This Is My Love Letter to Goddard

little-cupidThe first love letter I ever wrote was in Kindergarten to a boy I won’t name (because I’m friends with his wife on Facebook).  I wrote some in high school, to a high school sweetheart.  By the time I was in grad school, and met my husband, I was too cool for love letters.  I knew so much about myself that a couple scratches on a napkin or the back of a receipt would suffice.  I didn’t need to write long, scrawling pleas for love and for attention.  I had met my match, and he knew I loved him, so I didn’t need to write a big fat love letter sealed with a kiss.  I could draw a heart on his hand and call it a day.

When I imagine writing love letters–the type that declare love–the instinct, for me, is a need to confess it or lose it.

This is my love letter to Goddard, to the faculty, to the process (a process I “trust”), to the program that has sustained and nurtured my creative addiction for the past two years.

Goddard, I don’t want to lose you.  (“you”= the faculty and the students who come with the same love in mind, a shared goal of seeking humanity, of living the creative life, and the history, the place that wraps its arms around all of us.)  And the good thing is that education is not possessive, monogamous, closed-hearted, or self-seeking.  Goddard, especially, is none of those things.

Goddard, writers everywhere and anywhere cannot afford to lose you.  Your students recognize that the program requires sacrifice–a magnificent sacrifice of fear and doubt that sits in the gut of every writer–and every human!– and gives back something so big there isn’t a word for it, this new way of learning and teaching and being.   It makes this creative life possible.

For what it’s worth to the administration: understand what’s at stake for the students and faculty of all the Goddard programs to live and eat and breathe the practice of teaching and learning.  It’s the most fundamental and fulfilling of human exchange.

There is no number you can put on what comes in and goes out of these residencies.

We stand together as teachers and students.

 

 

 

 

About Sarah Cedeño

Sarah Cedeño’s chapbook of essays, This Is Not Something We Discuss Often, is forthcoming from Harbor Editions. Her work has appeared in Brevity, The Journal, 2 Bridges, The Pinch, The Citron Review, The Baltimore Review, The Rumpus, Hippocampus Magazine, Bellevue Literary Review, and elsewhere. Sarah holds an MFA from Goddard College. She lives in Brockport, NY with her husband and two sons, and teaches writing at the College at Brockport. View all posts by Sarah Cedeño

2 responses to “This Is My Love Letter to Goddard

  • Lou Sweigman

    Hello Sarah. I went to Goddard from 1967 to 1969. I am a songwriter…and an educator. Was an adjunct at SUNY Brockport. Executive Director for the child care center located in Cooper Hall. I’m retired and live in the village. I would welcome the opportunity to talk with you…about Goddard…and? Please feel free to call me at 286 6590. Lou Sweigman

  • sophiewitman

    Hi Sarah, I’m glad I came across your blog. Write on.
    dulcie witman
    http://www.dulciewitman.com

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