*** This entry was originally posted to LiveJournal August 24, 2009 ***
I'm fascinated by the things that stick with me over time. Incidents from so long ago and that seem so simple can have such a lasting impact and can be so indicative of personality traits that will manifest themselves over and over again.
I'm thinking, by no means for the first time, of an incident that happened back when I was in Cub Scouts. I was never a Boy Scout (thanks to certain of their policy decisions I'm now grateful for this), but I was a Cub Scout, duly bedecked in my blue shirt, blue cap, and yellow kerchief.
At one of our meetings, we were having a party. I don't remember why. What I do remember is that there were cupcakes. More specifically, I remember that there was an insufficient number of cupcakes. The moment the white paperboard box opened to reveal the cupcakes inside, a quick mental comparison between the number of cupcakes in the box and the number of pairs of ravenous eyes bulging beneath the blue brims of their caps revealed the truth: the cupcake supply was doomed to come up short. Maybe I'm the only one who noticed. Maybe I'm the only one who cared. What I do know for sure is the choice that I made in response to my realization: I made sure to put myself at the very back of the line.
Now, the way I remember this incident--and by now it doesn't matter whether my memory is strictly accurate or not--is that the cupcake supply was short by exactly one. This meant, of course, that the Cub Scout who had intentionally put himself at the back of the line was the only Cub Scout who didn't get a cupcake. I remember saying nothing as I passed the empty box on the table, and I remember sitting apart from my troop mates, hoping simultaneously and with equal fervor that no one would notice and that everyone would notice.
One of the adult leaders did notice, and I dismissively passed it off with a "No, really, it's fine." Well, it wasn't fine. It was my choice. I knew what my choice meant when I made it. Even so, it definitely wasn't fine.
If there had been enough cupcakes that day, I would surely not remember that Cub Scout meeting any more than I remember dozens of other Cub Scout meetings. But I do remember that day. I still remember how it felt, and even relating the story still brings some of that feeling back some three decades later.
Now, it's not that I think my choice was bad. If I had made my choice from a place of authentic service I think I would have felt good about my choice. A desire not to let one of my troop mates be the one without a cupcake was a part of my decision, but it was nowhere near the main reason I did what I did. I did what I did primarily because I thought I deserved to be the one without a cupcake. It's not that I'd have refused one if there had been enough of them. It's that I deserved to be The Cub Scout Who Didn't Get a Cupcake, if there had to be one of those. So it's not about Cub Scout leaders who underestimate attendance (or who just can't count), or even about cupcakes at all. It's about what I did to myself, and why I did it.
Why has this incident stuck with me, and why am I thinking about it now? The reason is that I still do this. Thirty years later and after all I've learned, I still do this to myself. That’s why it’s so easy to remember how that day felt. I still give myself reasons to feel that way.
Two weeks from tomorrow will be my 40th birthday. I don't see this as a bad thing or as a reason to lament the passing of youth. I see it as a good thing, and as a cause to celebrate being in my prime. I'm actually excited about it.
So what plans do I have, you ask? That's just it. I have none. Zero, zip, zilch, nada. I have absolutely no solid plan for what I want to do to mark this rapidly-approaching occasion. Every time I've tried to think about it, I have run up against a colossal wall of internal resistance: Is it an absolutely perfect idea in every way? Will it be too expensive? When can I even do it if all the September weekends are already full? If I make it small and invite only a few people, will other people feel left out? If I make it huge and invite a ton of people, will only three show up? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah and on and on and on. It's all BS, of course. I'm just putting myself at the back of the line again--going back to that painful but familiar place. It's a Herculean effort for me to make a big deal about myself--while at the same time, perversely, part of me wants everyone to notice what a big deal I'm not making of myself. Yuck. Frankly, I disgust myself with this sort of behavior. And yet, here I am encountering it. Again. Still.
There is a way through this wall of internal resistance to a place from which I can figure out what I want to do to celebrate my birthday. I know there is. I just haven't completed the journey through that wall yet. I will. What I think would be a great next task is to figure out how to stop putting such walls up in the first damn place.
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