In schools across the world， you'll find an incredible genus1） of student who possess the enviable ability to participate in classroom discussion， seemingly without any hesitation. It's bold—sitting there in class just gabbing2） about valence electrons3） or delivering some pithy4） analysis of Antigone5） while 30 or so pairs of eyeballs stare， totally prepared to judge. But I'm almost positive that people who are capable of speaking up don't see it as boldness at all. It's whatever for them， you know？ They're simply talking， ostensibly6） with the same freeness， ease and assuredness7） that most of us have when chatting with friends or discussing extracurricular passions.

Slouched8） in whatever inconspicuous9） corner of the classroom that I'd strategically chosen， I watched with a mix of reverence10） and resentment11） as these folks performed their magic， thinking： How the hell do they do that？ Why can't I do it？ All through each lecture， I was fine， enthusiastically taking notes， loving life and learning and school. But as soon as my professor started trying to facilitate12） a discussion， and especially if she started calling on people who weren't raising their hands， all my happy， fantastic "I love school" vibes13） would instantly evaporate14）.

What was the problem？ Why was I so nervous？ The simplest answer is that I was scared of sounding15） or being perceived as stupid. Or， actually， not even stupid. I was afraid that people wouldn't think that I was super smart. I wanted to not only give the correct answer， but also say something totally insightful every time I spoke. I was told that I was a smart kid by teachers and family from the time I was in preschool， which of course felt good， but eventually started to stress me out. I felt expected to be that smart kid ALL THE TIME， and that thought was a burden that tied my stomach in knots and kept me silent during class.

My apprehensions16） grew when I got to college. Everyone who contributed to discussions in that overwhelming new setting seemed so articulate17）， so adult， while I still very much felt like the insecure teenager that I was. We were graded， in part， on participation， and sometimes the teaching assistant would very overtly18） mark down in a little notebook whether or not students said anything during class， so there was added pressure and weight to the discussion. My sophomore year， I took an introductory American literature course where we had to read The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon. In class， there was a very lively discussion about symbolism and postmodernism that I wouldn't have been able to participate in even if I'd wanted to， because I just didn't understand what the hell was going on in the book … or what postmodern even meant. So what I did—and this is something that， as an academic overachiever19）， I did for most of my classes—was re-read the assignment， take notes on what I'd read， study those notes and read some unassigned scholarly analysis of the subject. Even with that much preparation and even with the knowledge that， Hey， I was accepted into this school， so obviously someone believed that I could thrive in this environment， I was still uneasy about speaking up in class.

Mine wasn't a complete transformation—I didn't go from this timid student to some freewheeling20） self-assured chatterbox21）. But there was a change and I accomplished that in very small， gradual ways. For example， my nerves cause me to speak in really disjointed22）， clumsy23） sentences or forget what I want to say altogether. So， in class， I jotted down24） my comments on a piece of paper first and then raised my hand. I usually didn't end up looking down at what I'd written， but it was like a safety net. I also made little goals for myself： OK， today I'm going to say one thing in class， no matter what. Then the next week， I'd say I'm going to make two comments， and so on and so forth.

At first， even when I was only giving one-word answers， the simple act of talking was packed with so much enormity25） for me that I couldn't speak in class without getting anxious fluttering26） in my stomach and constriction in my throat. Any time I spoke， I had to push the sentences out of mouth. I was sure that everyone could detect my nervousness but the thing that I clung to27） was that no one really showed any outward sign of judgment. Sometimes people would even nod as I spoke！ Eventually， the experience was just mildly uncomfortable. I couldn't be as relaxed as I was while talking to my friends， but I didn't have such a palpable28） physical reaction.

Like so many other things in life， you just have to go through all the nerves and discomfort. You have to experience the trembling voice as you read a book passage aloud； you have to trip up on29） your words a little as you try to speak； you have to ask a question even if you're afraid of being judged， and see what happens. I was able to make the transition from quiet， nervous student to teaching assistant， who was， yes， pretty awkward but still standing in front of a class LEADING a discussion because I forced myself to do it. Becoming a TA was one of the best decisions I could've made because I'd essentially put myself in a situation where not talking in class would actually be more embarrassing than talking.

During my semester as a TA， I was able to calm some of my nerves by doing the same kind of extreme preparation that I'd done with The Crying of Lot 49. I studied the class material （Native American Literature） until I was not only deeply familiar with it on an objective level—I knew all of the facts—but also until I'd developed opinions on it， analyzed it， and had questions about it， which I would usually end up sharing with the class as a way to jump-start30） conversation. I'm not someone who can just "wing it31）" entirely when it comes to public speaking or performing， so developing some kind of fluency with the material I'm supposed to be discussing， helps me feel more confident speaking up.

