(Non) Accidents of Birth

Most teenagers wonder, at some point, how they ended up born into their families. They feel like a fateful god shrugged its shoulders and made a random selection. Bob Jr. might have inherited a few traits from mom and dad, and he might resemble a sibling, but everything else feels wrong.

I’m a recovering NDE video addict. The predominant message given by Near Death Experience survivors is that God is a being of infinite love and wisdom. The second recurring message is that we choose the broad outlines of our lives before birth. We come into this world with things to do and lessons to learn. We select hard times and tough circumstances. We pick our relatives. Like masochistic tourists, we plan the most challenging routes.

I have one question when I consider the proposition that I volunteered for everything: what the hell was I thinking? Other questions: did folks living in abject poverty, suffering starvation, and ricocheting from one moment of abject terror to another really choose the courses of their lives? What induced them to pick those travel plans? Were all the cabins on the luxury yachts already taken?

I’ve heard that we need hard times and tragedies to appreciate the best things in our lives. Moments of happiness seem sweeter when contrasted to times of grief and pain. I sometimes tell painting students that compositions need to have patches of dull colors to make the shining passages shine a little brighter.

But don’t we all wish that our lives resembled extended beach vacations?

Near the end of earning my master’s degree, an acutely stressful time, an acquaintance commented that I had grown a lot during the preceding two years. She wished me continued growth postgraduation. I groused, “If that’s what it takes to grow, I’d like to spend the next two years quietly rotting.”

But I’ve recently come across some teachings that assert that radical acceptance reduces suffering. Regardless of our situations, the best we can do is to embrace each moment and live it fully. The Roman Stoics had a slogan: amor fati. Love your fate.

We may never fully understand the reasons for tragedies and heart wrenching struggles in our lives. But bitching about them makes everything worse. Yearning for different circumstances or wishing that we could go back and make different choices wastes time and energy. If we turn and face our experience, then we are freed from struggling against things that can’t be changed. And we truly live our allotted time.

If the only sure gift we have is this life, then why not make use of it to the furthest extent? Questions about a life plan’s worth can be saved for the exit interview.

“Why?” is the Most Useless Question.

“Why?” is the most useless question. It’s unanswerable. The questioner hopes to find reasons for outcomes and events in order to avoid a repetition of disasters. But the quest for understanding, for finding a logical sequence of causes and effects, is futile.

We can’t go back far enough to find the germ moments of catastrophes. Even if we figure out that a mad dictator’s campaign for domination derived from an abusive relationship with a bad father, why did that father act in that way toward his son? And why did that particular son react in an extreme manner while his fellow-suffering siblings maintained their sanity? Even if we blame a fatal character flaw on genetic inheritance, why did the worst elements of that inheritance get expressed at a particularly consequential moment in history? Abusive fathers and scarred sons abound. Why did a few traumatic duos cause so much carnage? In other words, Hitler, the victim of a brutal father, arrived at just the right time to do the most damage. Why?

Asking “Why” leads to the assignment of blame, but blame doesn’t fix anything. And if that question has no obvious answer, then abuse victims often assume that they caused their own suffering. (I must have disappointed Daddy. That’s why he hit me.) It feels better to take on blame rather than accept the existence of random suffering. If bad things happen to innocent people for no reason, then bad things can keep on happening whenever Fate finds new targets.

Better questions might be “What?” and “How?” What happened during a disaster? How did the various elements and agents of a situation interact to produce mayhem? What were the warning signals? What steps eased suffering effectively? How can we fix the damage?

We could look at suffering and trouble the way that weather forecasters look at storms. They describe the atmospheric situation without making judgments. They don’t get angry at hurricanes. They merely predict strengths and pathways.

Problem-solving and purposeful action begin with “What?” and “How?” Despair and self-pity coil themselves around “Why?”

Slogans

I used to tease a friend who drove a car with a New Hampshire plate. The license featured the state motto: Live Free or Die. I asked her if anyone in the Granite State had ever considered less drastic binary options. A realist might live mostly free but accept the limitations consequent to membership in an organized society. A nihilist could just not give a damn. Embezzlers could live for free until indictment. Habitual proclaimers of the obvious could Live Free or Don’t…

Some people take slogans more seriously than I do. They have a few catch phrases that sum up their attitude toward life. When they explain themselves, they trot out their mottos with a hint of stubborn pride. One should note the hidden threat. If you challenge their statements or point out inadequacies, then you’ve attacked their identities and invited a battle.

