I do not wish to convert you
The body, the ad-hominem attack, the domestic dregs
I look like a woman who has narrowly survived being poisoned. I have navy blue bags under my eyes. I stumble over common words.
Why, you ask? The baby has discovered new and exciting ways to be terrible at sleeping. Her latest trick is rolling over midway through a sleep cycle and then waking up in terror because she’s wedged a limb in one of the crib slats. Sweet, dumb baby. I know it’s not her fault; I know she’s not doing it at me. But, gee whiz, it is hard to function on four hours of sleep.
I am reminded, once again, of how much my body is necessary for parenting. There’s my spirit and willpower and character, but the animal of my body has to be slept and fed to function well, to not snap at the little ones for trying to tie each other up with pieces of string, to not hold a grudge against the infant for being bad at sleeping alone. This is something that is obviously true for women, in particular, but it is wild how easy it is to forget the body until it is deprived of some essential nutrient (like sleep).
My cognition is low. My temper is short. My hope, however, is high, because I know it won’t always be this way. The body changes, the body ebbs and flows, for women especially. We are made to be in flux.
When debate is good, when debate is bad
Some additional thoughts regarding my last post:
What is the function of debate?
To my mind, the purpose of debate is manifold:
To sharpen my thinking
To find out what I actually think
To learn from someone else
To broaden my perspective
As a debate concludes, I want to feel that I have learned something new, that my ideas have been improved by being required to air them and defend them with evidence, and that I have a deeper understanding of my rival and their worldview.
The end result of a good debate is to make me more open to the argument of the other side, not less. At the same time, however, I don’t believe that the conclusion of a debate means that both parties now agree with one another. There will be points of compromise and concession, I hope, but fundamental principles may not be altered. I will probably still believe what I initially believed, but my perspective will be greater, because of your challenge.
This is a disagreement that Guion and I have. Because he’s a more emotionally healthy person than I am, and on the whole more motivated to pursue relational intimacy, he views a good debate as one that ends with both sides agreeing. But because I value (however rightly or wrongly) mind over heart, I don’t see that as an effective debate at all. At the end of a good debate, my core position may not change, but I hope that I will have softened—and broadened—my stance.
This is the difference between debate and conversion. When I want to engage in a healthy debate, I am not proselytizing. I don’t expect to convert you. I hope you’ll listen to me and challenge me, but I don’t write off the debate as a failure if I cannot convince you of my point of view. If anything, I feel a little disappointed if we just agree on everything in the end.
Good debate is not “argument for argument’s sake.” Sure, it’s sport, but it’s sport in the same way that playing tennis with someone doesn’t mean you hate them. It means that I hope my tennis game will get better because I had you as an opponent. Challenging your ideas doesn’t mean I do so in bad faith, that I just want to destroy you. I want to get to know you better. I want to hear about what you think. I want my own thinking to be improved by your thinking.
The only time I don’t love a debate
There’s one instance in which I don’t love a debate, and it’s easy to spot fairly early on: I’m not into an argument with someone who’s just there for the ad-hominem attacks. The debate becomes a vehicle for communicating how much you dislike a person. This is always yucky, and always a bad idea. That’s not a debate; it’s a fight. Sometimes this needs to happen, for whatever reason, but it’s worth noting that this is not what I am talking about.
After a great pain, a formal feeling comes
After great pain, a formal feeling comes — The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs — The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? The Feet, mechanical, go round — A Wooden way Of Ground, or Air, or Ought — Regardless grown, A Quartz contentment, like a stone — This is the Hour of Lead — Remembered, if outlived, As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow — First — Chill — then Stupor — then the letting go —
— Emily Dickinson
We went to the beach with Guion’s family, and the boys had a wonderful time. They did not want to come home.
A drive that should have taken 5 hours took us 8 hours, both there and back, which is just how it goes with 3 kids under the age of 5. Still, twice we accomplished the true traveling-parents hat-trick: 3 kids asleep at the same time:
Housekeeping Digest
One of the harder things for me in adapting to three kids has been letting household things go: things I previously would never have let slide are now sliding all the way down into domestic chaos.
What’s the first to go? For me, it has become clear that I am willing to let the following slide:
Mopped floors
Clean walls
Dusting
Tidied kids’ rooms
Food detritus under high chairs
Pantry organization
Bathrooms
The failure to keep the previous things in order has also made realize, however, that there are still things I will never compromise.
Until my dying breath, I shall never let the following go too long:
Vacuuming
Laundry
Washed dishes
A clean kitchen
A tidied living space at the end of every day
What is the first to go when things are hard in your household? What will you cling to, against the odds?
Currently reading
Matrescence, Lucy Jones
The Death of Vivek Oji, Akwaeke Emezi
You and I seem to have significant overlap in our view of a good debate.