Sometimes, when I’m in the middle of a run or rinsing conditioner out of my hair or zoning out during those last two minutes of class, I encounter…myself. Does that happen to other people? Like, do you have those moments when you realize that you are a person? Unique in your appearance, your story, your foundation, and your ideas? That the life you’ve lived has given you opportunities, passions, and pathways you hadn’t really noticed until that exact second? That even the words you say can have an entirely different meaning and power because they are coming from you?
In those moments, I am often struck by how lucky I am to be the person I am now. The hardships I have (or haven’t) experienced have shaped my life in ways that I will never truly understand, and I am thankful for all of them. Inevitably, the word ‘privilege’ comes to mind, and part of my soul starts to squirm. In recent years, the term has absorbed a context that makes me uncomfortable because I am continuously reminded that the life I’ve lived is unique and rare in comparison to the rest of the twenty-year-old women sharing my birthday.
I am a white woman raised in the upper middle class of one of the richest nations in the world. Both of my parents have raised me to be strong and confident, and they have always encouraged me to pursue my dreams, no matter how impossible they may seem. I can read and write. I’ve never had to worry about having enough food, clothing, or clean water. This past election, I voted and made my voice heard. The language I’ve spoken my entire life has the subjunctive tense.
That last one may have confused you a bit. It doesn’t sound like much, does it? The subjunctive is the facet of our language that allows us to discuss things that are doubtful, wishful, or untrue. They are the ‘should’ve, would’ve, could’ve’ verb phrases. We use them when we’re talking about the test we wish we would have studied more for, or when we’re speculating about what Harry Potter should have done instead of stealing his dad’s flying car in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.
I first started thinking about the power of the subjunctive and that privilege while listening to a TED Radio Hour on NPR (If you’re looking for a good podcast, I highly recommend it!). One of the speakers host Guy Raz interviews is a man named Phuc Tran. He is an immigrant who arrived in the United States as a young child, when his family was fleeing their home during the Vietnam War. I won’t spoil the story he tells, but the point of his story centers around the idea that Vietnamese doesn’t have the subjunctive. Tran’s family will never fully grasp the concept of those ‘should’ve, would’ve, could’ve’ thoughts
When I first listened to Phuc Tran’s TED Talk, I was dumbfounded by the story he told and the struggle he related. I’m still thinking about his story, nearly six months later, because the subjunctive is everywhere. In recent weeks, the media is full of the subjunctive as we discuss the end of one presidency and the beginning of another. Many of us are full of regret, confusion, and anger, and those could’s, might’s, and should’s permeate reactions to this election and its discussion of both the past and the future. The subjunctive, then, has some downsides and pitfalls. Tran says this wonderfully:
“The subjunctive is the most powerful mood. It’s like a time-space dream machine that can conjure alternate realities with just the idea of could have or should have. But within this idea of should have is a Pandora’s box of hope and regret.”
However, I firmly believe that the subjunctive is a privilege, not a curse. There are plenty of reasons to wallow in the regret of things that can never happen: wrong choices, unlucky events, and once-avoidable outcomes. But I could also use the subjunctive to talk about the future, to imagine a world in which we learn from those mistakes. (In fact, I just used the subjunctive right there.) Tran finds just as much possibility in the subjunctive as he does regret: “You have people who move things forward because they’re able to think about things that don’t exist, like the Civil Rights Movement and… women’s suffrage… these huge, seismic, cultural pushes forward.”
I can choose to think backwards, or I can choose to think forwards. My subjunctive is a gift that I must use with caution. It’s a bit like the Force: it has a dark side and a light side. It is an incredible privilege to ruminate on the past and the future, but I think it is even more of a privilege to be aware of that power. Once you are aware of the subjunctive, you can fight its side effects and capitalize on its potential.
Consequently, in those moments when I confront myself in the bathroom mirror and wonder, What could I have done? Where should I have gone? Who would have I been?, I can shake my head and ask, “What can I do now? What path should I take? Who will I become?”
If I can do that, if I can turn those questions into steps forward instead of stumbles back, then the privileges I have will only become more powerful. The privileges I have—advantages as small as the language I learned as a baby—are tools that I can use to make a difference, to push forward and help provide more privileges to the women here with me and our daughters long after us.
So take a look at yourself, the people around you, and the world you live in, and ask, “Where should I go first?”