Some “run silent” and never declare. They hum their theme songs to themselves. They either wish to avoid debate or think that their attitudes are self-evident. When you unwittingly cross a line, they challenge with a glare or a few sharp words. Fists may fly without warning.

Examples of slogan-cadets I’ve known: 1. An addictive type lived by the get-it-while-you-can motto. He grabbed at pleasurable opportunities in fear that they’d soon disappear. 2. Another “acted like a man”. That meant that he absorbed years of abuse. According to his book, a man took what he got and didn’t complain. 3. A naive optimist believed that “anyone could do anything if they tried hard enough”. She disagreed when I pointed out that I could never play linebacker in the NFL. According to her, I’d soon don a Steelers helmet and jersey if I didn’t let inexperience, slow footspeed, a spindly frame, and a distaste for physical violence stop me.

Slogans offer some benefits. They give clear guidelines during either abrupt confrontations or while dealing with long term issues. You can’t get lost when the signposts are printed with large, bold letters. Clarity bestows confidence and eases the difficulty of making choices. And branding people who follow different paths becomes easy. If fools insist on heading to Indianapolis while you’re on the road to Cleveland, then they must be misguided, stupid or evil. Only the righteous know the way to Cleveland.

But a slogan-directed life eventually runs into trouble. Repeated failures usually confront an unrealistic optimist. A person following a vengeful honor code becomes stranded in a scarred wasteland. A sensualist turns into a jaded burn out. A stoic reaches a point where he breaks under his cumulative burden.

Simple answers and easy guidelines don’t work in the long run. Fortune often runs contrary to expectation. Effort and preparation make success more likely but offer no guarantees.

If I had a slogan it would be, “Watch out for slogans.” The Fates have a way of punishing those who insist on the validity of shallow beliefs and simple solutions.

Jonah’s Learning Curve

The story of Jonah depicts God performing several roles.  He pursues and disciplines Jonah, not unlike a drill sergeant punishing a stubborn recruit, for refusing to carry out orders.  He shows mercy to the Assyrian citizens of Nineveh like a kind parent giving straying children another chance.  He acts at the end of the tale as a teacher. First He causes a gourd to grow and give shade to Jonah. Second He allows a worm to destroy the gourd.  When Jonah mourns the death of the plant and complains about his subsequent discomfort, God asks him to consider the following question:  if Jonah feels grief for a lost plant, isn’t it fitting for God to mourn a lost people? God teaches Jonah compassion by giving him loss. 

I feel some sympathy for Jonah.  God called on him to minister to implacable enemies of Jonah’s people.  The prophet would have directly encountered their aggression or would have known family and friends who suffered at their hands.  He would have developed a justified fear of and loathing for those now targeted for forgiveness and reconciliation.  And to add insult to injury, Jonah would act as the instrument of their salvation.  I’d complain if I were a child forced by a parent to share toys with the neighborhood bully.  If Dad wanted to be kind to a punk, couldn’t he himself go out to give a new football to Johnny?

I’ve faced situations where my evident duty ran counter to my comfort and inclinations.  On some occasions, I balked and fled.  I reasoned that someone else would pick up the slack.  On two notable occasions, however, I bowed to the inevitable.  A “hand of God” feeling accompanied each of these moments.  I got the direct and inarguable impression that I wouldn’t even make it to the boat much less end up in the belly of a whale.  Both times the message seemed to say, “Don’t even bother to squirm.  You’re going to do this.”

Some believe that our lives are prewritten before we come to earth, that we have missions to fulfill. We’re not aware of the plan, however, and have wiggle room to make a few decisions.  Jonah’s flight from his task, in this view, was just a temporary delay that led to fear and misery.  I’m not sure I agree completely with this conception.

I think that we come to this world with pre-set patterns that invite certain choices, that create issues we eventually must face and resolve.  I might run away from a conflict, but similar ones will follow.  An example:  if I’m born with a short fuse, then I’ll face countless situations inviting me to learn how to control my temper.  In this belief system, God is a teacher setting up exercises for our benefit.  Similarly, after I teach students the principles of perspective, I give them assignments forcing them to apply that knowledge.  They only learn how to draw a building correctly by trying to draw a building.  It would be easier for them if I just lectured on the subject and took their word that they understood the material.  But real progress can only be made by putting knowledge into practice.

