“Hi, my name is Alissa Van Dress. I am a junior studying English with a concentration in Professional Writing, with minors in Business, Creative Writing and Spanish and Hispanic Studies.”

Recently, I’ve delivered that long-winded introduction to many new students. Of course, when meeting new people, introductions are customary. After I finish my mouthful of a prologue, the usual reaction is “Wow, you have a lot of minors” or “Wow, you are involved.”

Those two most common responses are candid. Indeed, I have declared a handful of minors and I am quite involved in numerous clubs and organizations at John Carroll. Some people have asked me, how do you do it? Honestly, I am unsure how to answer that. A happy-go lucky attitude and great time management skills, maybe? What others rarely ask me, though they imply with their shocked expressions, is why do you do it?

At first thought, I am inclined to answer, “I like to keep busy.” While that is true, there is more to the story as I found myself asking, why do I like to keep busy? This turned into a snowball of questioning, which precipitated my pursuit to answer just why I do what I do. Well, after the passing of a beloved professor, I have gleaned from my introspection.

On Sept. 22, I received a text message from a close friend that my freshman economics professor passed away on Aug. 29. She was one of my favorite professors at John Carroll. I was in the last class that she taught before she took an emergency leave.

Out of my educational career, this was the first class where I experienced outward bullying– and I never expected it to occur in college. I will never forget the intentional glares that I received when my hand went up to pose a question or the mockery that transpired not to my face, but in front of my face. Since I sat in the back of the room, I watched and heard it all before me as if I was a fly on the wall. However, it was my reality three days a week and my name was the central topic.

Despite the treatment, my professor encouraged me to cultivate the passion that I have for learning. She nursed my confidence all while maintaining her compassion and kind smile. During her office hours, she wondered why I wasn’t an economics major. I looked at her like she was crazy. Why would a writer study economics? Here I was, coming to her for help because I struggled in the class. Why would a struggling student study that field? Perhaps my professor saw potential in me, not because of my bare knowledge of economics, but because of my unfettered passion; perhaps she was reminded of her own passion.

My point of this column is not to wallow in embarrassment or regret, but to reflect on the growth. Frankly, I wasn’t sure what my weekly column was going to focus on. While I normally like to plan in advance, this one sprung up on me. I almost decided to skip my column this week but I’m glad I went with my gut. I knew that I needed to dedicate this piece to the warm-hearted professor who empowered an 18-year old, broken girl.

After all this, my answer to, “why do I do what I do?” is simple: I do it for the people like her. I live to make the ones whom I love proud. I strive to inspire others as those loved ones inspired me. I intend to spread goodness in a messy world and to remain unaffected by pettiness, but instead forgive and move on. That is my why. And, I hope to help others as my economics professor has done for me.

I will complete my studies in remembrance of Dr. Lindsay Noble Calkins and pass her precious wisdom and soul along. This is how her presence will live on.