Quantitative vs Qualitative

My body has been falling apart my entire life. A slow deterioration and then a sudden collapse. First, my gastrointestinal system, just weeks after I was born. Then, at eight years old, my autonomic nervous system. Nine years old, my musculoskeletal system. Eleven years old, my reproductive system. By fifteen, every system in my body was malfunctioning. Even now, at seventeen, I collect diagnoses like the stickers from doctors’ offices. I’ve been in and out of hospitals for years. I’ve missed more school than I’ve attended.

The human body has approximately 86 billion neurons. This seems unfathomable, until one realizes every experience, challenge, emotion- an entire life- is stored in these cells. Every joy, loss, and love can be quantified. Sensory neurons, for learning what home smells like; motor neurons, for embracing a loved one; interneurons, to bridge the two. These cells make up the nervous system, which depends on a simple feedback loop of detection and reaction. Most of the time, this process happens with a speed and efficiency that makes it undetectable. When the body is aware of this process, it causes a variety of issues. Central sensitization, nociplastic pain, dysautonomia, functional neurological disorders, neurodivergence- all miscommunications in the nervous system. Signals gone unsent, sensors that never stop firing, effectors that never stop responding.

I have a genetic condition that causes the creation of faulty collagen in the connective tissue, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS). Connective tissue holds every system in the body together. This stretchy, fragile tissue doesn’t transmit signals well, causing most people with EDS to have some sort of nervous system dysfunction. Together, EDS, autoimmune disease, and functional disorders have dramatically impacted my life.

Quantifying physical experiences is simple. Count, take the data, compare. It’s a black and white process, the way many humans understand things best. For those of us that can quantify life through neurons, things become more complicated. I have had a physical consequence for everything I’ve done in my life. Eating: nausea, moving: pain, sleeping: fatigue, not sleeping… also fatigue. Hugging my mom: pain, reading: headache, hanging out with friends: fatigue, again.

Everything is give and take. So, I don’t live in black and white. I don’t choose to quantify a life with numbers or neurons. I live in small moments. I understand and value life in a way few can. Poring over research papers to understand what’s wrong, connecting with little kids in waiting rooms, loving soft clothing, educating peers on intersectionality and accessibility, decorating for Christmas in the hospital, watching the Earth breathe in a way that sometimes I cannot.

The way I feel when I wake up doesn’t dictate what I do on that day. I don’t get to lay in bed and be cared for because I feel sick. I have bad days, flares, and stints in the hospital. I have loving parents, loyal friends, caring nurses, and dedicated doctors. Yet, I don’t sit in the sick. I don’t wait for the day I feel better or for a cure to come. I don’t identify as less than. I throw myself head first into academics, politics, the arts, building relationships, and my hobbies. I learn as much as I can about my chronic illnesses and disability justice and turn that into my coping mechanism. I study the body and brain, hoping that I can be a part of the team that revolutionizes neuropsychology and the effects of chronic illness. I lock up my pain in between the time I get in bed and the time I fall asleep. I keep my braces in a cubby under my bed and my medications behind the cheap nail polish I haven’t used in years. The rest of the time I live. Not in quantifications of pain, success, love, or fear, but in feeling. Life is and will always be qualitative.

A Letter from Father to Boy: A Rhetorical Analysis of Lord Chesterfield's letters.

Between 1737 and 1768, Lord Chesterfield wrote more than 400 letters to his illegitimate son. His son was unable to read when the first letter was sent, yet Chesterfield began using French, English, and Latin to enrich his son’s understanding of language as soon as he saw fit. Within this series, Chesterfield’s letters encouraged manipulation and cunning action, insinuating that the reason to do good things is so that others support you, not for their moral value. In one letter to his son, statesman and diplomat Lord Chesterfield attempts to assert dominance over his son, coming off as conniving and exploitative due to his use of commanding anaphora and patronizing assumption.