It takes courage to sign up for this life course.  An Indian guru advises his followers to face misfortune, not by complaining about the injustice of life, but by considering themselves brave.  They’ve shown their mettle by volunteering for difficult but rewarding lessons.

Choices

Individual choices often don’t appear to change the course of a life.  (Picking a red short-sleeved shirt over a long-sleeved blue shirt will only cause a major rupture if circumstances are balanced in a unique way.)  Some believe in karma, but I doubt that every decision is consequential.  I think instead that clusters of decisions create telltale patterns.  An example: when I choose to do thoughtful things for my wife daily, I am rewarded with her loyalty and affection.  If I care only about myself, then I am punished by loneliness and the disdain of my acquaintances.

Most of us live mixed lives studded by contradictory actions.  Few people are consistently good or mostly bad.  Even the lady who fingered every blueberry in three containers at Publix today must have moments when she considers the health of other people.  She may have been focused on selecting fruit for a perfect Christmas pie. Her intent could have been to please loved ones instead of spreading the virus to innocent shoppers…

I suspect that the best way to proceed is to base choices on a positive objective. Pick the highest standard and aim for it. Copy the example of an admired person.  It’s better, for instance, to attempt to become kind than to drift moment to moment with no goal.  If I look at each interaction with another human being as a training opportunity, then mundane activities (such as trips to the grocery store) take on new meaning.

Missteps, especially at the beginning when confidence is low, are painful. Every time I fail to meet the mark, I feel like a hypocrite. Love and support from the near and dear help immensely.  It’s tough to succeed at making positive changes when surrounded by hostiles standing ready to criticize. 

Perhaps the surest path to changing our lives for the better is twofold: setting a high goal; sheltering in the company of like-minded souls.

Caveat:

Self-improvement campaigns sometimes spawn a desire to force others to join. Judgment of folks who refuse to conform follows.

You Can See It Coming

My wife and I reminisced the other day about the morning we became engaged.  I offered a related memory of taking a trip to meet her parents for the first time.  I remarked that I felt a sense of adventure sitting next to her in a car, of recognition that a whole new world had opened after we decided to share our lives.  I had no idea about what challenges we would face but felt excited by the possibilities. 

That seems to be the essence of youth:  looking forward with anticipation.  The essence of age is to see most things coming from a long way off.

When you watch too many episodes in any TV genre, you can predict when a romantic complication or a second murder will occur.  You can feel the writers loading up a plot twist.  Any new character introduced past the halfway point will eventually cause some sort of trouble.  There are similar moments in real life when a lover’s increasingly erratic behavior, or a vague but carefully worded memo from management, triggers a been there/done that reaction.  You can predict the next move and prepare for the inevitable.

I’ve lived past 60 and have noticed that fewer things genuinely surprise me.  Unless something terrible happens.  I’m still vulnerable to those shocks, unfortunately.  But I’m also aware that severe intervals of pain, anguish and anxiety are more common than I expected when young.  Back then, I assumed that folks in deep trouble had volunteered for misfortune.  If sick, they must have drunk, smoked or drugged themselves in excess.  If destitute, they must have been lazy or spendthrift with their income.  If miserable in relationships or marriage, they must have chosen badly or been unwilling to put in the effort to make a relationship work.  Now I know that intermittent, random attacks from the Fates disrupt and damage the lives of decent, well-adjusted, responsible people. Life isn’t a meritocracy. 

But even moments of sudden despair, when the floor beneath my feet falls away and I’m suspended in midair like Wiley Coyote above a canyon floor, have become almost familiar.  Wiley always looks surprised the first time it happens, but by the end of the cartoon he holds up a sign that reads, “Not again!” just before his plummet begins.

And like that hapless cartoon coyote, I take no pleasure from having learned from experience.  I feel some satisfaction when my cynical calculations come true (Hah!) but would love to experience a touch of hope and naïve faith once again.  I’d like to achieve a balance between knowledge and openness to possibility, to see things coming while still hoping that better will follow.   

