On Friday, I walked into the store. I had a carefully crafted list of necessities. It was going to be an expensive trip. I needed new razors, new mousse, a new headband. I hadn’t been grocery shopping in two weeks, so I needed all my staples. I hate expensive trips. I carefully picked the lowest price alternative of each item, saving two cents here and fifteen there. Each time I pulled an item from the shelf, I’d stop and think. ‘Do I really need this? Will I really eat six yogurts, or can I get by with four? Do I need mousse? Couldn’t I just leave my hair in a ponytail?’ One by one, my list lost its items, and the little pile in my shopping cart grew. The bare minimum for the week. Then I got to the front of the store. There were flowers. Red zinnias, yellow carnations, bright purple irises, daffodils. And shockingly pink daisies.

I am the Typical Whitworth Student

This is a first in a series of posts titled "I am the typical..." based on my reaction to a number of written works.

1.12.08

I am the Typical Whitworth Student

Sparked by: 10 things Whitworth hates about you.

There is a lot of discussion on campus about The Typical Whitworth Student. Apparently, everyone knows what is The Typical Whitworth Student and no one knows who is The Typical Whitworth Student.

The Typical Whitworth Student:

• Is a Christian. Attends church. Teaches Sunday School or AWANA. Reads their Bible. Prays.
• Did well in high school. Got good grades. Did extra curricular. May have been voted 'Most Likely to Succeed.'
• Is passionate about something. Member of Acting on AIDS. Runs Relay for Life. Heads the Fair Trade Club. Travels to Seattle for Invisible Children.
• Wants to change the world. Will be a teacher. Will be a nurse. Will be a political activist. Will not burn out by age 30.
• Has too many extracurriculars. Is a member of the Jazz Band. Does theatre. Joins International club. Writes for the Whitworthian.
• Has morally conservative and socially liberal political views. No abortion. More education and arts funding. Hybrid cars. Recycles bottles.
• Comes from white, upper middle class background. Father is a doctor. Mother stays home. Has an SUV and a big house.
• Avoids conflict. Doesn't confront their roommate. Doesn't argue with professor. Doesn't speak up in group discussions. Believes 'Whitworth is nice.'
• Doesn't drink or smoke. Avoids parties. Takes long path around smokers. Thinks such things are dirty. Will have a glass of wine when they turn 21. Off campus.
• Does not think they are The Typical Whitworth Student. Does not like boxes.

After much thought on this matter I have decided I am The Typical Whitworth Student. I announced this to Jan, and she said, 'Well, you're the only one who admits it, so I guess that makes you an Atypical Whitworth Student."

There are a lot of things about me that I like to think are not typical. I get slightly higher than average grades - that's not typical, right? I lived overseas for a time, that's unique, isn't it? I know what I want to do with my life, that's different, correct?

From the outside, however, I fit the mold. I'm a Christian, I teach Sunday School and lead small group. I was a star student in high school, even in the high achieving homeschool community I gew up in. I'm passionate about service and want to change the world, even though I'd be content with just changing one life. I am a member of four clubs, hold three jobs, volunteer two places, lead small group, dance, and participate in theatre. I am morally conservative in my political views in most cases, and lean towards liberalism for social issues. I am white, middle class. My father is a CFO. We have a big house and an SUV. I am famous for avoiding confrontations in any serious situation, but am excellent at debating points that have no real influence on life. I don't drink (much) or smoke. I do not like boxes.

There, Typical Whitworth Student in a nutshell. Won't the administration be pleased that they've found one?

The thing I'm struggling with right now is simple. People will always put you in boxes. It makes it easier to handle social situations. You label people, put them in the right box, and file it away for future reference. Oh, there's Sarah, the typical music major. I should ask her if she's heard anything besides Bach lately. Oh, there's Jon, the political activist. I wonder what his views on Huckabee's tax plan are. We don't have time to stop and find out that Jon is actually the one who listen to Bach and that Sarah has very firm views on Huckabee, her ever present clarinet case notwithstanding.

And like everyone, I don't want to be in a box. I want to think I'm unique, that you've never met anyone like me and never will again. I want to be a shining example of 'different' not another 'everybody.' So I continue to point out the ways I am different.

• Is a Christian. Attends two churches. Leads small group and teach Sunday school. Takes faith very seriously. 
• Did well in high school. Got excellent grades. Did theatre, volunteer, debate, art, music, sports. Was resident 'Can Do Anything' person. 
• Is passionate about something. Hates apathy. Thinks if people cared more, the world would be a better place. Participates in every fundraiser that comes to town.
• Wants to change the world. Will be a doctor. In Vietnam. Will eat rice for the rest of natural life. 
• Has too many extracurriculars. Member of four clubs, has three jobs, has two volunteer jobs, does theatre. 
• Has morally conservative and socially liberal political views. No abortion. Believes homosexuality is a sin, but the government shouldn't legislate morality in this instance. Hates war. More funding for arts. 
• Comes from white, upper middle class background. Also member of Native American tribe. 
• Avoids conflict. To epic degrees.
• Doesn't drink or smoke. Drinks with family. 
• Does not think they are The Typical Whitworth Student. Does not want to be The Typical Whitworth Student, but admits it nonetheless.

