Dear Professor __________,
When I am in your English class, I typically sit in the very front and rarely say anything. My poker face is on at maximum power, and my hands are probably either clasped together or resting on my cheeks. I seldom say a word, and when I do speak, it is typically a single sentence that doesn’t bear much weight to the discussion. I can imagine what you must think of me at times, but there are some things I wish you knew about introverted me.
I sincerely apologize for not participating more.
First of all, group discussion and class participation do nothing for me. I’m sorry; I know you want students to act excited and engage in the material, but I just don’t learn or benefit from that. I would much rather listen to you lecture for an hour and take five pages of notes than try to insert my voice into a fast-paced discussion on a topic I only feel half competent on.
I wish I talked more during class; you have no idea how much I would like that, but that’s just not me. If you truly want to know what I’m thinking, just wait until I write my essays. I promise that they will be worth it, hopefully.
Yes, I am okay.
You always seem so concerned about me and frequently ask if I am okay. I don’t know if it’s my stoic face, my quietness, or my tired eyes, but I promise you that I am okay. Please stop worrying about me; the last thing I want is to cause you is concern. I might be tired, stressed, and even sad on some days; however, most of the time, I am doing quite well, especially since I am about to hear one of your lectures.
I wish our interactions were less awkward.
At first, you’re impressed that I want to meet with you multiple times throughout the semester to discuss upcoming projects, but when we actually meet, I fidget in my seat and ask one-sentence questions, praying that you will dominate the conversation with a mini-lecture, and you probably wonder how you should end this awkward meeting as gracefully and quickly as possible.
Professor, you cannot imagine what I would give to share an actual conversation with you. I want to talk about Shakespeare’s plays and Hemingway’s novels. I wish we could bond over our love for villanelles and Christopher Nolan films. I long to dive into the intricate scapegoat characters of American literature or the philosophies of C. S. Lewis with you. Unfortunately, our conversations never end up like this, and the fault is not with you by any means—it is with my introverted self.
Sometimes, you are my closest friend.
There are times when I feel as though you are the only one who understands me. You understand why E. B. White’s essays are worth crying over and why Edgar Allan Poe’s stories hold value despite their dark plots. Your love for literature and writing runs deeper than my own. I often feel unable to connect with my family and even some of my friends because they don’t read, write, or learn like I do, like I want to. When I am in your class, I feel at peace because we love the same things—words, stories, and human existence. Your lectures make me feel at home.
Thank you for all the epiphanies.
I cannot estimate how many times you have given me epiphanies in class. You may catch me smiling or laughing in the middle of your lecture, but those expressions do not begin to fathom my internal amazement and excitement. When you told me that Hamlet was Shakespeare’s son, I wanted to run around the world and shout the news to all. Thank you so much for everything you have taught me. My life is so much richer because of you, Professor.
Sincerely,
Your Introverted Student