The Greater Kudu

There is an antelope called a greater kudu. The males have curled, twisted horns protruding from their heads. They spar with other males by interlocking horns to see who has the strongest pull.

We, as humans, are supposed to be smarter than the other animals. I couldn't help but think of mankind when I heard about greater kudus. We constantly entangle ourselves with one another in battle. From brother and sister fights to lovers' quarrels to outright war, we lock ourselves together with our adversaries over and over. The main difference as I see it is that we realize what we're doing and we can decide against it.

The greater kudus will often lock horns and find themselves unable to disengage them. When this occurs they wind up starving to death or dying of dehydration. All for the love of a female.

We've all heard the term "butting heads" when two people go at an argument to the ridiculous. I, myself, have heard it often throughout my life - often aimed at me. Why do we love conflict so much? Let's start with the small stuff. (And, according to some, it's all small stuff.) Why do we have to have the last word? Why do we have to be first in the line of traffic? Why do we care so much about what someone else believes?

I can ask these questions with a lot of life experience behind them. In the heat of an argument something in me knows that if I have the last word I have 'won' the argument because they've run out of things to say. In my efforts to 'win' I have repeated my opinion until I'm sick of it. I have failed to realize that only truth wins. If there is more than one truth, there is more than one 'winner'. I'm learning to state my opinion once - maybe twice if I can intelligently reword it or I truly don't think the other person got it - and then, with all that's in me (and that's not a whole lot yet, folks) shut up. At most I may say, "Well, I've told you how I feel." If I indeed have the truth and I have put it out there, there is not a whole lot else I can do. It's up to the person hearing it to move next. I have to learn to rest in that. I also have to learn to walk away and replay what they've said just in case they are right.

I got more traffic tickets in Phoenix than I could afford, usually for speeding. I did not like being passed. I didn't like it when someone would pull in front of me without enough space to do it safely or without signaling. I shouldn't have liked it. I still don't. Those who do that are wrong and dangerous and should not be driving. With that said, let me share with you my brilliant reactions to their bad driving. I needed to teach them (someone needed to) why they shouldn't drive like that. So I'd hurry and do the same thing to them. There! Gotcha! The incredible thing is, I never got a ticket when driving stupidly like that. How and when I got ticketed is another blog. Actually, a better blog would be the tickets I managed to worm my way out of. Anyway, eventually my conscience started talking to me. I decided that I should not do that any more. Easy to think . . . So I had to replace it with something just like a chain smoker has to replace the cigarette with something if he's going to quit. So I thought it out. Let them be wrong, I'll be right. Kind of self-righteous, but also just plain right. Who cares which side of my car they drive on? Logical, I still like that one. But my favorite remains, "Fine. If you drive that poorly, I'd rather have you in my sights than come out of nowhere again and cause an accident." I faltered, however, in my efforts to be the better driver. I eventually started back into the habit of speeding past them to keep them behind me because, "If you're going to cause an accident - which, driving like that, you will - I don't want to get stuck in the back up." Ah, me.

The one place where I've made the best progress is not caring so much about what others believe. Truly it's not that I am uncaring, I just realize that it usually doesn't matter to me. It doesn't make any difference in my life. I try to learn from them. How do they come to that belief? How do they express it? How can I express my beliefs? How should I not express my beliefs?

We are all distressed about the amount of war in our world. I know that the layers of reasons for war go deeper than I understand. I believe, however, that, at the base is not only greed, but belief systems. Too many people believe that those who live or think differently should not exist. This offers me a chance to say what I think is the root of almost all the trouble in our world. Selfishness. Whether it be manifested in greed, intolerance, chemical dependency (which, I know, has other roots, too), rape or other brutish, barbaric behavior. When self-centered meets self-centered, they lock horns and pull. They try to pull the other one over to their side. They try to make the other one go where they think they should go.

Who wins when your horns are locked and you're thirsty and hungry?

I've had some uncomfortable confrontations with some friends over the years. Sometimes I have simply ignored the offense to keep the peace. Other times I've argued or tried good old-fashioned debate. Sometimes I've questioned whether or not to continue in the friendship if there is so much stressful disagreement in it. I haven't ended any of these friendships for many reasons. One of them is my realization that if I cannot get along with my neighbor how can I ever expect peace in the Middle East? I think I've posed this question before in another blog so forgive me if I'm repeating myself. I think it bears repeating.

Add a Little Sugar . . .

Note:  Anyone who actually understands the title to this blog is impressive. I'm tired, not feeling at all creative and need to post this now.

It's been particularly blustery in the D. C. area lately. I could look at that poetically - nature is sweeping out the old and blowing in the new. I could look at it more scientifically - sheesh, my cheeks hurt! The wonder of it is that I can and do look at it from different perspectives. I love that word. Perspective. I love it as much as I love the word practice.*

Perspective is what has saved me from my old, bad attitudes that still plague me on occasion. If you know someone with a bad attitude, instead of telling them that they need a good attitude (they probably already know that; they just won't admit it to you) help them find a different perspective. 

