She Couldn't Resist: A Parable about Will Power

She had no will power whatsoever. She knew it. Her family and friends knew it. Even casual acquaintances like the merchant in the corner store and the tellers at the bank knew it.

She couldn't resist any sort of temptation, she couldn't impose any sort of discipline on herself or her life, and she couldn't stick to any promises she made to improve herself in any way. She had always been that way. In every other respect, she was a wonderful person.

As she grew into adulthood, she understood and basically accepted this weakness in herself. Sure, she'd always be a bit unhealthy because she had so little self-control when it came to food and because she couldn't stick to any kind of fitness regime beyond a day or two. Sure, it would be great to be that person who would just say no to the bad things in life and yes to the good. But she figured she'd be less happy that way if it meant depriving herself of things she loved, and so she made light of it when talking with close friends, stopped trying to change, and went on with her indulgences.

One day, Mr. Wright came into her life (Tony Wright, a very reputable lawyer in town).

While she might have believed that "love at first sight" was a fiction before the moment she saw him, she would forever after know that it was very real. And for whatever reason, he seemed to feel the same way about her.

They dated. They married. And their love for each other grew as they spent their first year together.

One of the things she loved most about him was that he didn't try to change her; in his eyes, she was perfect "as is". She wished (truly wished) that she could be better than she was if only for him, but she didn't have to be, so she wasn't.

On their first anniversary he gave her an ornate box that clearly wasn't new. It was about the size of the box that had contained her engagement ring almost two years ago by then, but this box was locked. He also handed her an envelope containing a card and a key (presumably, the key to the box). The card said:

Now that we've been married for a full year, I feel that it's time to entrust you with an important secret of mine: one that could have a significant impact on our life together. I'm not telling you the secret now, but a time may come when I have to. For now, I ask you to hold on to this box and keep it safe. The secret lies within it. It is locked away and within your power to discover, but I ask you not to open the box until the time comes when I ask you to. Trust me enough to hold onto my secret without knowing what it is. My gift is trust and love and I ask for the same in return. You know I love you as you are. You know I have never asked you to be anyone other than who you are. I know how hard it is for you to resist temptation. For me, I ask you to resist this one.

(He also gave her some flowers, a nice dinner out, and a new sweater.)

He couldn't have done anything worse to her. The box was constantly on her mind. It gnawed at her. Its presence on her dresser was a constant torment. The key that she put into the top dresser drawer became an obsession. Staring at the box at night, she could almost imagine it throbbing in concert with her heartbeat; pounding as she agonized over its presence. What could be in the box? What's this secret that could significantly impact our lives? Is this a trick? Is he testing me? Is there something really bad in there that I need to know about? Did he love someone else before me? Is it a bullet and he's telling me he once killed someone? Could it be something valuable that he stole? HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?????

She held out for as long as she could...until the next morning when they both left for work.

Circling back to the house after pretending to head off to the office, she went straight to their bedroom, grabbed the box off the dresser, pulled the key from the drawer, and unlocked the box. Before opening the lid, she tried one last time to stop herself, but by this time her hands were no longer within her control...

Inside the box she found a red jelly bean.

Now she had a real dilemma on her hands (along with some red dye). She needed to know the significance of the jelly bean. It didn't make any sense. How could a jelly bean have an impact on their life together as the anniversary card suggested? What did it mean?

But she of course couldn't ask him. She had betrayed his trust. He knew she was weak, he never expected her to change that in herself, but he had asked such a small thing of her and she had failed him. Clearly, she couldn't ask him about the jelly bean. She was stuck in a worse position now than she had been before opening the damn box.

Somehow, she found the strength to keep her questions to herself. She mustered every ounce of self-control and kept silent. For hours. For days. For weeks. For months. For years...

All that time, her mind cooked up explanations for the jelly bean. Most were absurd. None made sense. But she suffered such internal turmoil that it began to change her feelings about her husband. She wasn't sure she could trust him anymore. She began to resent him. Not knowing was having a greater impact on their life together than any possible secret related to the jelly bean could have. But still she kept silent.