Sliding Doors, Fateful Consequences

Sliding Doors

“Sliding Doors”, a 1990s movie starring Gwyneth Paltrow, proposes that small events can have fateful consequences. Two paths are laid out for a woman. The plots diverge from the point where she rushes to catch a train on the London Underground. In one instance, the doors slide shut and she misses her ride. In another, she catches it. Then she either discovers immediately that her boyfriend has cheated on her, or stays with him in ignorant bliss long enough to become pregnant. Both scenarios play out in the movie. One ends tragically for the young woman, and other carries the hope that she would soon find a true companion. Her character doesn’t determine her outcome. She sincerely does her best in both instances. Only happenstance alters her fate…

My wife and I were talking this morning about an Obama interview in which he recalled a moment on the campaign trail he still wished he could change. He felt that he would have connected better with blue collar workers during his presidency if he hadn’t uttered the phrase, “They cling to their religion and their guns.” He was trying to explain why these workers voted against their interests, but failed to show respect for them. Things might have played out differently for him and his party if he had made a better choice.

Our conversation drifted toward choices we’d made on our own journeys. Education and career decisions could have radically altered our lives if different paths had been taken. Nothing in our personal histories and career trajectories made it likely that we would meet and marry. 36 years of marriage, two children and a grandchild are the result of a nearly random grouping of coincidences.

Edward Gorey believed that “things just happen”. There is no plan. Many of his books show characters drifting from one moment to another without moving a coherent plot forward. He doesn’t show cause and effect. His protagonists display temperament but do not evolve as characters. One act may lead, in a tenuous fashion to another, but endings have nothing to do with beginnings.

Some believe, on the other hand, that God has a predetermined script written for them. Their lives fulfill a quest that remains unknown to them until they die. Their post mortem life reviews become mission debriefings.

I’m not sure whether Gorey or the life-mission folks have it right. I suspect that our lives are more like improvisations. We have certain talents and tendencies but must react to changeable scenarios. We’re like actors in “Whose Line Is It Anyway”. We’re given scenes to perform but not prewritten speeches to recite. We only have minimal stage directions. The other actors block or open routes of exploration in unpredictable ways. All we can do, while we’re playing our parts, is believe in the process while remaining open to new possibilities.

Whose Line Is It Anyway?

A Series of Connections

A former student named Ed once asked for the inside scoop on how to succeed in the art world. I didn’t know what to say as my career hadn’t been impressive. I had been able to find work as an art instructor. So, Ed asked me how to get into teaching. I didn’t have good advice to offer. My entry into art education came through a series of accidental connections.

Connection One: my wife got an interview at Rollins College because a biology department faculty member knew of and respected the lab where Judy earned her P.H.D.

Two: one of the professors on Judy’s Rollins search committee had a young daughter. She invited our daughter, Annie, to play dates.

Three: Annie became friends with another girl in the play group whose father was the dean of the Hamilton Holt School at Rollins.

Four: we helped the Hamilton Holt dean move a sofa to his grown daughter’s apartment.

Five: I applied for a teaching job at Rollins through Hamilton Holt, and the dean secured a class for me over the objections of a professor in the Rollins art department.

Six: a photographer from Crealde School of Art shot publicity pictures of my Hamilton Holt class. He liked my teaching approach, thought that I was a full time professor at Rollins, and invited me to apply at Crealde.

Seven: I got hired at Crealde, upon the recommendation of the photographer, after another instructor in Painting and Drawing quit.

Eight: the new director of Crealde, the same man who had shot publicity photos at Rollins five years before, asked me to step in as head of Painting and Drawing at Crealde. I turned him down as my family was about to move to Gainesville for Judy’s sabbatical year. He asked me for alternative candidates. I had recently met a charismatic teacher named Anita Wooten. I suggested her, and the director hired Anita.

Nine: I got a call from Valencia College two weeks after we moved back to Orlando from Gainesville. The dean of Arts and Entertainment told me that they had an adjunct opening for a Saturday class. Anita Wooten had recommended me.

I met my wife under similar circumstances. We unknowingly had six mutual friends and acquaintances. One finally introduced us after he discovered that Judy and I had both read John Gardner’s novel, Grendel. The timing and circumstances for building a serious relationship were right. We married within a year’s time…

I wonder whether all the times I struggled to make something of my life were just preparations for the moments when things fell into place. (Also wonder whether things denied were best avoided.) Who knows if there’s a preset plan to our lives or whether every bit of satisfaction requires persistent effort? Are we blessed with moments of grace, or must we chip away until Fate gives in?