During discussions， I had always desperately wanted to say something. I wanted to participate！ Maybe I couldn't answer every question or offer an opinion on every topic， but there were always moments when I could have said something. After you make yourself participate， you eventually understand that whatever you end up saying in class—whether it's met with a positive response by an instructor or not—doesn't have monumental consequences. That's when you can start to have a much mellower32） time at school （and maybe even learn something）. Speaking up may never feel comfortable or natural for you. You may always be a little nervous， but the way you see the world is unique， and your thoughts deserve to be heard just as much as anyone else's.

在全球各地的學(xué)校里，你都會發(fā)現(xiàn)有一類學(xué)生真令人難以置信，他們擁有令人艷羨的參與課堂討論的能力，看起來沒有絲毫的猶豫。課堂上，他們就那樣坐在那兒侃侃而談價電子問題或是就《安提戈涅》給出一些簡要的分析，而與此同時大概有30雙眼睛都在盯著他們，隨時準(zhǔn)備好對他們評頭論足。他們這樣做可真是勇敢。但我?guī)缀跻材芸隙?，這些有能力當(dāng)眾發(fā)言的人壓根不會覺得這是什么勇敢的事兒。這對他們來說根本沒什么，你知道嗎？他們只不過是在說話而已，看上去無拘無束、輕松自信，就和我們大多數(shù)人在跟朋友聊天或討論課外愛好時所表現(xiàn)出來的一樣。

我無精打采地坐在教室里一個不起眼的角落里（這可是我經(jīng)過戰(zhàn)略權(quán)衡精心選擇的位置），懷著既崇拜又怨恨的復(fù)雜心情看著這些家伙表演著他們的魔術(shù)，心想：真是見鬼了，他們是怎么做到的？為什么我就不行呢？每一節(jié)課上，我自始至終都感覺良好：滿腔熱情地記筆記，內(nèi)心對生活、學(xué)習(xí)和學(xué)校充滿熱愛。可一旦老師開始想辦法推動課堂討論，尤其是如果她開始點名叫那些沒舉手的學(xué)生發(fā)言，我心中所有“我愛學(xué)?！钡哪欠N愉快和美好的感覺就會立刻煙消云散。

問題出在哪兒？為什么我這么緊張？最簡單的回答是：我害怕發(fā)言，或是害怕別人覺得我笨。或者，實際上甚至不是笨的事兒，而是怕別人覺得我并不是超級聰明。我不僅想要說出正確的答案，而且還希望我每一次發(fā)言都能說出一些真正有見解的東西。自打我上幼兒園起，老師和家人就都說我是個聰明的孩子，這當(dāng)然讓我感覺良好，但到最后也開始讓我感覺到莫大的壓力。我覺得大家都希望我一直是那個聰明的孩子，這個想法成了一種負(fù)擔(dān)，讓我感到揪心，也讓我在課堂上沉默不語。

上大學(xué)后我的這些焦慮愈發(fā)嚴(yán)重。在那令人窒息的新環(huán)境中，每一個參與討論的人看上去都是那么巧言善辯、那么成熟，而我卻依然在很大程度上覺得自己還是以前那個沒有安全感的中學(xué)生。我們的成績一部分取決于課堂參與表現(xiàn)，而且助教有時會公然在一個小筆記本里記錄學(xué)生在課堂上是否發(fā)過言，這讓課堂討論更添一份壓力與負(fù)擔(dān)。大二那年，我選修了一門介紹美國文學(xué)的課程，上這門課必須讀托馬斯·品欽的《拍賣第四十九批》。在課堂上，大家對象征主義和后現(xiàn)代主義展開了非常熱烈的討論，可我就算想?yún)⑴c討論也無法做到，因為我就是搞不明白這本書究竟在講些什么……或是甚至連后現(xiàn)代主義是什么意思也不知道。于是我就做了一些我作為一名學(xué)霸在大部分課堂上都做過的事情：將這本書重讀一遍，邊讀邊記筆記，然后仔細(xì)研究那些筆記，并閱讀了一些課堂要求以外的關(guān)于這部作品的學(xué)術(shù)分析。即便我已經(jīng)做了這么多的準(zhǔn)備，即便我清楚既然我已經(jīng)被這所學(xué)校錄取，那顯然是有人相信我可以在這個環(huán)境里茁壯成長，但在課堂上發(fā)言卻依然讓我感到局促不安。

我的變化并不是一次徹頭徹尾的脫胎換骨，我并沒有從這個膽小怯懦的學(xué)生搖身一變成為一個隨心所欲、自信健談的話癆。但我身上確實發(fā)生了變化，我以非常細(xì)微、循序漸進的方式完成了這次蛻變。譬如，因為緊張，我說話總是斷斷續(xù)續(xù)、笨嘴笨舌的，或者全然忘了我想說什么，所以在課堂上，我會先將發(fā)言內(nèi)容草草地寫在一張紙上，然后再舉手。通常來說，我到最后也不會低頭去看我寫下的東西，但有了它，就像有了一張安全網(wǎng)。我還給自己設(shè)立一些小小的目標(biāo)：好吧，今天我要在課堂上發(fā)言一次，不管說什么都行。然后到下個星期，我會給自己規(guī)定要發(fā)言兩次，諸如此類。

