Showdown in AC220 (The Story of 12/19/12)

I didn't sleep last night. Every time my eyes would start to close, I'd remember what was coming and I'd snap back to attention. I had been looking toward this day with dread for months.

And it was finally here. I walked into the classroom at 8:55, offering homemade soft pretzels to my fellow fighters. We needed all the energy we could get. It was going to be a long hour.

The exam walked in just after I did, carried by our professor. He'd been preparing us for this moment. He believed in us. He'd watched us learn and struggle and finally comprehend. He'd been arming us. He'd poured into us for weeks.

But now, it was time for him to let go. It was time for him to let us find out just how much we could do on our own.

He passed out the test papers. I stared down at it and it stared back up at me. The strange alphabet swam before my eyes. I closed them for a moment, clearing my head of distractions, trying to summon all that I had studied.

I picked up my pencil and wrote my name. "There, at least they'll know that I tried to fight."
I flipped through the pages, hoping for words that looked familiar, hoping that the extra credit would be enough, hoping that I would stay awake to finish this.

I did what I could. I wrote furiously. I did the easy parts first. "Mood: Indicative." Every time. Then I looked for the present tense. That's simple enough. I looked for nouns and verbs that I knew. I looked for prepositions.

I did what I could. I really did. I tried my best, and gave up when I knew I couldn't fight any longer.
I walked over to the professor and put the papers down in front of him, shaking my head. He'd believed in me, and I felt I'd let him down. I'd let myself down.

I walked into the hall to join my classmates. We stared at each other in shock. We'd had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We had tried. All that was left was to wait until the grades were posted.

It didn't take long. That night I checked and saw the result.

Elementary Greek I: A

I had won. I had been victorious. I had not been defeated.

Not as great as you'd think.

People tell me that I would be a great mom.
Actually, they tell me that I'm going to be a great mom.
I laugh every time. There are few things that make me laugh every time I hear them.

I first laugh because it seems like a foregone conclusion that I will be a mother someday, like I have no choice in the matter, like it's the game of Life and I have to stop to add children to my car.
Now, I'm not certain, but I think that children are optional. And I'm pretty sure that marriage is optional.

As of this moment, right now, 6:30pm on 29 December 2012, I, Hope Elizabeth Swanson, do not want to have children. Before you start to question me, before you start to cast judgment, before you whisper to me through your screen that "you'll change your mind," keep reading. If you have any love or respect for me, please, keep reading.

It's true that I love to bake and to take care of people and I am objective (which is a great asset for mothers of teenagers), but have you ever seen me around a young child? Probably not, because I tend to avoid them.

Until humans reach late adolescence, they are nearly incapable of thinking logically. They cannot step outside of situations and see the perspective of another person. I have a hard time not doing that. And that's one of the traits that people who know me really struggle with. I push back against arguments and question everything. I'm not trying to be difficult, I'm just trying to make you really believe what you say you believe. And if you find that I'm poking too many holes in your argument, you had better figure out how to patch them, or you're not going to have anything to stand on. People hate that, and I totally understand them, because I hate it, too.

So imagine the children I would raise. Because, let's face it, my husband had better be a superb arguer or I'll just get bored. I don't mean that I want to fight with my husband. I don't like to fight. I like to be difficult, because I believe it's that kind of difficulty that helps make people better. That's what works for me, so I need a life partner who can match me in that skill. The people I like the most are the ones who push back against what I say. That's the conversation that I love. That's what I need from my husband.

What would happen to the children raised in that household? They would become great arguers, maybe even politicians or diplomats or negotiators. I'd probably push them to study psychology in college, because they would be naturally good at it. They would be capable of disciplines requiring abstract thinking, like philosophy, and anything requiring logic, like mathematics. I'd make sure they were structured, but free to explore their interests. They would accomplish great things with their lives. But in the meantime, they would be in public schools, trying to argue with their fellow students, with teachers, with principals. I would be on the school's speed dial, if speed dial still exists in fifteen years. They would know the pain of ridicule. They would hurt people with their words, like I have. On their way to the top, they would accidentally trample those who should rise with them. They would miss opportunities to help others, because to help is too often to hurt.

