Humbling...

Today, in our Business Ethics Through Literature course, we went over the short stories we wrote. The format was to pre-read some stories, but not know the author's name. We discussed them in class, and the author could identify him/herself if they so chose. I had submitted a story halfheartedly, and due to the fact that I'd been staring at it for 4 weeks; I was pretty ambivalent about it.
I expected my classmates to find it laborious. To dislike the way I switched from present to past tense and back again. The imagery I chose.
I was wrong. And it was the strangest feeling. As people talked about the story, my story, I was humbled and honored that they would share their thoughts. The fact that I was anonymous made it all the more poignant.
They were saying how they felt. They weren't trying to spare my feelings because I wrote it. They didn't know. They were just exchanging opinions and sharing vignettes that resonated with them.
When Ed asked if the author wanted to identify themselves, I spoke up. I had intended to remain anonymous, but my courage failed me. My words caught in my throat and I found myself on the verge of tears. I managed something to the effect of...
"As an artist, I have been offering up my work for critique for decades now, but for some reason this session means the most to me. I am honored and grateful for their perspective. I have never cared so much that a group of people would like what I wrote. "
It was strange at the time (especially because I was almost crying), and it's still strange now.
I don't know if I'll ever wrap my head around my near-tear experience. Why, after 30-some years of producing art, do I suddenly place so much weight on the opinions of 20 people? Hmmm.
Perhaps my classmates now think I'm batty. But it is now in the past and I can only hope that they gained a little something from what I shared.
Because I gained so much.