I was captivated by this idea that there wasn’t just one correct language or style out there, as I’d learned in school, but that different authorities had their own subtle variations, and I could make a personal choice between them. I started exercising conscious nationalism in preferring the Canadian spellings of neighbour, centre, syrup, zed. When I learned that British practice was to put non-quoted periods and commas outside the quotation marks, just like you’d do with parentheses, I decided that I preferred its strict nesting logic and borrowed it too, despite the fact that I couldn’t justify it nationalistically. And of course, I introduced a rapid-drop policy for hyphens and superfluous capitals.
But the bigger change was in my attitude. It became clear to me that, as far as language evolution was concerned, my choice was between missing the boat and sticking around on a shore with an ever-dwindling band of curmudgeons, or riding the waves and getting to help steer.
Hence my use of singular they. Now, there does happen to be a plethora of historical evidence for it, but that’s not why I use it. I use it because I just like it. I like having a non-gendered option, because he or she and rewriting to avoid pronouns gets clunky, because I believe in respecting people’s gender identities. I use it to refer to a nonspecific or unknown person because it rolls trippingly off the tongue, and I use it to refer to a specific, known person because it doesn’t yet come completely naturally, but I like what it stands for so much that it’s worth pushing through and setting an example. Using singular they is a political decision, and I’ll fight you on it.
How my heart sings 