The world doesn't need more children like that. The world doesn't need more children like me. There will be enough difficult children, raised by others who are arguers.

It isn't often seen now, but I have had problems with controlling my emotions, especially anger. I was terrible in middle school. So much screaming. It was awful, and I'm ashamed of it. Not many people see me angry now, whether because of brain development or because I've learned how to manage it. It's more likely to manifest in tears now, though I've been known to throw a punch or two. And that's where the problem arises. What happens when my children make me angry? I am so against spanking children, because I believe there are other ways that are at least as effective. (But raise your kids how you want. Seriously. You are the parents of your own children, and I have no right to criticize how you discipline them.)
I would never feel as guilty as if I hit my child in anger. Even as I think about it, I feel the shame. I would hate myself. I can't do it. I won't do it.

And finally, a trait that I like that would make being a parent difficult, although it's a little bit selfish: I'm a traveler. I hate being settled. When I get settled, like I am right now, I have to live up to certain expectations that I don't think are actually "me." I have changed so much in the past four years, I changed in the four years before that, and I expect to keep changing. I want to be able to pack up and move if I need to. That might mean that I won't get married. It will definitely mean that I will have few close friends. It will mean that I won't have much of a career. (I won't go somewhere if I don't have a job. I'm not that free-spirited.) If I don't get married, I probably won't have children. I just don't think that moving around like that is very good for children. My childhood was close enough, having my best friend move away at age 5, having another best friend switch schools, and having another best friend literally talk about me behind my back. Losing connections like that is not healthy. At least, it wasn't for me. Ever notice that most of my close friends are from elementary school? It takes a long time for me to build that kind of connection. So I'm not going to put other human beings through that if I can help it.

Friends, I believe that I can be fully human, fully female and feminine, fully myself, and not have children.
I also believe that God is good, is stronger than birth control, and will help me be the best mother I can be if He decides that I should have children. He won't leave me alone. Ever.

But, for now, I don't want kids. I'm happy to bake cookies for college freshmen and to hold babies whenever I get a chance and to smile at toddlers at the grocery store and to cheer on the girl at the bowling alley being tormented by her older brothers. I'm happy to play the role of big sister, aunt, grandma, and yes, even mother at times. But I like not having to take the kids home with me. (Okay, I live on the same floor as some of them, but that's beside the point.)

And yeah, I know that I might change my mind. I know that all of those traits can be managed. I know, I know, I know. Shut up and let me live my own life. I say that in the most loving way possible.

The "Lasts."

I'm at the end of a semester.
I have three final exams to take, plus a portfolio.
And then I get to go home for my last Christmas Break.

I'm currently sitting on a couch in the Science Building, waiting for the next band to arrive.
This is my last time judging Battle of the Bands auditions.
This is my last Battle of the Bands.
This is an event that I helped create. I have been a judge for every audition. I love this tradition, and I am so thankful that I've been a part of it.

This is my last Fall Semester Finals Week.
I went to my last Christmas chapel on Wednesday and sang "Silent Night" by candlelight with my fellow Bethel students, led by our president and his wife for the last time on Friday.
I dressed as an elf for my last Campus Christmas Party on Thursday.
I went to my last class with DB on Monday.
I celebrated my last first snow at Bethel on Monday, too.

Winter is always a melancholy time for me, so the heartache of these lasts is amplified by the usual funk.
I feel like I could cry at any second, and I do. Often. And without shame.

I'm beginning to tire of realizing that I'm leaving.
I live with a bunch of freshmen, and I'm not going to be around to see them "grow up."
(Ladies, I don't mean to make it sound like you're children, but I really do feel like a mom or a big sister or something when I think about how much you're going to change over the next three and a half years. You're already so different than you were when we first met in August, and I can't wait to see what next semester will bring.)

