on my dreams.

in 10 years, or maybe 20, I want to write the story that starts out....I still remember the night I sat on my disease-infested couch with boiling blood keeping me completely still. I sat where my college roommates and their boyfriends had just stormed out of, after a heated debate about race. of all things--it was about race. and of course, I was on the black-sheep, crazy left, liberal, mind-way-too-open side of such issues--studying at one of the most conservative campuses in the country and all. I always felt like the villain.

that's how I want my cover feature of the Atlantic to start out. here's why:

I think, when it comes down to it, we were talking about BET, the black music and entertainment channel, and the "image" of black people it portrays. well, honestly, I have no idea whether I was right or not. I wish I had the answer to race--as sheltered and stupid as that sounds. my point is, as much as I just knew I was right tonight, I know my humble opinion is not the end-all be-all answer to the "problem" as I know it now.

the conversation consisted of me, my 2 roommates, and their 2 boyfriends. 1 roommate and 2 boyfriends were on one "side," (which weren't even clear sides to begin with--but it felt that way), while the other roommate and myself were on the other "side." I felt like I was chiming in when I felt absolutely necessary, as were other people, as opposed to a point-counterpoint dialogue. toward the close of the conversation, the roommate on my side walked out of the room, wisely avoiding the escalating confrontation. the discussion ended with cold character attacks and criticisms. one couple walked outside (curfew), while the couple (one member of which was the roommie on my side) barely argued and then reconciled. they received couples counseling from the other, more relationship-informed roommate, and I sat on the disease-infested couch, blood boiling, sitting completely still. in that moment I felt slightly betrayed. even though I am absolutely amazed and ecstatic at the selfless reconciliation of opposing lovers, it made me realize that at the end of the conversation, no one was loyal to me but me. being single at BYU is hard: among other reasons, part of the pressure to get married is included in that you are totally isolated when you're not dating anyone--because no matter who is on whose side, they will always end up on each other's side.

but back to relevance: I gathered up my plans for the American Heritage lecture I am to teach tomorrow--talking about liberty: the Declaration, John Locke, Thomas Paine. oldies but goodies. as I splashed water on my face, I thought of how I wanted to be an expert. the conversation had plunged into an "expert" war. whoever had more experience, or the most un-sheltered childhood, or the most well-versed friend, had the ultimate say. I refuse to believe that just because I haven't lived in California, I can't possibly have an informed opinion on "race." even though this is true, if anything came out of this conversation it was my desire to study out the issue. I want to study this stuff. take some sociology classes. find out--why are people so afraid to talk about race? how much of racism can we attribute to being white? how much of it can we attribute to the BET image? what's right? and what's wrong?

so I asked myself--is this what I want to do with my life? study sociology? yeah. maybe.

then my mind went straight to my bookcase and my feet followed shortly after. The Jan/Feb issue of the Atlantic is dedicated to some of those questions. the cover reads "The End of White America?" I want both. I want to study sociology and race in America--but I want to do something about it. I want to write.

the heated argument that intitally left me feeling betrayed, villainized, and alone granted me a moment of clarity. yes, it's always been my dream to write for the Atlantic on important topics. but since my life pursuing that dream has begun, I've been afarid. I'm afraid of what it will take to get there, and what I will look back on once I do. but tonight I realized I'm more afraid of what will happen if I don't.

in 6th grade, my teacher told me I needed to be a lawyer, because I liked to argue about everything. that has been a reoccuring theme throughout my whole life. but I feel like I've been better (still have leagues to go) in the past few years than I was in high school--better meaning less argumentative. whether that's true or not is debatable (no pun intended). but in the past few weeks I have gotten in personal debate after personal debate. and I'm sick of it. I hate being the villain.

I wish there was a debate-studying professor I could talk to about this. I keep thinking about my American Heritage students. in class, my number 1 goal is to get a debate going. TAs even go so far as to assign people opinions so that both sides of an issue are being presented. these debates are SO fun, and so educational, respectful, and intellectual. and I've said before, as a journalist, critical letters to the editor in response to your article is gratifying. we hope for even the smallest sliver of public debate around the topic we became an expert on for a few days. I leave my American Heritage debates and readers' forum letters feeling uplifted, enlightened. so why do I feel degraded and degrading when I engage in debate in my own living room? why are public forums better for debating than private ones?