Diversity

Letters From the Nest:

https://lettersfromthenest.substack.com/p/diversity

I have a story to tell you about something that happened today.

You know I have been taking classes at the university, but maybe in a few years, you’ll have forgotten. And maybe in many, many years, you’ll read this and remember that time when Mom went to school.

You probably won’t remember my feelings about all of it because I don’t articulate them well, and sometimes I feel good about the effort, and sometimes I don’t.

You should know it hasn’t been easy. I’m not just auditing classes. I’m taking them for actual credit and grades. Before I could do that, I had to be accepted as a university student and declare a major (psychology, even though I already have a bachelor’s in business management). When I wanted to take some courses from the English department, I had to convince them I was qualified by writing three lengthy essays on stupid topics to get credit for the prerequisite course, Writing and Rhetoric. I got a B on those essays because my annoyance at the requirement led me to give minimal effort.

You might know I constantly fight this feeling that none of it really matters. When people ask me why I’m taking these classes, I don’t have a good answer because I’m not, as they expect, looking for a career or another degree (though, for a while, I thought a graduate degree might be important for credibility). Since I can’t explain to people why I do this difficult thing with no obvious end goal, when I’m not in my most positive state of mind, I wonder if what I’m doing is pointless. Am I wasting both time and money? Are my priorities out of sync? Am I chasing the wrong goals? Am I motivated by pride?

The idea that pursuits outside my direct family roles might not be good or worthy, battles with a deeper conviction that what I do is not only good, but essential. I am driven to develop skills and strengthen talents just in case I’m called upon to serve in some way. I dislike showing up to a situation unprepared. I know my work in this life is important, and I want to contribute in ways that only I can because I have worked for improvement. It’s not only the work that I do, but the experiences I have, the people I meet, the questions I ask and get answered, and the way I change through it all. The process of development is just as important, maybe even more important, than the product. I fear that if I passively take what life offers, I will miss significant growth opportunities. I could, indeed, choose to “let life happen” and grow from normal life stuff that everybody experiences because being mortal and interacting with a bunch of other mortals with individual differences, goals, capacities, and flaws provides a lot of challenges. In fact, I have had a lot of challenges in life that I haven’t sought out. Sometimes I experience months or years where I am truly in survival mode, and I don’t discount the growth I experience in those times. Still, I recognize my survival (and maybe even thriving) during unexpected challenges is the product of previous intentional preparation. I could not have known that I needed a certain skill for a certain situation, but I learned it, and then I used it. Does that make sense?

Before I get too far into the weeds with my philosophies of personal development, I better tell you my story, knowing that you’ll keep all of my battling theories and thoughts in mind.

So, I’m a part-time university student. This semester, I’m only enrolled in one course: Advanced Fiction Writing. It will be my last university course for a while because I sense I have exhausted what undergraduate studies at this university have to offer me.

I stand out in my classes. I am as old as many of my classmates’ mothers. I’m sometimes older than my professors. The bulk of the difference is due to my age, but it is also due to my faith. I’m a conservative Christian woman attending a liberal university. I also stand out because I am an active participant in my classes (unlike younger, more introverted Bonni). I ask and answer questions. I disagree with suppositions. I provide alternative perspectives that sometimes shift the tone and course of class discussions by challenging the expected responses. Sometimes I wonder if my professors are annoyed by the pressure my disparate views place on class discussions. I wonder if I’m messing with their agendas. I worry I might come across as disrespectful or a know-it-all. I worry that I speak too soon and don’t provide other students who are more like younger Bonni the opportunity to participate. I worry that I’m like Hermione from Harry Potter. Sometimes, during class, I talk myself out of saying something. I hold myself back about just as often as I speak up, and I often doubt my choice.

So after class today, I got a little nervous when the professor said, “Bonni, can I talk with you about something?” He pulled me aside after a previous class about a month ago when I disagreed with the way he was defining experimental fiction (nerdy of me, I know). In that case, I worried I had pushed him too far, requiring him to support his suppositions with more concrete examples. That time, we had a good talk. He was worried he had offended me in our disagreement. Both of us could see where the other was coming from, and we appreciated the discussion. Still, after that talk, I determined I’d be a better listener and less assumptive and rigid in my declarations.