I just don't feel like I've gotten any older. I'm still that shy, awkward kid with social problems that I can't quite figure out.

So here's my last chance. I want to leave this place better than it was when I got here in 2009.
I want to leave a legacy when I graduate, and I want it to really matter.
I want to be proud of what I've done during my time here.
And I don't want to forget the lasts.

A word from your friendly neighborhood cynic...

I'm in one of those "I hate love but I want it so badly" kinds of moods.
My dad called me out on one of my silly crushes a while ago. Has that ever happened to you? It's weird, right? But it was necessary.
I've been wrestling quite a bit lately with my singleness.

It seems like everyone around me is either "talking to someone"/dating/engaged or is happily single and surrounded with supportive friends. I know that this is not a realistic picture, chill out.

There's so much talk about singleness being a "season." I hate that word. Seasons are predictable. We know what to expect from summer, autumn, winter, and spring. We have a general idea of when they will begin and end. And they happen every year in approximately the same way.
LIFE ISN'T LIKE THAT!!
Before you freak out again, I totally understand what people mean when they talk about "seasons of life." But I don't think it works as a metaphor. Seasons are cyclical. Yeah, yeah, yeah, so is life. But I would prefer to think of life's cycles as more of an upward spiral. That each time we come back to a similar "place" (another word I would like to remove from this usage) we are closer to where we should be than we were last time. (This is influenced by Sy Rogers's chapel/Vespers talks last fall.)
I would much prefer if we talked about "chapters" or "twisting, intertwining plot lines."
And my biggest frustration with the use of "seasons" to describe phases of life: Seasons always end.

Here are the kinds of things people say about singleness that make me want to scream.:
"Sometimes God is keeping us single so that we will draw closer to Him."
"He's just keeping you single until just the right guy comes along."
"The apostle Paul was single. He said that singleness is a high calling."
"Just be patient, love might be right around the corner."
"Being single is great! You get to flirt with anyone!"

SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!

You have known each other for two weeks. You are not in love.
You have been dating for two months and you are a freshman in college. You do not need professional portraits.
Just because we call you "little baby freshmen" doesn't mean you get to act like infants.

Of the dozen or so Bethel weddings that took place in the past year, approximately two of them were couples who started dating the first semester of our freshman year. In fact, more couples who started dating at the beginning of freshman year broke up within a year than lasted longer than that. The relationships that have lasted, the ones I respect, the engaged couples I'm excited for are those who were friends first, those who took time to get to know each other, those who waited to really understand what they were getting into.
I'm just not convinced that a few months is long enough.

There are anomalies, I know. But don't try to be one. You just can't force love like that.

I'm single. I have been since I was sixteen years old.
There have been "almosts." There have been serious conversations.
And it has crashed and burned every time.
This is when I start to wonder what's going on.

I know that you're out there rolling your eyes thinking "Is she REALLY writing another post about being single? Come on! We get it. You're forever alone. Move on." Yeah, I know. But I don't journal, and this is something that is often on my mind. At least I'm not pretending that everything is fine. And it's not going to help either of us for you to sit there judging me like that. No one is forcing you to read this. Go away. I love you.

You see, we cynics are usually just bitter and jealous. Not of your gross profile pictures of you kissing, but of the fact that you're willing to put your heart out there like that. I have never been able to do that and have it end well. So here I am with trust issues and rejection issues and coping mechanisms that push people away. I hide behind sarcasm. I desperately need love and affection, but I can't show it unless I know it's going to be returned.

Don't give me platitudes. That will only make me angry, and I don't like me when I'm angry. Platitudes mean nothing on their own.

I'm not proud of the fact that I'm not over this. But I don't think I will ever not be frustrated with being single. I will be the happiest married woman or the bitterest spinster who ever lived.

Good night