Lord Chesterfield employs dominating anaphora and diction in contrast to his attempt at a plain folks argument throughout the first section of his letter, revealing his intent to have full influence over his son. He begins the letter with an attempt to subordinate his son by using “Dear Boy,” as opposed to “son” or another familial term. In the first few sentences of the letter, Chesterfield immediately begins attempting to convince his son of his superior intellect and uses anaphora to emphasize his statements. “I know”, Chesterfield communicates his understanding of his son’s assumed position, “I know”, Chesterfield says he doesn’t judge his son for it, and “I know, too,” Chesterfield accredits his son’s lack of listening to age and stereotype, rather than his own shortcomings. He continues to use repetition in structure and diction throughout the rest of the first paragraph, reflecting his opinion on his son’s immaturity with his flattery of his own care for his son’s wellbeing. In the former part of the paragraph, though Chesterfield was trying to seem understanding, he still spoke from a place of authority. He endeavors to switch this tone through a statement of “Do not think I mean to dictate as a parent;” before continuing into a metaphor of being a “guide” rather than a “censor”. He aims to use this connection to convince his son to listen to his teachings, but the sentiment is not supported by the rest of the letter, rendering it less useful in the overall message. He ends the first paragraph with another bout of structure similarities, contrasting “I do not, therefore, so much as hint to you,” with “I say, I do not hint these things to you”. The former statement, which leads into Chesterfield impressing how dependent his son is upon him, at first seems to be apophasis, but with its connection to the next sentence, is just a set up to emphasize the last part of the section, where Chesterfield says he is “convinced” his son will do right and “I mean, for the sake of doing right”. This concluding sentence to the first paragraph sounds disingenuous and manipulative, and through its use of both attempted connection and clear assertion of authority, it represents the first part of the letter well.

Although he continues to use repetitive language and express his authority, Chesterfield primarily utilizes pressuring assumptions and patronizing rhetorical questions throughout the final section of his letter, attempting to assert himself as a helpful figure that should have the success of his son accredited to him. Much of his letter is rambling and self-centered, expressed most simply through his constant use of “I”. The last paragraph emphasizes this with the constant counterarguments Chesterfield responds to but does not fully develop, assuming his son’s position on each statement he makes. The most prominent example of this is “...your shame and regret must be greater than anybody’s, because everybody knows the uncommon care which has been taken of your education”. This statement not only demeans his son, but sets Chesterfield up as a great figure that knows his son, when in reality, he is absent. Chesterfield clearly thinks highly of himself, and even seems to consider himself a good parent, demonstrated by his frequent, disjointed fatherly tone in statements such as “I can have no interest but yours” and “Let my experience…clear your way”. Chesterfield’s largest use of rhetoric in the final section of the essay is the set up of a rhetorical question. He inquires if there is anything better than being extraordinary, and, “consequently,” if there is anything worse than being anything but. He then details why his son should be most ashamed of being less than best, considering his opportunity and education is better than most. The set up of this line of questioning and subsequent shaming, which Chesterfield still seems to insist comes from a good place, patronizes and insults his son. Chesterfield finishes the letter with a final piece of advice, emphasizing that his son should excel in everything. With his constant attempts to seem fatherly and establish comradery, it’s clear that Chesterfield wants his son to think of him positively, while still being intimidated and affected by him, so that he can claim part in any positive part of his son’s life. Through the rambling nature of Chesterfield’s letter, it also seems Chesterfield uses the letters to his son to selfishly process and satiate his own contempt. Ultimately, the conclusion of Lord Chesterfield’s letter continues to attempt to establish a guiding and authoritative tone, but is colored by his selfish intent.

The valuable sentiments Lord Chesterfield attempts to communicate are tarnished by his disdain for his son and lack of stable moral values. His manipulative and dominating rhetoric shines through the surface message he is using to satisfy his own insecurity around parenting, or lack thereof. Chesterfield is persistently insulting and patronizing, damaging the fatherly tone he tries to adopt. Lord Chesterfield’s son would have grown up with these sentiments, creating an unstable relationship between father and son, and ultimately leaving Chesterfield’s tactics to have a lasting negative impact.

A Rarely Pure and Never Simple Truth: An exploration of honesty.

A common lesson a child learns is when to hold their tongue. From parents, white lies and empty compliments are explained. From books, they are shown young characters that are rebellious and keep things from the adults in their lives, all for the greater good. As a result of these teachings, a child learns not to hurt anyone’s feelings and sees their favorite characters save the day. Unfortunately, as people age, they lose their grasp on the line between withholding negligible information and damaging lies. This often devolves into lost trust and complex webs of untruths that are exhausting to keep up with. While dishonesty can sometimes be a necessary evil in the name of protection, truth has greater value through its preservation of one’s morality.