剛開始，即使我只需回答一個字，張口說話這一簡單的行為對我而言卻異常重大，搞得我只要在課堂上發(fā)言就必定緊張得心臟怦怦直跳、喉嚨發(fā)緊。無論我什么時候發(fā)言，我都得使勁把句子從嘴里擠出來。我很確信每個人都能察覺出我的緊張，但讓我賴以堅持下去的是，沒有人真的表現(xiàn)出任何對我指指點點的明顯跡象。有時，他們甚至還會在我發(fā)言時點點頭！最終，上課發(fā)言這件事只是讓我感覺略微有些不自在罷了。我不能做到像和朋友聊天時那樣輕松自如，但我沒有那么明顯的生理反應(yīng)了。

就像生命中許多其他事一樣，你別無選擇，就是得要經(jīng)歷所有的緊張與不適。你必須要經(jīng)歷大聲朗讀書中段落時聲音發(fā)顫，必須要經(jīng)歷在你嘗試發(fā)言時說錯話，并且即使你害怕被人評頭論足你也必須要去提出問題，然后看看會發(fā)生什么。我能完成從一個安靜、緊張不安的學(xué)生到一名助教的轉(zhuǎn)變，是因為我強迫自己必須這么做——沒錯，當(dāng)助教時我仍舊會很不自在，但還是站在了全班同學(xué)面前，帶領(lǐng)他們進行討論。成為一名助教是我做過的最明智的決定之一，因為我基本上把自己置于了這樣的境地：在課堂上，不說話居然要比說話更令人尷尬！

在我做助教的那幾個學(xué)期里，我成功地緩解了我的部分緊張神經(jīng)，秘訣就是像我對付《拍賣第四十九批》那樣最大限度地做好準(zhǔn)備工作。我仔細(xì)研讀教材（《美國本土文學(xué)》），直到我不僅在客觀層面上對其了然于心（即我對其中所有的事實事件爛熟于心），而且還對教材內(nèi)容形成了自己的觀點，進行了分析，并提出了問題——通常，我最后會和全班同學(xué)分享我的這些問題，以此來快速展開對話。我不是那種在公眾演講或表演時可以完全即興發(fā)揮的人，所以在一定程度上能流利地復(fù)述我要討論的材料會讓我在當(dāng)眾發(fā)言時感覺更為自信。

在討論時，我總是拼命地想要說些什么。我想要參與進去！也許我不是每個問題都能回答上來，也不能對每個話題提出我的觀點，但是，總有那么一些時刻我原本是可以說點什么的。等你成功讓自己參與進去之后，你最終就會明白，無論你在課堂上最后說了什么——無論你說的有沒有得到老師的肯定——都不會有什么重大的后果。到此時，你就可以開始享受更加輕松愉快的校園時光（甚至可能開始學(xué)到些東西）。你可能從未覺得大聲發(fā)言對你來說是一件舒服或自然的事情，你可能總會有那么一點點緊張，但你看世界的方式是獨一無二的，和其他任何人的想法一樣，你的想法也值得被人聽到。

1. genus [?d?i?n?s] n. 類，種類

2. gab [ɡ?b] vi. 喋喋不休，嘮叨，閑聊（尤指說雞毛蒜皮的事）

3. valence electron： 價電子，指原子核外面能與其他原子相互作用形成化學(xué)鍵的電子。

4. pithy [?p?θi] adj. 簡潔扼要的；言簡意賅的

5. Antigone： 《安提戈涅》，古希臘劇作家索?？死账沟囊徊繎騽?。故事中，俄狄浦斯的女兒安提戈涅不顧國王克瑞翁的禁令，將自己的兄長（即反叛城邦的波呂尼刻斯）安葬，結(jié)果被處死，而一意孤行的國王最終也落得妻離子散。

6. ostensibly [??stens?bli] adv. 表面上地

7. assuredness [?????r?dn?s] n. 自信；放松

8. slouch [sla?t?] vi. 無精打采地坐著

9. inconspicuous [??nk?n?sp?kju?s] adj. 不引人注目的；不惹人注意的

10. reverence [?rev?r?ns] n. 尊敬；崇敬；敬意

11. resentment [r??zentm?nt] n. 怨恨；憤慨；憎恨

12. facilitate [f??s?l?te?t] vt. 促進；使便利

13. vibes [va?bz] n. [復(fù)]情緒；氣氛；環(huán)境

14. evaporate [??v?p?re?t] vi. （情緒）逐漸消失

15. sound [sa?nd] vi. 發(fā)聲；出聲響；響起

16. apprehension [??pr??hen?n] n. 擔(dān)心；憂慮；恐懼

17. articulate [ɑ??t?kjule?t] adj. 善于表達的；口齒伶俐的

18. overtly [???v??tli] adv. 公開地；明顯地；不隱藏地