, smelling of rich soil. It’s the perfect place to sit, stretch, and relax for a while. 

            The greenery, the water, and the fish are all to be appreciated rather than treated as amusements. The light sounds of lush leaves rustling and the bubbling water fixtures are just faintly audible. However, with focus, it blends into pink noise. I like to watch the koi fish weave around each other in the pond; water spirals forming above their delicate fins: a silent water dance.