I tell people constantly, pseudo-professionally and personally, to control what they can control. There are so many variables and often we get so hung up on the ones we have no power over. Namely, other people.
I tell my foster parents to pick their battles. To watch their proximity and to reward good behavior. To them, this feels like relinquishing power. To me, it means creating peace and restoring control. I tell them not to raise their voice just because a child does. This concept is lost on them. I tell them to watch how they express feelings, to watch for triggers, and to pick the non-negotiables. Operate from there. A good, solid, healthy baseline. They don't listen.
This is why I go to the gym. Because I can control my body. There are parts of my body I cannot control -- like the curvature of my spine, stretch marks, the one leg and arm longer than the other. But the gym, and the work I put in there, helps me overcome. I should be controlling what is in my refrigerator, because I can control that too. But I feel less triumphant after a healthy meal than I do after an hour long workout, so if I'm going only going to pick one battle to fight... I always pick the one that makes me sweat.
Yesterday, I was treated pretty poorly at my gym. Nothing so bad I would talk to management about. But enough to make me skip my morning session today out of disdain and/or embarrassment. I was disregarded and misinterpreted and scoffed at; so many uncontrollable variables all at once my safe place suddenly became a place where I lacked any control again. I left with my tail tucked between my legs.
Last night I was told, for probably the hundredth time: I was great, but it just wasn't going to work out.
I was so proud of myself for the casual way I responded and the coolness with which I ended the conversation. I tricked myself into thinking this week that a lack of attachment will help with all this emotional turmoil. But man. Is that against my nature. So this morning, the tears came.
Not because of him -- the variable and his rejection. It was a silly conversation and a try-again attempt, which we were both right in believing would have probably wasted our time.
Before this emotionally tumultuous week, in which I cancelled interviews and had corporate arguments and quit grad school, I had a few more difficult conversations with uncaring, unimportant people. Which went a little something like...
"Anna, you are not.... fill in the blank."
Enough, basically.
Then I tumbled into this emotional train wreck of a week, and I started blocking phone numbers.
Left and right. All for good reason, all personally validated, all justified and very much warranted. I began to use the hard and fast rule Larry always taught us: if I cannot benefit you and you are not benefitting me, there's no need for a relationship.
And I had a hey day. Cleaned the proverbial house. And was free from stupid boys for all of a week before the latest one flipped the switch on me. He doesn't need his number blocked. But I didn't allow for any lack of clarity.
But it took all the way until this morning. When I was actively avoiding the gym because of a variable. To realize how much energy I was spending worrying about those uncontrollable variables. And not taking my own advice.
I am still sad. Don't get me wrong. I walked down the stairs this morning and saw signs of comfort, of family, of belonging sitting huge and glaringly obvious at the foot of my stairs. Gut wrenching. The lack of safety of the most craved space.
People tell me to choose better. I've been on this soapbox for years now. I don't do the choosing. I know how to choose well. I can pick a good man, a good woman, a good human out of a crowd. It's my gift. I'm sensitive to goodness. But as I sat back today and thought back, I realized I have not been actively pursued by a good human being since before I was 20 years old.
I have picked a half dozen fine, good, handsome men of character. Who all ended up with fine, good, beautiful woman of integrity. But in seven years almost there's not been one worth trusting.
I cannot control that variable. If I could, I would have a long time ago. I would have constructed the right man out of thin air and we would not be here right now, dammit. But here we are. And I'm not so sure anymore he exists at all.
The integrity is in the details, you see. You see the big picture. Judah and I need a good man. With a job. Who loves Jesus. Maybe you're insightful enough to know we need a man who isn't racist. But most of you aren't.
I see the minute details of every day and I know the man who fits here, if he exists, will be one of a kind.
I see the minute details of every day and I know the man who fits here, if he exists, will be one of a kind.
But I can't control that. He may not know who he is any more than I do.
He, or the lack of him, is my uncontrollable variable.
All this to say... I have a new mantra. I am not sure how it will manifest in the day to day. But it sounds something like, I am not responsible for them. I am not responsible for the trainer's arrogance, or his moodiness, or how he interpreted what I had to say. I am not responsible for another man's insensitivity. I am not responsible for another man's lack of motivation or the decisions they choose to make.
All I am responsible for is me. And Judah. And how we carry ourselves, conduct ourselves, respond to others, reach out to others. I am responsible for what we choose to ignore. What I choose to address and how. My proximity to the chaos. But only sometimes the chaos itself.
This goes right along with a thousand other mantras, which get me through my day. Including "they don't care about you", which is in fact one of the most comforting one-liners to get a social anxious creature like myself through the day.
And so I went home on lunch and packed a gym bag. I'll go back to the gym tonight and I will nod and smile like I always do. I will reclaim my safe spot. My last courageous act of February.
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