My dinner table growing up was a boot camp for effective argument. My academic, social justice leader parents loved a raucous political conversation over dinner, often inviting guests, initiating them with wine and rounds of heated conversation. Being right was the currency. At around age 10 I started to participate, learning how to be noticed for my wit and observations and how to throw a sharp verbal elbow.
Sometimes, I’d “win” an argument. There was a part of me that enjoyed the rush of competition and the new power I felt in getting recognition at the adult table. Sometimes, I’d find myself angry and at a loss for words, mulling over what felt like a shameful loss for days. I’d return to the table fiercer than ever, ready to duel. I noticed that my sister often shut down and grew quiet, and my brother would often grow angry and stomp away from the table.
These experiences formed the psychic basis of a longing to win the argument, to be right, and to be righteous. It took me into the study of rhetoric and writing in school and then a career in what is called communications. I found myself training to win in the arena of political communication, entering student government, electoral politics, and issue-based advocacy in national politics. In each case, I saw myself as part of the moral few—the righteous ones who had the correct ideas—and my job was to spread those ideas to more people, turning them away from their evil/unwittingly wrong ways.