At times, dishonesty can be useful, but it ultimately damages one’s moral credibility. In Tennessee Williams’ A Streetcar Named Desire, his main character, Blanche, is constantly using lies to put herself above others. In one instance, Blanche finds out about her sister Stella’s husband, whom she’s never met. Blanche immediately comments on his nationality, such as “Oh, yes. They’re something like Irish, aren’t they?… Only not so—highbrow?” as she laughs. She continues on to call Stanley a “polack,” which was a derogatory term for Polish people at the time. Blanche has no idea what kind of person Stanley is, but can’t stand the idea of him being better than her. She worries that Stanley has become more important to her sister than she is, so she puts him down. This serves to make Blanche feel better about herself, but hurts Stella and damages their relationship. Not only do other characters feel wounded by Blanche’s comments, Blanche also loses credibility. In another instance in A Streetcar Named Desire, Blanche attempts to convince Stella that Stella needs to leave her abusive husband Stanley:
BLANCHE: What were you thinking of?
[Stella makes an indefinite gesture]
Answer me! What? What?
STELLA: Please, Blanche! Sit down and stop yelling.
BLANCHE: All right, Stella. I will repeat the question quietly now. How could you come back in this place last night? Why, you must have slept with him!
[Stella gets up in a calm and leisurely way.]
STELLA: Blanche, I'd forgotten how excitable you are. You're making much too much fuss about this. (1.4)
Although Blanche’s concerns are valid, Stella laughs and disregards her. Even when Blanche listens to Stella and calms down, speaking more rationally, Stella still doesn’t listen due to Blanche's previous dishonesty and frivolity damaging her integrity. Blanche has consistently made untrue statements about Stanley, herself, and other characters within the play, causing Stella to dismiss all of Blanche’s anecdotes. Dishonesty often acts as a short term solution, but in the end, it destroys credibility within relationships.

Even when one is not lying outright, escapism is a harmful distraction that diminishes one's experience with the world. Escapism is a common theme in literature, as many characters have difficult situations in their lives, and seek to escape them through fantasies. One example of this is Little Women, where the author, Louisa May Alcott, follows her main character, Jo, and her sisters through childhood and into adulthood. As children, the sisters create plays to avoid the poverty and loss a war has inflicted on them. When Jo’s oldest sister announces her engagement, Jo insists “You should be an actress and have a life on the stage. Let’s run away together… You will be bored of him in two years and we will be interesting forever.” Although the creativity and imagination of their creations got the sisters through their difficult childhood, they had to change as they grew. Jo stays in her fantasies, and hurts her relationship with her sisters by diminishing their real dreams for her fictional ones. Another example of this in literature is Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia. Jess Aarons, a fifth grader struggling to deal with poverty and bullying, turns to escapism to cope. He and his best friend Leslie create an entire world in the woods near their houses, starting to neglect the real world. One day, Leslie is careless in her creativity, and dies when swinging across a rope to their treehouse. Jess can’t handle the loss, as he has begun to ignore all of his true feelings in order to exist in their fantasy world. He laments, “She had tricked him. She had made him leave his old self behind and come into her world, and then before he was really at home in it but too late to go back, she had left him stranded there – like an astronaut wandering about on the moon. Alone.” Jess and Leslie fell too far into their own creation and began to lose their grasp and appreciation of the real world and people around them. This pattern repeats endlessly in the real world and in literature, where young characters are innocent in their play, but as they grow, they fail to recognize it for what it is, imagination, and it becomes harmful to them in the end.

Regardless of harm from lies and the minimization of realism, truth’s value is measurable through its effect on relationships with others and oneself. As a teenager with chronic illness, I’ve had to toe the line when it comes to what information to keep to myself. Each year, I send an email to my teachers explaining my medical issues and how to handle them. I’ve written four different emails over the last four years, each one being more and more concise. Too much information scares and overwhelms people, but lack of information dissolves trust when situations arise that highlight ignorance. I have learned to give basic and emergency information, but to keep many of my symptoms and experiences to myself. The trust that comes from the information I deliver to my teachers is extremely beneficial in forming our relationship, and they tend to appreciate a concise explanation. In this situation, I also feel more comfortable in my body and education because I know I have been as honest as I can and it will protect me in difficult situations. This exchange of trust and honesty is how we build lasting, genuine relationships throughout life. When there is a lack of these ideals, prompting deception and harmful fantasy, relationships crumble and self esteem suffers.

In reality, children learn that truth is important before they learn when to avoid it. Parents communicate that they are always there for their child. Books emphasize the importance of building trust between protagonists. The manipulation of truth to suit one’s needs is acceptable as long as the individual understands that at its core, truth is one of the strongest anchors humans have to reality and sanity.