The worst times for her were when he thanked her for the trust she placed in him by not opening the box. At those times, her will to keep secret what she had done held, but only barely.

In their twelfth year of marriage, he got very sick. It looked like he was going to die. She decided that before that happened, she needed to know about the jelly bean. Just as she started to ask him, though, he beat her to the punch: "All these years, you've held my trust. You've kept my box locked. You've fulfilled my belief in you. You've demonstrated greater self-control than any other person could have by not even asking me about it. And now, the time has come for you to learn my secret: Well before we met, I was diagnosed with an extremely rare disease that my doctor said could lie dormant for years before one day threatening my life. That day has now arrived. In the box lies a little red pill that I spent a small fortune to get my hands on. I need it now to save my life. I knew you would be by my side when this time came. I knew you would keep it safe. Please get it for me now."

She was confused: "Why didn't you just tell me that? Why hide that from me? Your illness wouldn't have changed how I feel about you. Why take the risk that when you needed the pill we'd be able to have this conversation and I'd be able to get you the pill your life depends upon? I don't get it."

He answered: "Simply put, I didn't want you worrying about me for years and years and treating me as frail in all that time. It's also true that I have always believed in you and I wanted to show you that you have an inner strength far beyond what you think. I bet my love and my life that you'd be able to resist the temptation to open the box. And now, not only will you save my life by giving me the pill, but you will also discover that you are a far better person for having passed this test of self-control."

"I opened the box the morning after you gave it to me," she admitted with dawning dread.

He paused, then smiling he said: "Oh well. I suspected you might have. But I married you knowing and loving who you are, and knowing and loving both your strengths and your weaknesses. I suppose that hearing that you opened the box - in a way - makes me love you all the more for having kept silent all these years to preserve my faith in you. Now please get the pill."

With resignation in her voice, she said what would turn out to be her final words to him: "Yeah... but I bet you didn't guess I'd eat the little red jelly bean I found in the box. It just looked so yummy."

His final, defeated words back to her were: "No. That is indeed a most unpleasant surprise."

He took his last breath moments later.

Epilogue

Months later she got an envelope from his Executor. In the envelope, there was a letter that had been written and sealed at the time of their first anniversary. It said:

If you're getting this letter, it means I died of my disease and you couldn't save me. Furthermore, it probably means that you couldn't resist the temptation to not only open the box, but also to eat the little red pill it contained. That's a shame. You probably feel terrible. I forgive you. I hope this has taught you a little bit about self-control. I hope the guilt you feel is enough to make you realize that you must exercise greater will-power from...

She stopped reading the letter before she could finish it. Her shows were coming on and she needed a snack. She opened the bag of jelly beans she had picked up for the office party the next day. She sobbed quietly as she polished off the bag.

David Does Deep

"The caterpillar sheds his skin to find a butterfly within." - Donovan, There is a Mountain

I like this lyric. It's kind of nice. It rhymes. And it seems like a good opening for some possibly pointless meanderings...

I grew up with a Dad who made it okay - nay, expected - to repeat the same jokes over and over again whenever the appropriate situation arose (and even when it didn't): 

• "What's snoo? Nothing much, what's snoo with you?"; 
• "You may think it's funny when you sneeze like that, but it's snot."; 
• "Rectum? Nearly killed him!"; 
• And so on. 

If something was funny once, it surely must be funny again and again and again and again.

Dad taught me other things as well; things that he'd probably characterize as wisdom. He would repeat these lessons again and again and again too, presumably making them more sage with each repetition (I'd make a spice joke here if I had the thyme).

One such lesson was that "You don't really become an adult until you are x" where x, until fairly recently, could be calculated by subtracting about 10 years from his age and/or adding at least 10 to mine. (I might be an adult now because he hasn't said this to me for a while, or maybe I will only become an adult at 50, or maybe the target is still moving...not sure.)

But let's assume I'm an adult now, even by Dad's standards. To use the image from Donovan's lyric above, can it be said that adult David is the butterfly and that before becoming the butterfly, throughout his prolonged childhood, he was the caterpillar? Was the process of growing up all about shedding a childhood skin to find the adult within?

