This year, I made a New Years resolution. Not to diet or to exercise more, or to watch less TV. I made a resolution to not pretend to agree with things that I disagree with.
It had been a long time coming. As somewhat of a pushover, I would rather remain silent when someone says something that bothers me, especially if I don’t know them well. At Kenyon, I felt this pressure even more, with the added factors of living in close quarters with strangers and a culture that sometimes felt like forced politeness. When it came to something that affected me in ways that I felt marginalized, I usually had no problem speaking out. But, when it came to my opinion, especially when it was an unpopular one, I would freeze.
After a while, I had so much bottled up anger at Kenyon and the people around me, I started to become a person whom I didn’t like. I hardly stood for anything that I believe in anymore and instead spoke out against incredibly trivial things. Instead of confronting someone who treated my friend unfairly, for instance, I would whisper angrily that I hated the way they walked. Instead of telling people how I felt, I would go home to my roommates and complain about them.
When I read this amazing article about living in the South, something clicked for me. I realized, sitting in Nashville with my loud and opinionated friends, that I felt unheard at Kenyon because I wasn’t saying anything. I realized that I needed to talk if I wanted anything to change. So this New Years, even though I hate resolutions and their easy answers, I decided to take a shot at being more brutally honest, instead of just being passive aggressive.
We’ve had a couple of weeks back on campus now, and I took a week-long class trip before that. At first, I got into a lot of arguments by disagreeing with what someone said. Many, many arguments. I would ask someone to better explain their point of view, which sparked further debate. Sometimes they involved petty things. Sometimes they didn’t. Many of them involved close friends. But, miraculously, once we finished arguing, no one called me a bigot. I stayed friends with whoever I argued with.
So far, I have learned three lessons from my new willingness to argue for what I believe in, big or small. One: bringing up that you disagree with something, especially if you’re outnumbered, will always feel extremely awkward. Two: The politically correct culture compels people to “think the right thing” not from internal motivation or sense of morality, but simply to be right. That’s what fuels the easy answers, the Facebook posts, and the sound bites. I hope we’re better than that. If you want social justice, then have engaged, informed conversation; don’t settle for easy answers to fit in. Three: if I tell someone what’s on my mind, I will feel less frustrated and like less of an outsider. A Kenyon that I can come to with my questions, with my doubts, and with my unpopular opinions, is a Kenyon I want to spend time at. And I shouldn’t let insecurity about whether people will reject me as a friend get in the way of that.
This week, as I drove back to campus from church and grocery shopping on Sunday, I had a moment alone on the dirt road to Mount Vernon. It was cloudy and I was blasting Johnny Cash on top of a gorgeous hill full of dead grass. I realized that I had experienced a much more rewarding and less stressful version of college now that I’ve said what was on my mind. I like myself better this way, even if some people I have offended thought a little less of me now. I was learning, but more importantly, I was free.
Image Credit: Lena Mazel