A sense of rightness sometimes arrives just before things arrange themselves in proper order. It’s like waiting at a station for the right train to appear. I sit on a hard bench watching passengers board and leave. It looks like I’ll be stuck there forever. Then a train pulls up. It may not be heading to the destination I originally intended, but something urges me to board anyway. The ticket master offers a free ticket.

The happiest outcomes occur when I accept the ticket and take the ride.

DNA-Programmed Robots

Read an article in National Geographic stating that DNA drives the process of making decisions and choosing preferences. The writer noted that genetic material from parasites as well as our inherited code determine our actions. Sexual orientation, taste in food, political leanings, and attraction to specific mates are determined, at least partially, by the peculiarities in the sequencing of amino acids in our cells’ nuclei. In many ways, we resemble pre-programmed robots.

The author acknowledges that this news seems disheartening. We’re not bold, free individuals making choices using informed free-will. We’re puppets dancing to tunes written, for the most part, before our births. Although we can respond to unique situations as they arise, we do so according to set patterns.

He offers a bit of comfort. He states that we will eventually be able to edit our codes to tailor ourselves to meet fashionable standards. We’ll be able to perform the equivalent of plastic surgery on our genes to produce more palatable (if artificial) versions of ourselves. He also wraps us in a thin consolation blanket: if our lives are dictated by accidental combinations of segments of DNA, then we’re not responsible for anything. (Yay!) He concludes with a homily: judgment of an individual’s faults is simple intolerance once we realize that none of us can help who she or he has become. No one can cast the first stone.

The author, a microbiologist, subscribes to a mechanistic view of humanity. We cannot exceed the sum of our parts. We delude ourselves when thinking otherwise. Our selfish genes seek their expression and propagation throughout a population, and we are meek automatons campaigning for their cause.

Religions hold up loving service and devotion to God as standards for building a worthy life. But a scientist can explain a saint’s self-sacrifice away. Our selfish genes not only seek to spread their influence throughout a population, they also seek the survival of related genomes. When a prophet dies for his fellow human beings, his genes are simply directing him to model activity beneficial for the survival of the assembled gene banks (men and women) in his coterie.

Oh my.

Odd Chance and Coincidences

My wife and I are celebrating our 35th anniversary today. Sometimes it seems that our courtship and marriage were foreordained. We’re so used to sharing our lives that alternative versions of our personal histories seem incomprehensible.

There were many coincidental ties between us before we met: we drank at the same bar and listened to the same local bands; I had gone to college with a few of her grad-school colleagues; Judy lived in the same apartment complex as my former boss and knew her; we separately read “Grendel” and both discussed the book with a mutual friend (he saw a possible connection and introduced us).

We’ve been talking about odd chances that allowed us to meet at the right time. I had a few opportunities to date other women directly before I met Judy. I turned them down because a relationship with a difficult girlfriend hadn’t completely nosedived. (I had decided, after an affair with a two-timer, to never date more than one person at a time.) I met Judy one month after gaining freedom. Judy decided to get her doctorate at the University of Dayton where she formerly worked as a lab technician. She could have chosen to go elsewhere. If she had, we wouldn’t have met. I chose to wait a year after earning a B.F.A to apply to grad school. I stayed in Dayton long enough to meet her.

I think that most couples could tell similar stories about odd chances and coincidences. We don’t know every detail of our histories beforehand, but certain events have a familiar quality. We sense when new chapters have begun. We’re more open to certain possibilities because they seem like the next likely thing. Life stories appear pre-written at times, that the seemingly inevitable really is.

But one has to be a bit of a romantic to believe in kismet. What do the gods care if two specks in the vast expanse spend their lives together?

I occasionally view my story as a consequential drama and rearrange the plot points to fit a final ending. If I cast aside my ego for a moment, I might simply conclude that Judy and I met, married, and decided to stay together. “Just the facts, ma’am.”

None of this matters, of course, when I sit across the dining room table and talk to Judy. Who cares about past decisions and quirks of fate? She’s here. I’m here. And I feel grateful.