On Arguing

I sat in a chair, facing a circle of attentive faces.  I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants and looked up to the ceiling, hoping to be rescued by wind, fire, Jesus himself descending on a cloud.  No such luck, just a plain old ceiling.  I looked back at the group, found my fearless leader smiling encouragingly back at me, said, "I really don't want to do this," heaved a sigh, and began.  I had been asked to share my story with the group.  To go back and tell how I came to be the person I am today, and maybe mention the people who helped me along the way.  I had something to say, but I really didn't want to do it.  See, I like and respect all these people who were listening, and I want them to like and respect me, too.  But if I talk about me (then), they are sure to think otherwise.  Because this is who I used to be:  argumentative.  I fought with my sister, I argued with my mom, typical teenage stuff.  But then I went to church and argued with my Sunday school teachers, and I went to school and argued with my classmates, and around and around again until I got others to AGREE to my (correct) point of view.  When I was 18, I went off to college and lived with 3 girls from different backgrounds and 3 entirely distinct personalities, and I fought with them.  On cold, snowy winter days, the only escape was to the dorm's computer lab, but we easily found each other through IM and the arguing started all over again.  The fighting got so bad in December that one of them threatened to kill me in my sleep, and I took her seriously.  Luckily my parents were able to come pick me up and I spent the night in the safety of my bed at home, while my roommate and her boyfriend came in to our dorm in the middle of the night looking for me.  She moved out the next week.

The arguments continued.  One day, more out of irritation than anything else, I decided to tell Jenni that she was only pretending to be a Christian.  When she went out drinking with the frat boys, it nullified her relationship with God.  I expected her to get defensive so I could wear her down and get her to admit I was right.  Instead, she turned the tables on me, pointing out that I was no better than anyone else, just because I didn't drink or swear, I would lie or gossip, say anything I wanted because I thought I wasn't going to get caught.  That was the end of our fight, because I had nothing to say to defend myself.  She was right.  This person whom I had been condemning just a moment ago was doing the exact same thing to me, and I didn't want to admit that I was busted.  I don't really remember any big fights after that; I think I was thoroughly embarrassed at being called out and didn't want to risk any more light being shed on my inadequacies.  By that summer, however, Chris and I had been dating long enough for me to get past the mushy, "I'm so into you" phase, and start to contemplate the "This might really be something" phase.  If that was the case, if I was going to start investing myself in our relationship, we needed to straighten some things out.  Immediately.  So I began arguing with him.  Sometimes it was just the petty jealousies that arise from a long-distance relationship, but many times our fights centered around our opposing, deeply entrenched beliefs.  We argued about US foreign policy, smoking, immigration, our friends, our independence.  I used everything in my arsenal to get him to agree with me.  I would hang up mid-sentence and refuse to talk to him until he ceded my point.  I would rant for HOURS to make him see the folly of his beliefs.  I fought dirty.  I thought I wanted victory, but when I got it (at what cost?), it didn't make me happy.

I learned something very important.  I learned that its okay to disagree.  I learned to have confidence in myself, in my convictions, and to realize that someone else's refusal to acknowledge me didn't take those away.  I also learned patience.  Because sometimes we will agree, eventually.  And when the other person gets there on his own, when he makes the choice for himself, I don't win...but I get harmony.  I realized (eventually) that peace was the thing I wanted the most.  I didn't want to fight anymore.  Recently, I came across these words by CS Lewis, and I think they so eloquently sum up my change of heart:
  "A discussion of real interest may follow.  Of course, the right side may be defeated in it.  That matters very much less than I used to think.  The very man who has argued you down will sometimes be found, years later, to have been influenced by what you said."
This is where I find happiness in my marriage today, in the aftermath of influence, instead of coerced agreement.  Moreover, I have even (once or twice) found myself to be in the wrong.  Giving up the argument in favor of contemplation has shown me the errors in my own thinking.  And Jenni?  The girl I called a slut and a drunk and an all-around bad person?  I saw her on her birthday this year, and marveled at how similar our lives have become, though we've been apart for so long.  I apologized for the things that I said, the way that I treated her so many years ago.  I told her what I said to my Village, that she busted me for all the evil in my life I was trying to pretend wasn't there.  And then she thanked me in return.  She said I made her think about the person she was becoming, and how saying a prayer and then living however she wanted wasn't actually what God wanted for her life.  And once again, I felt peace.