Controlling The Need To Be In Control

Louise and I were down by the mall on Friday when we noticed that Elder-Beerman was having a “Going-Out-Of-Business-Sale”. We went inside just out of curiosity and within about two minutes I found a wonderful warm parka with a snap on hood, just right for Muskegon winters, at 75% off! I immediately grabbed it off the rack and bought it! Two and a half hours later, laden down with packages, we finally departed the store.

Several years ago I saw a one man show by comedian Rob Becker titled “Defending the Caveman”. This was way before the GEICO commercials staring cavemen led to a sitcom about cavemen. It was an intentionally UN-politically correct show proposing that the difference between men and women today has its roots in our caveman hunter-gatherer history. Becker, maintained that men, being hunters, shop by attacking. He described how they walk into a store and make a beeline directly for the stack of shirts or pants or whatever that they need, select one or two and go directly to the cash register and then quickly out of the store. They have, in effect, sought their prey, shot it, and brought it back to the cave. Women, on the other hand, according to Becker, do not have a hunter heritage but rather a gatherer heritage. So when they go into a dress store they browse here and browse there, gathering something from this aisle and then gathering something from the next, all the while filling their basket. Eventually they, reluctantly, meander over to the check out and pull out their credit card. (I told you it was politically incorrect!)

I’m not sure he was entirely accurate, however. While I do hunt clothes there is a different routine when I go out to buy a new car. There are so many models to choose from, so many colors, so many accessories. I get lost in the car dealership in a way that I never do in a clothing store.

I suspect that one of the reasons that people like to shop is that it enables them to be in control. The decisions are all ours. Nobody can tell a woman what dress to buy or a man what car to buy. We are in control. Shopping, of course, is only one way of being in control.

We can make sure that everything is neat and orderly; we can tell others what to do or not do; we can try to hide our feelings or our anger. Control sometimes becomes an issue of one-upmanship and even manipulating others as well as our environment. Like most people, I love to get my own way. I love to be able to make choices for myself. I love to be in control.

Someone cut in front of me on the street the other day. I wasn’t in a hurry and anyway it only slowed me down by about 2 seconds. But boy was I angry. I got all red in the face and was ready to explode – but I didn’t. Not because the incident was trivial, though, even then, I knew that it was. And not because someone might see me. At that point I didn’t care! But I didn’t explode because I have been taught to hold my anger in. Oh, sure, I can yell and scream like anyone else, but I don’t do it very often. You see, I have been domesticated. I am a civilized twenty-first century man. Like a good “Baby Boomer” I prefer to “Make Love, Not War”. In fact, I very seldom loose control.

But that is not to say that I don’t spend my time trying to be in control. I seek to control not only my anger but also my actions. And I want to control my activities, and even the activities and actions of others. If I had my way I would always have my way! Of course, I am not alone it that.

One of my favorite people was, my father-in-law Olaf Olsen. Control was his middle name. He took pride in being a Viking. He didn’t believe that eighty-eight years old was that old because, after all, he had friends in their nineties. Everyone loved Olie and his good nature. Unlike many Scandinavians Olie was not reserved, but rather very outgoing. His friendliness and optimism was infectious. You may have called him a chauvinist but the elderly women, often perfect strangers, stooped and well past their prime, would smile widely when Olie addressed them as “Hollywood”. He seemed to have a nickname for everyone and the nickname was always a flattering one.

Into his 80’s Olie continued to ride his motorcycle. When he reached eighty the insurance company doubled his insurance, but he gladly paid it. I have a photo of him and two of his friends, all over eighty, side by side, astride their “hogs”. He rode it less and less, however, and it sat in the garage for well over a year before he admitted that he could no longer ride it. The fishing boat that he used to set and retrieve eel traps with had been sold a year before that.

In the last few years not only had he finally given up the boat, the motorcycle, his gun collection and swimming at the “Y’ but his health had noticeably declined. Nothing dramatic, mind you, but some “problem” that he had encountered over the previous year would leave him weaker. Every illness seemed to heal inordinately slowly and afterwards he would be visibly frailer. He needed a cane to walk several years ago. I bought him a beautifully carved cane that Christmas. He refused to use it. He would lean on a railing, walls and other people rather than use a cane. By the next year, however, he needed not only a cane but a walker. This too, he used as infrequently as he could get away with, but even he recognized that sometimes he had to use it.

The following year the walker needed to be supplemented with a wheel chair. Again, he used the wheel chair only when absolutely necessary and now preferred to use the walker. Eventually the walker was no longer useful. He had lost a great deal of weight.

When we visited him one Christmas, I not only needed to help him from his wheel chair into the car but actually had to lift him into the seat by hoisting him by his belt. I also had to lift his legs into the car. But he still could not be convinced to give up driving. He insisted that he could still drive – and did drive once or twice a week to the grocery store, to the doctor or to church. He finally gave up driving when he found himself stranded at the grocery store because he did not have enough strength in his ankle to use the gas peddle or brake.

