That is to say, for the past year. Not, probably, in quantities to exceed when I was in middle school — but I was reading a lot of very easy stuff in middle school, I must qualify. I wasn’t much interested in pushing myself or seeking out a challenge, only indulging in my escapist fantasies. I learned a great deal, only without ever realizing it, which I think, as a child, is perfectly fine and even necessary.

In reflecting on 2010, only now do I realize I’ve taken a full year off of school. (Oh, my, god. The very thought induces hyperventilation.) I didn’t really intend to, but I went to Europe, and then, well, besides online classes, I’ve just been sitting on my hands and alternately twiddling my thumbs and, since the spring, I’ve been waiting anxiously to go to Berkeley. And I’ve read. And read. And read.

But what’s really different about this year is, I know everything that I’ve read. I wrote it down in a little notebook. And I’ve gotten into the habit of taking copious notes, and cross-referencing them, and gathering up my relevant themes together in tidier bundles; I fear I simply won’t have time to go back and re-read things looking for that little snippet which so intrigued me and would now so come in handy for an essay. I have developed a very personalized system, a methodology. In reading about other people’s systems — and reading their diaries, their annotations, etc. — people I desperately look up to, no less, and fervently wish I could have a conversation with if only they weren’t a hundred or two hundred or five hundred years my senior — anyway, I realized I needed to do more or less the same. And upon recognition of that (it was like a lightning-strike, a moment of intense illumination, never to be undone or forgotten) it became a compulsion. But hasn’t it always been??

Yesterday I was sitting in a pile of notebooks. They surrounded me, brick by brick, a protective wall of handwritten notes. I found my “Plan of Attack” for transferring to a University of California from years ago — a fascinating and humbling document. Transformative. If I had not committed these things to paper, would I still be where I am now? I found scribblings and to-do lists and quotes liberally thefted from anywhere. I recognize now who I am: I am a long-term strategist. I am an obsessive note-taker. I am a scholar of the most hopeless, irredeemable…something. Sorry, words fail me today. I’ll resort to other people’s words. As Peter Parker would say, re: my scholarly heart: it’s both a gift and a curse.

But this was not, I insist, a waste of a year, despite the stalling of my academic career. I’ve weighed & considered carefully. It was a year of massive learning. My mature literary consumption went through the roof. I began a dialogue with myself through my notes and finally, finally, I begin to see with true clarity. It’s a shock and a thrill.

Most ironically of all, you know what valuable lesson I’ve learned while being out of school? Good study habits. I’ve watched several people study very badly this year, and I discovered what I do well (not much for all practical intents & purposes; only this). Armed with the discipline, the organizational skills, the logic and analytical chops — I’ve realized how important it is to be discerning, discriminating, rigorous & demanding of oneself — the resourcefulness, the time-management…I can marshal them all to me in an instant, and I will. I am a Napoleon, an Alexander, of learning. That’s how bad I want it. That’s how confident I am that I will have it. People, I am determined to win prizes.