The Long Essay
Experiment 3: Introduction
I knew I wanted to do a long essay as soon as our assignment was introduced. My artifact of origin is something I am very proud of but I only slightly skimmed the surface of the actual topics I wanted to talk about within it in order to meet the essay requirements. Writing a long essay will allow me to fully develop my thoughts on my self-exploration without any constraints. Within the essay I will be focusing on these questions: What does it mean to be a woman? Is it completely opposite to being a man? Does embodying “male traits” make you less female? Does embodying “female traits” make you any less of a man? These questions, this binary that as a society we have abided to so closely, have been something I have pondered for the last 20 years.
Experiment 3: Sketch
These photos helped me plan the direction of my long essay. Click through them to get a feel for how important sports were for me whilst growing up.
​
​
Experiment 3: Sample
​
Cary was a competitive baseball player, and my mom likes to recount stories of me strapped in the car seat, squishy baseball in hand, on the way to his weekly tournaments. When I was old enough to walk and had enough strength to grip more than just a sippy cup, I was given my first baseball bat. I was ecstatic as it meant that I could spend time with Cary, bridging our gap of 11 years through a shared interest. His patience and enthusiasm led to the development of my skills and the desire to continue with sports. Baseball led to softball, softball led to soccer, soccer led to basketball, and basketball led to volleyball. My years were not split up by seasons of weather but instead, seasons of sports. The grin on my father's face as he watched me move from one sport onto the next was enough to know that I was fulfilling some predetermined plan that had been put in place. A stark memory I have from that time period occurred after my first home run of the softball season. Walking back to the car my father congratulated my efforts and looked at me and said, “you’re like my third son.” My smile in response worked to hide the discomfort that was gnawing at the surface.