Tuesday, July 21, 2015

On Fishy Burps and the Reset Button

While wandering around in a local GNC the other day, I found myself slightly overwhelmed by the superabundance of vitamin choices, each one promising me essential nutrients that my body needs RIGHT NOW.

The fish oil capsules in particular caught my eye. Brain health, hmmm... Could those translucent orange capsules make me less forgetful and more on top of my life?

"No fishy burps" and "Burp-less fish oil," the labels promised... which I found utterly charming. You mean to tell me that fishy burps are practically a trademarked *thing*? That other people suffer them, too? And that there is now a solution to the problem of concentrated anchovy or krill belches!?  I need to know more!

Ah, the power of marketing...

***

Something fishy about that face...
Speaking of marketing, there is also the rise of Donald Trump. When he first appeared on the scene, I thought he was just seeking a bigger audience for preening purposes and an excuse to tell everyone that "I'm really, really rich." But apparently, he has been making giant strides, with 24% of Republicans now supporting his candidacy, compared to only 4% in May. What? Are we crazy? I know American politics look like a freak show, but this is too much.

Fishy burps indeed.

The whole unexpected surge of support for The Donald (not to be confused with Donald Duck, although the similarities are striking) has got me thinking again about the difference between a reaction and a response. It's a familiar idea, but so perennially true that it deserves to be highlighted again.

Reactions are negative, emotional, short-term, focused on striking back against something that causes us angst or pain. To react is to hit back swift and hard, to mutter an obscenity, to curse the darkness.

A response, by contrast, is a positive answer to something good that touches the heart or awakens the mind. We respond to the siren call of something excellent, true, or beautiful. We find an echo in ourselves, and the response is also an act of self-recognition. I respond because something in me finds that this good person or thing that I love expresses a piece of me, or of the person I feel called to become. To respond is to open one's hand to another, to echo and mirror something beautiful, to light a candle.

"It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness." Apparently, the founder of Amnesty International was the first to use the phrase, back in 1961. Now, in 2015, Trump is raking in the support by cursing the darkness right and left, perhaps sometimes even exaggerating it when it serves his interests. (A novel technique for politicians, I'm sure.) And people who are also disgusted with the status quo and sick of the usual array of politicians are on board, united by shared hatred and frustration.

If this is the way we build, based on a shared hatred, then we're in for a rough ride.

***

I've been struck lately by the power of Choice in a relationship -- in a totally positive sense. My marriage, stamped and certified as Human, has the typical good days and meh days. There are mornings when we just start off wrong: someone is tense about something, or there is an impatient reaction, or someone (okay, me) forgot something important. So sometimes our gears jam up and we find ourselves "refunfuñando," which, contrary to the appearance of the word, is not the least bit fun.


This is me when I am woken up before 9:00 a.m.
Def. "refunfuñar": to grumble. Think Grumpy of the 7 Dwarves. (Because everything in life can somehow be explained with a Disney character.)

But one thing we do extraordinarily well is hit the magical Reset Button. This is when it rocks to have a really bad memory -- "Hi, I'm Dory" -- me by nature, JC by choice. Both of us have the ability to stop, catch the spiraling dynamic, and turn it all around. We say a quick "I'm sorry" with a rueful grin and then we just keep swimming, just keep swimming... and it actually works. I've been impressed at how this man is able to say, "I'm sorry, I was wrong." I think it's rare and precious. I never apologize because I'm always right, which is also rare and precious.

So here is my manifesto: no score keeping, no endless Silent Treatments, no Frosty Glare or Read-My-Mind-And-Guess-How-You-Offended-Me-This-Time-Bozo. I could not live with someone who played those games. I can't read your mind, can't guess what you're thinking, and I won't lie because I have no poker face and I won't be able to remember my lies well enough to keep them straight. If you have something to say, well, say it-- and so will I. Then we'll laugh, hug, and continue on. [Caveat: not talking about serious offenses here, just the daily stuff.]

So this is it: a relationship between two flawed people who constantly fall, but who get up again fast because why marinate in resentment when you can make the choice to be happy again and to build something beautiful together? Why live in the past? Why not give people the chance to change? I know some people are resistant to change, but I think that many others are able to grow so much when we give them permission to start over without the old ball and chain miring them in the past.

I guess that's also the idea I have of God and of confession. I know some people have this idea of God as the Judge who is going to read me the list of my failures in a sonorous, gravely voice and then rub it all in my face with Righteous Indignation, but honestly, I've always felt that he is just eager to brush it all aside and pick us up again so that we can keep growing, responding to what is good and what lights us up inside. He's on our side, he has a sense of humor, he gets us, and he doesn't hold grudges.

This is all according to me, because I am the final authority on all things God. I don't want to brag or anything, but I am currently praying a NOVENA to St. Anne, and I can feel my Holiness Quotient growing by leaps and bounds, LEAPS AND BOUNDS, BABY! Don't mind my elbows jabbing your ribs as I push my way forward to heaven ahead of you.

Indeed.
So, we all know that self-recrimination is already a heavy burden when we fail, and there is always a little voice that wants to tell us, "You so totally suck" when what we SHOULD be hearing is "You so totally rock, squirt! Give me some fin. Noggin." When we're at our worst, the forgiveness and humor of another somehow lighten that burden, or even make it slide off our shoulders. But when we let our stuff fester, then even our responses to minor problems tend to take on the quality of a reaction: disproportionate, paranoid, whiny, and butthurt. Fishy burps at their finest.

I just think we have much more power, much more Choice than we realize. I don't mean to suggest that all problems can be solved by airily shaking it off, Taylor Swift style. There are some deeper problems or conflicts that will take much more to resolve, and there are some that are too far gone and that only distance, time, and separation can heal. There are also difficulties that spring from depression, which is certainly not something you can just choose to cast off. I know the idea does not apply across the board.

But with those many caveats aside, I think there is still ample margin for Choice, for the response of love and creativity and fresh starts and lighting candles and all the good that can come from giving others -- and ourselves -- a second chance.

***

I never did buy the fish oil capsules. Instead, I got an organic women's multivitamin "set" (five or six vitamins to take per day, because more is more and I'm going hardcore now). The pills have some fish oil in it but also tons of other nutrients derived from plants and fruits, so it's like eating a thousand broccolis and kale and greenery and shrubbery and all the good stuff that I don't eat because I'm busy hitting the wonton soup and the fried pork egg rolls.

Well, much to my chagrin and contrary to their marketing fantasies, I now get fishy burps AND organic vegetable burps. A thousand broccoli florets, revisited with my morning coffee. Nice...