Even my differences make me seem like a Typical Whitworth Student. It's that way in any box. If you're in it, you focus on the minute differences that set you apart from others in the box, but it doesn't stop you from being there. Maybe I'm just a Typical Whitworth Student on steroids.

So, box number 1: "Typical Whitworth Student."

Check back for box number 2: "Typical Patrick Henry College Student who happens to not be at PHC" sometime soon.

© Taryn Clark. 2008.

Today is Friday. It should be a day when I’m almost done. (Amazing how we look forward to the weekend, isn’t it?) But this is not such a Friday. Today, I get up at 8 – a time that rarely sees the inside of my eyelids. But analytical chem. is cancelled today, so I don’t have to go to class. Up, eat, study. Study study study. Work on my script, balance my checkbook. I’m good at procrastinating. Study some more.

Run to Spanish because I was so engrossed in O chem. that I almost missed class. Sit in Spanish, not understand what is being said, as usual. Go to O chem., take a bad test. Go to theatre, enjoy not thinking for a while. Realize it’s two and I haven’t eaten lunch.

Meeting 1, decide about theatre minor.

Meeting 2, talk about medic stuff.

Meeting 3, decide about chemistry major.

Yay! It’s Friday. No homework. Oh, analytical take home midterm. :: sigh :: Didn’t go to dinner, cause I didn’t feel like salad – which is what I always have for dinner at SAGA.

It was cold this morning, and I'd forgotten my sweat pants, so I was wearing my pjs over my shorts. There were only about a hundred people milling around, staring at their breath. Mom continued to be amazed at the smallness of the crowd when a nice emcee gave us some information on last minute course changes. I was relieved to discover that there would be volunteers at every turn along the route so we probably wouldn't get lost and die in the military cemetery.

We were all herded like obedient sheep to the start, and I sadly removed my sweatshirt and pjs. It really was cold. "Go" the nice emcee yelled. No gun. No countdown. This really was a small run. We followed along the road, and were slightly weirded out when the aid car was right behind us for the first mile. "Mom, this is awkward. That person back there might be staring at my butt for the next five hours." But we pulled away from the slowest people, and so the aid car fell back and whoever was in it didn't stare at me.

The first two miles were hard. I couldn't breathe, there was stuff crawling up my throat and down my lungs. My legs were numb and cold and my hands hurt. After that, we settled into a rhythym, for the first thirteen miles. We floated down the hills, laughed and passed people, then floated up them and laughed as people passed us. A nice older gent from Tallahassee ran with us - we passed him on the downhills, he passed us on the uphills. He wore a green shirt, so I called him the green goblin.

The trees were all changing and we passed beautiful houses, ran along ridges, down hills into the valley, crossed the river, and ran through some more forests. Crisp air, blue sky – I appreciated seeing a pretty part of Spokane. The part I live in is a strip mall.

The local high schools manned the water stations, and they dressed in costumes and played music and dropped Gatorade into my hands, so I could spill it all down my front. My yellow shirt has red, orange and blue Gatorade spots on it, now.

By mile fifteen, my legs were tired and I didn’t like going up the hills anymore. I didn’t even particularly like the flat parts. I’d watch anxiously for the next mile marker, and sometimes curse when they didn’t come fast enough.

At mile eighteen, I thought that eight miles left wasn’t so far. But I was tired, and trying to keep up our pace was hard. Hills, hills, hills. Ick. At mile twenty-two there was an awful hill that we decided not to run. Doomsday hill is a good name for it. At mile twenty four, I didn’t think I could finish. At mile twenty five, all I wanted to do was walk. At mile twenty six, the finish line was in sight and I managed to get all the way there.

26.2 miles is a long ways.

He stood up in front, on the stage made of portable sections, hiding behind the wooden podium like all pastors do.

Today we’re going to have this time  in silence. No music, no singing. We’re going to be silent and think about the gift God has given to you.

It was silent. Or as silent as a room full of two hundred people can be. Tap. Slither. Cough. Silence.

We're praying to you, Lord. Hear our sins, both spoken and held in our hearts. Forgive us our debts, more so than we forgive our debtors.

Slowly ushers move forward to dismiss rows to the front. People slide into line and shuffle forward. The sound of feet moving fills the room.

Do you hear, Lord? You hear the sound of your people obeying your commands. You hear the sound of your people walking in silence to celebrate your gift of grace.

A circle of people now, trickling forward to the bread and wine and then back to their seats of contemplation.

Dancing in heaven, today? Your son is worshipped by his people.

The Holy Spirit moves, prickling skin, running down arms and backs.

Come, Holy Spirit. Watch the worship – the adoration.