Not Making Brownies
My son-in-law is smart. Really smart. High IQ. My daughter’s brain works at lightening speed. She is sharp, logical, intuitive – perceives subtle aspects of situations and puts things together fast. My son is the most forgiving and generous person I know. My husband is insightful and wise.
Me? I’m odd. Just ask them. They’re constantly laughing about my enthusiasm that overwhelms them, about things I do, things I say, things I notice that they never would have. And, I’m definitely too loud – too bursting with energy. They’re all much more quiet than I am.
We were hanging out and thought of making brownies for a treat. (I’d found a mix, years ago, that made me simply rip up the recipe I’d been tweaking for decades!) I didn’t want to make brownies, I explained to them, because I always like to let brownies sit for a day before I eat them. They all laughed at my oddness! I laughed, too! I told them I’ve tried to eat them. I’ve wanted to like them. But they just didn’t taste right to me until the next day. We finally settled on making a different cake mix. They gave up trying to convince me. (After all, I’m so odd, what’s the use?)
But, you know, the truth is that we’re all odd. We all notice things others don’t. We all have thoughts and ideas that haven’t occurred to others. We all have needs and feelings no one else has. But we’re afraid to be “odd.” We’re afraid to be the only one. We’re afraid to stand out.
We are, after all, animals. What happens to an animal that stands out too far from the herd? It is the most likely to be eaten by predators. What happens to an animal that is too different than the others? It could be pecked or stomped to death, or pushed to the outside of the herd… and then there’s that predator thing. So, we have a long instinctive history that tells us to be quiet, to fit in, to go along.
Like other life forms, we are intuitively aware of how vulnerable we are. Anything can happen to anyone at any time. We have our routines that comfort us, giving us the illusion of certainty. We have our rituals and superstitions that give us the illusion of control. But we all know, deep inside, how truly helpless we are about the things that matter most to us. We all experience this vulnerability as fear.
And what do fearful people do when someone “odd” threatens their illusions? Ask Galileo, who was imprisoned for suggesting that the Earth orbited around the Sun. Ask Socrates, who was killed for asking philosophical questions, rather than just following the dictates of his society. Ask the young man who stood in Tiananmen Square, facing a tank that could have crushed him simply because he had a different idea about how his world should be. Ask any protester.
Consider that word. “Protester” – someone who is against something, who is taking a negative stance – not someone who simply has a different idea to offer. It is typically easier to logically analyze different ideas when we are at work, a place where the goal is usually external to our own self. In our personal lives, though, we do not easily consider other opinions and ideas. We are not always able to look at life as a cooperative venture where we explore thoughts and needs and negotiate solutions that are basically satisfactory for everyone. While we may theoretically value the idea of a democracy, it can also threaten our sense of control and security.
Whoever is in charge, in power, in the majority defines “normal,” and everything else is somehow wrong or, minimally, odd. Think of how many times people (including all of us – be honest!) have remarked with disapproval at the behavior, dress or thoughts of others. Gossip and criticism are so present in our world that there are industries based on them – fashion, newspapers, magazines, television programs. That is a manifestation of our animal herd instinct – the existence of “other” is unsettling.
We all like routine and stability, even those whose “routine” is change. Changing whatever routine we each have established for ourselves stirs us up and we feel uneasy. When my daughter was young, she and I set off for a walk, one day. Our cat, Samantha, happened to see us leave, and as soon as we crossed the threshold of our driveway, she was beside herself with alarm. She set off after us, meowing in great distress for us to come back. She followed us for two long blocks before we had mercy on her and turned around. Running ahead of us, she kept turning and meowing, urging us forward. Only when we were back in our familiar “territory” did she relax. The familiar feels safe.
We feel this startled reaction in our personal relationships, as well, noticing differences even in those we love the most and with whom we feel the closest. I remember Al saying how much he liked a movie we had just seen. I was so taken aback, because I had really not liked it. Like Samantha, I went after him, trying to herd him back into my reality, into the “safety” of sameness. “How could you have liked that!?!” I demanded. “It was a terrible movie!!!” The words coming out of my mouth sounded ridiculous even to me! What difference did it make if we don’t have the same taste? But my instinctive, nonlogical animal reaction was clear: differentness = danger.
There is a continuum with fear (of danger) on one end. Fortunately, when we remember how vulnerable we are, both at the physical and emotional levels, we can use our human consciousness to analyze if something is actually dangerous or if we are simply being surprised by the unexpectedness of an event, and the adrenaline rush that occurs gives us the illusion of danger.
We are fortunate that we can use this knowledge to soothe our startled animal reaction because the wonderful reality is that on the other end of that continuum is delight! The unexpected opens us to the exhilarating opportunity to be intrigued, curious, stimulated, stretched and excited. We don’t have to be startled by differentness – we can even be ready for it, be delighted by it and enjoy the mind-expanding liberation of new awarenesses.
Inside each of us is a quiet little voice, a sense of knowing. No, I’m not talking about the voice of our conscience or of God. This voice is ours. This voice is our true self whom we have shushed in our effort to keep ourselves safe. But unlike Samantha, with only her animal instincts, we do not have to “meow” ourselves into silence and submission. We can allow our voice to be heard in this world where differentness does not necessarily equate to danger.
I share the deep human desire for belonging. I, too, am delighted to meet kindred souls. Those connections give me a wonderful sense of being at “home” on this planet. But even more important to me than that experience, I want to feel alive. I want my quiet little voice to have exuberant expression. I want to feel the fullness of my enthusiasm on this human journey with all of its surprises and delights.
We can “belong,” not because we all think alike and have similar tastes and styles, but because we are all, every one of us, healthy eccentrics, sharing uniqueness and individuality as the common threads among us.
But let me go back to the story I started. Do you know what finally happened on the night of Not Making Brownies? As we were reading the instructions for the cake we did make, I found a simple note at the very bottom of the instructions:
“THE CAKE WILL TASTE BETTER THE SECOND DAY”
Seeking Something More 