Dodging the Deities
Some weeks back I heard about “the stoic gods” on NPR’s Hidden Brain. The stoic gods are one scientist’s fictitious deities that like to throw a monkey wrench into your day, just to see if you’ll take the bait.
When something goes wrong, humans instinctively get upset. One can then dwell in the dark cloud of exasperation and righteousness—or can choose to abandon anger for something more upbeat, recognizing that getting mad won’t change the immediate past and will likely just raise your blood pressure and irritate everyone. The stoic gods watch to see what you’ll do.
I told my uber-smart daughter-in-law about the stoic gods and she said they must hang out in airports. I had to laugh, because the scientist on NPR said the very same thing. I don’t frequent airports anymore, but I can see how monkey wrench clouds might hover and storm within.
The instant something bad occurs it becomes unalterable history. We can’t change it but we can decide how to react. Of course, just like stuff happens, anger happens. Can’t be helped. But it can be reckoned with. You can stay mad, and the stoic gods will snidely say, “I knew it!” Or you can adjust your outlook to calmly get around the proverbial worm on a hook.
But the stoic gods don’t just sit around airports messing with flight schedules and baggage claims. Sometimes they wipe out homes. Or body parts. Or loved ones. And indeed there will be anger, grief, denial, and maybe even determination to seek revenge. But ultimately one must move forward, in one direction or another. And the older I get, the more I find that leaning in the direction of gratitude, despite one’s losses, saves on time and energy for recovery.
Now, some might argue that it depends on the degree of setback one encounters. I am sure my terrors don’t match up to some—if we are trying to out-terror each other. But I’ve had a few. I lost my home to a hurricane, and my husband to a cold snap. I’ve suffered job losses and bodily injury. I’ve had plenty of reasons to feel sorry for myself. Like I’d never heal. But one must allow for recovery before it can happen. Must choose it.
It has taken a lot of conscious practice, but I now do pretty well with the stoic gods. I am generally capable of recuperation after setback. My bigger problem is the anxiety of what might happen. What could happen. The “What-If gods.”
Apparently, I’ve not yet internalized that, just as I cannot change history, I cannot know what is about to happen—from year to year or moment to moment. I can’t prepare for all eventualities. This should not keep me from moving forward. But sometimes it does. I was taught that “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” I tote a megaton of prevention, and my back hurts.
The What-If gods laugh at millionaires who need more money. At land barons (and dictators) who fret over property lines. And at people like me, who have worked hard for human comforts—a nice house and a car that are both paid for—but still fear fate will have us living in a cardboard box. If I do have to move into a corrugated paper domicile, will my future be better served by memories of having frolicked in paradise? Or of having failed to enjoy paradise because I was constantly bracing the walls of fate against misfortune?