I'm going to share a story with you about problems I had with one of my teachers. First, a word in her favor:

She tried to teach us something that, if her students heeded her advice, will have forever helped us in all areas of life. She tried to keep us on track and in the moment. It never failed when we were called on and made any mistakes, we'd start to chastise ourselves. She warned against this for many reasons. Mainly it took the focus off what we were doing (or trying to do). Secondly, it set a bad habit of abandoning that for which what we were working so hard. Remember, practice makes permanent. Holding tightly to that which we want and keeping at bay all distractions is invaluable. Imagine what we would be capable of mentally if we could keep our focus that strongly amid all that the world throws in our way every day.

So, obviously, I learned from her and she was skilled. I also had difficulties with her. She didn't like to answer my questions. It had not always been that way. The first several classes, when I'd ask a question, she'd not only answer it, she'd say something like "What an interesting question" Then, she would evade them or dismissively tell me to not worry about it. Others could question her at length even redirect her when she wasn't addressing their exact issue. I was shut down. One day, it got so aggravating to me that I reacted poorly. I exclaimed, "Does it bother you that I want answers to my questions?" I did this during class. I apologized the next day. It got progressively worse, however. So I talked to myself. "I am here to learn. I am not here to be respected. I am here to learn." I decided, after that little pep talk, that I'd hold my questions until study hall where she would answer them or I'd ask another teacher on duty. 

I got perspective. I didn't abandon myself, however. I acknowledged that I was being disrespected. I also acknowledged that there was nothing I could do about that. She would behave the way she would behave and I would behave the way I would behave. I decided to behave the best I could while keeping in mind the purpose of my being in the class. 

I stopped myself from over-thinking the situation. "Why is she picking on me?" "Why does she answer his questions?" "Why can't she just give me a simple yes or no and move on?" Good questions all, maybe, but irrelevant. I was there to learn. Could I learn while saving my questions for a later time? Yes. Could I learn while put out with the teacher? Yes. Could I learn while pushing the issue during class, wasting the time of others and possibly getting myself kicked out? Not as easily, nope. Perspective.

She came up to me once outside of class and asked me if I was angry. I answered, yes. We talked and I told her everything. She denied everything and told me that I disrespected her. In other words, we got nowhere since she flat out denied her own behavior.  

In time, some students joined our class and I noticed that she was treating me better. One of the new students was struggling greatly and not keeping up on the material. I didn't know this student's life outside of class. Did he even study? I didn't know. He certainly seemed to put out effort during class. All I saw is what we all saw, someone to whom this subject matter did not come easily. Nothing stuck. Basic lessons learned early on seemed new every day. Everything confounded him. The teacher was not always patient with him. She'd say downright rude things to him, "Come on. Keep up." She'd laugh at him. It hurt to watch this go on and I wanted to say something, but it wasn't my battle to fight. So I watched it and squirmed for him. And I noticed something. Her whole tone changed when she was addressing him. He was an irritation and she let it be known. It was the same tone she used to use with me. I recognized it. Her voice got dull and tired sounding. She obviously felt put upon in having to deal with him. It seemed as though she had chosen a new victim.

But I don't think that was the case. Even then, in the thick of it, I never thought she did any of this deliberately. As per our conversation, I don't think she was aware of it. With me, I wondered if subconsciously she favored the male students over me. There was one strong-voiced man who would have her attention whenever he wanted it. He would question some things down to the minutest details and she would patiently answer him. One of my friends thought that she felt like she had something to prove by keeping one student down at a time. I didn't like what this teacher did, but I didn't think she had an agenda.

In the midst of all this I started noticing something completely unrelated. When I would watch people I would see them as their younger self. I saw the 10 year old in presidents, celebrities, my own husband, even strangers. I saw what they had made of themselves and wondered how proud - or ashamed - their parents were. I wondered what their 10 year old self would think if they could have seen their adult self at that age. I wondered how the life of that 10 year old affected the behavior of this adult. I don't know why I started noticing all this in so many people, so many strangers. Maybe I was catching glimpses of my 10 year old self so I simply saw that in others. I don't know. But I think it was what gave me the perspective I was able to have in that situation with my teacher. I recognized this grown person navigating her way through life, trying to figure out how to handle the unexpected on the spot. And sometimes she failed.

One of my favorite authors is Frank Delaney. I'm reading The Matchmaker of Kenmare. Twice in this book a character says that if we can tell our own life story as though it were a legend, it could be very healing. Glimpsing into my own past (the 10 year old me) and the memories of what I have risen out of and what I have risen to are, I believe, the beginnings of my telling my own story.

The wind just blew someone's torn Christmas tree sack onto our balcony. The wind is blowing trash everywhere. Trash we have either misplaced or trash that has gotten away from us. I don't want to live my life leaving trash behind. In the midst of experiences like this with my teacher, I remind myself that I want to write more and, with every experience, my writing skills grow. They grow with characterizations I may not have invented without having known certain people. They grow with my observing my own dealings with others and the failed and successful ways I handle them. I should be grateful. Perhaps my attitude isn't that positive yet, but I think I'm heading there.

*I have written about the word (and the concept) of practice before. One of my teachers at the YMCA used to warn us that practice makes permanent in regards to our posture and other habits. One of my yoga teachers reminded us to not watch those around us during class ("Is she more flexible than me?"), but to focus on our self. She taught us that we spend our lives practicing yoga. We don't one day say, "I can yoga!" It's a process as is most of life.