Uh, no.

There was always a child-within and there still is, very much alive and well. There was never an adult just waiting to emerge from the cocoon of childhood. Growing up was/is all about constructing a skin around the child-within so that others would see him as an adult:

• The child who wants to stick out a foot as someone runs past;
• The child who can barely suppress a giggle when someone farts out loud at an inappropriate time (which is to presume that there is an appropriate time I guess);
• The child who gets angry when someone cuts in line, or sad when someone says something mean to him.

As I get to know myself better, I am better able to understand and embrace the child-within: I'm feeding my need to be creative by doing things like writing a blog and cooking; I'm getting a lot of pleasure out of running; I'm LOVING playing with a five-year old, and re-learning how to read with her, how to draw with her, and all the songs and books and stories of childhood; And I'm reconnecting with the people who knew me as a child.

The newly enlightened David sees that he had the image flipped before: It is the child-within that is the butterfly, the imagined-adult is the caterpillar, and the skin that must be shed is probably fear (the fear of child-like vulnerability, for example).

Is that what Dad was waiting for me to realize so that he could declare me an adult? Or was Dad just making one of his jokes (again and again and again)? 

"First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is." - Donovan, There is a Mountain

First you're a child, then you think you're not a child, then you realize that you never stopped being a child. And that makes you an adult.

"Be like boy! Be like boy! We like Roy!" - The Simpsons, Season 5 Episode 7, Bart's Inner Child

Deep, man.

A Note to My Daughter and My Daughter's Future Analyst

Micaela, to make things easier for you if you're ever seeing an Analyst years and years from now, here's why you have trouble dealing with being wrong...

------

About 7 weeks ago, we took out a CD from the Oakville Public Library that has a bunch of songs on it including "All Together Now". We've been listening to all of the songs over and over and over again.

All Together Now starts like this:
One, two, three, four
Can I have a little more?
five, six, seven, eight nine ten I love you.
A, B, C, D
Can I bring my friend _____?
E, F, G, H, I, J, I love you.

The blanks after "Can I bring my friend" are there because they're the source of this incident.

About 3 weeks ago, I heard you singing the words "Can I bring my friend to eat" while singing along to the song. I corrected you: "No, no Micaela. It's 'Can I bring my friend to tea'." (You will later tell me that I said "Can I bring my friend for tea", but that's not where we are in the story yet.)

You, of course, insisted that it's "to eat", but I left it at that.

Until the next time the song was on and you sang "to eat" again. I corrected you again. You disagreed. And we agreed to disagree.

Then Mom was in the car and it happened again. This time, I turned the volume way, way up so Mom could hear it and tell us which it was - without knowing who thought it was what. You cheated and sang your words on top of the loud music. Mom, realizing that she was being put in the middle of a dispute, chose to say she wasn't sure. (Although I believe she knew the truth).

On it went.

Until yesterday. With your second oldest sister and your Mom in the car, we turned the volume way up once again, you played it straight and kept quiet while we all listened to the lyrics. Clear as day, the singer said "to tea" and you refused to acknowledge it, insisting that it was "to eat". Your sister tried to diffuse the tension by saying it was "to bed" (which is a later verse and pretty funny, but not the point).

Finally, in Longo's, I pulled out my iPhone, Googled the lyrics, zoomed in on the words so they were really big, and had you read them. (Bet you didn't know reading could be used against you.)

I watched your face as you read the lyrics to yourself (Later, as an adult, you'll learn to read a few words ahead before saying things out loud and incriminating yourself in situations like this - but you just learned to read, so I had you). I watched as a little bit of innocence-lost washed over your face. I felt a little bad.

Until you looked up at me and said "Well, you said 'Can I bring my friend for tea' so we're both wrong." Only now did I take the high road and accept your admission of wrongness, flawed as it might be.

I should have left it at that. But later Mom asked what you wanted to do today. I answered "Maybe you should have a friend to tea."

Sorry about that.

In my defense, I should get a mulligan because I was right and you were wrong.

Anyways, tell your Analyst about the good times too.

Love, Dad.