When he pulled me aside after class, he said, “You know, in our class discussions when things get quiet, you’re always ready to speak up.”

I thought, Oh, dear. I am talking too much. I apologized, “I’m sorry. I will rein it in. I want everybody to be able to share in the discussions. I know I sometimes speak too soon.”

He said, “No, no. That’s not it at all. I’m telling you I appreciate you speaking up. It keeps momentum in the discussion.”

“Oh, okay. So, you want me to keep filling those awkward silences? Because I know sometimes people are thinking of things they want to say, but they’re unsure. Maybe if I didn’t jump in, they’d say something.”

“No, I don’t think they would. And the perspectives and experience you bring when we’re workshopping their stories improve their work.” He then shared his experience as a student in the Creative Writing MFA program at Notre Dame. He is from Pakistan. English is his second language. He’s unfamiliar with a lot of Christian studies, including the Bible. Other students in his cohort were from other countries and were at different stages in their lives. He said, “It was an enriching environment. Very meaningful for me. I don’t see the same diversity in my classes here, and I wish kids could experience more of it.”

I had never thought of myself as providing “diversity” to the classroom before.

He continued, “I want to tell you another thing. You have brought this up in class before--about you being older, and therefore, different from the usual student. You said today that you weren’t sure if you should go to the release party for your publications because you’d be out of place. I’m telling you that you should go. If people avoided things because they were afraid of standing out, think of what would be missing in this world.”

I nodded, feeling sheepish--first, for thinking my publications in undergraduate literary magazines were insignificant, and second, for avoiding public celebration because I was older than their usual published writer. My pride was limiting my growth, and in turn, limiting the way I could uniquely contribute to other people’s experiential growth.

So, next week, I’ll go to the release party and be the oldest person there, just like the one I went to in January. I can’t guarantee that I’ll read my work out loud like the other will, but I’ll go and try to appreciate the camaraderie. (At least at next week’s party, I know I will see a classmate there whose poetry has also been published)

I’ll continue to speak up in class. And I’ll continue to pursue writing even though I’m older than some other new writers, and it takes so much time for what seems like so little product. I’ll keep practicing piano even though when I play in Primary at church, the kids notice and comment on me stumbling through chords, hitting the wrong notes, or completely dropping the accompaniment altogether until I can catch up to their singing. I’ll keep reading literature from a variety of genres and authors. I will continue to learn about and practice better parenting. I’ll seek growth in my marriage even though it requires humility and vulnerability. I’ll invite inspiration in how I serve in my community and at church. I’ll work on dampening my impulse to hold back, stay quiet, and avoid notice.

What I do, what I learn, how I communicate and serve, and how I show up in this world matter. My pursuits are not pointless or too much, and they do not threaten other people’s growth.

I hope you follow my example. I hope you see your worth, your unique contributions, your distinct capacities and talents as both valuable and necessary. Don’t hold back.

I’m a recent superfan of Twenty-One Pilots (I know I’m behind the curve on this). You’re tired of hearing me play these lesser-known Twenty One Pilots songs, so I play them loud in my car when I’m driving myself to and from class and think of my family, friends, pursuits, worries, and the courage we have together to do the hard stuff. I like these lyrics from “My Blood.” I sing them to you sometimes, and sometimes you pretend you like it. Maybe in a few years, when you read these abbreviated lyrics, you’ll have forgotten. Go play it and think of me.

When everyone

You thought you knew

Deserts your fight

I’ll go with you

You’re facing down

A dark hall

I’ll grab my light

And go with you

Surrounded and

Up against a wall

I’ll shred them all

And go with you

When choices end

You must defend

I’ll grab my bat

And go with you

I’ll go with you

I’ll go with you

I’ll go with you

Stay with me

No, you don’t need to run

Stay with me, my blood

You don’t need to run

If there comes a day

People posted up at the end of your driveway

They’re calling for your head and they’re calling for your name

I’ll bomb down on them, I’m coming through

Do they know I was grown with you?

If you find yourself

In a lion’s den

I’ll jump right in

And pull my pin

And go with you