Olie had always been a physical person: a pilot, a sailor, a commercial fisherman, a motorcyclist. Now he couldn’t even drive a car. And he had always been in charge and in control. Giving up driving was devastating to Olie. He had become the thing that he never wanted to be - dependent. He would have to ask someone to help him. If he or my mother-in-law needed to go to the doctor’s office or shopping they would have to wait for someone to drive them. He would no longer be able to go out to a movie, or have a nice dinner at a restaurant or buy a surprise Valentine’s Day gift. He no longer had the autonomy that he had come to expect and take for granted. He became dependent on others to accomplish even the most minor tasks.

Olie was devastated to be losing control. This is understandable. From infancy we strive for self sufficiency. One of the benefits of learning to walk is that we can reach higher and move more easily to pull the candy bowl off of the table. Learning to talk enables us to tell Mommy that we are hungry or want to play with the wagon, or to assert ourselves by just saying “NO”. School, though we might often wish to play hooky, can be very rewarding as we discover how to use our abilities. We are enlivened by accomplishments and successes throughout our lives. We are the most gratified when we are the most skilled. We exclaim with pride “Mommy watch me”, “I did that”, “that is my drawing”, “I wrote that”, “I won that”. Accomplishment, achievement, self-sufficiency – the pinnacle of success – the goal of all our effort.

The natural process of growing from an infant to a toddler, a toddler to a child, a child to a teen and a teen to an adult is to become more independent at each stage. We have an innate drive towards independence that propels us to seek to become a more and more mature human being. That’s not to say that everyone achieves mature independence. We all know people who continue to act like teenagers, full of bravado and resistant to any rules. We may know some who continue to have childlike tantrums when they don’t get their way. And we may even know some who cannot be weaned from the bottle (though it may now contain something stronger than milk). When we consider the alternative to being independent these are the images that we conjure up. It is no wonder that becoming dependent is anathema for most of us. We certainly do not wish others to see us, or even to see ourselves as immature and needy. We have finally achieved the goal of independence and feel pretty good about it.

I remember when it first occurred to me that I could drive to the store and buy an ice cream sundae any time I wanted, or see a movie or even just keep driving and end up in another state, just for fun. I no longer had to ask permission; I no longer lacked the money; I no longer needed someone to drive me. What a wonderful feeling! It was on that occasion that I think I first felt that I had become an adult, that I had made it. It gave me such a feeling of freedom and a sense of power. I would never wish to voluntarily relinquish it.

Yet there have been times in my life when I was so overwhelmed financially, physically, emotionally or in some other way that I have, reluctantly, accepted someone’s assistance to bail me out. I didn’t want to go all the way back to being a child but I timidly accepted a loan, a shoulder to cry on or someone to drive me where I needed to go. But every time the event was circumscribed. I needed a loan for a short period, not to be put on an allowance again. I needed someone to talk with this evening, not someone to make all of my decisions for me. I needed someone to drive me someplace until I regained my health. Even so, being dependent was not something that I wished to happen very often, I was embarrassed to ask for money; I was fearful that the person whose shoulder I cried on would think less of me; I felt like a burden when I needed to be driven. It wasn’t easy being dependent. How much more embarrassed, fearful and feeling that I was a burden would I be if the time frame was less temporary.

Is not being in control as bleak, as thoroughly devoid of value as it appears? Are we destined, after all our struggles to climb the mountain, to slide helplessly down the other side, alone and abandoned? What a devastating thought! I am consumed with depression even as I suggest it! Is there not another way of understanding this most basic of all human experiences?

Let’s look at that: “not being in control”. Are we ever completely in control? We are all of us affected by events and realities that we cannot escape. The men and women, young and old, rich and poor, educated and uneducated, healthy and ill, good and evil . . . all of those who lived in New Orleans had their lives turned upside down by Hurricane Katrina. Some were more vulnerable than others, suffered worse than others, and are having a more difficult time picking up the pieces of their lives but all discovered that they were not in control of their lives. When illness strikes, when we lose a job, when an auto accident occurs, when any one of the thousands of possible things occur that can tip our lives in another direction we are reminded that we are not in control.

While we may view these events as accidental or natural occurrences that we were unlucky enough to have happen to us, it is interesting to note that people did not always view these things that way. The word “stroke” that we use to describe a cerebral hemorrhage comes from the pre-scientific belief that the cause was literally the hand of God or one of His angels striking down a sinner. The word “plague”, is simply the latinization of the word “stroke”. Whether or not we believe that all of the uncontrollable events of life are God’s retribution for our sins, we must acknowledge that we are all susceptible to the uncontrollable

. Not being in control requires that we confront the unwelcome state of dependence. Many times we have had to bow to the wishes of others even if we were required to do something that we abhorred. One of my summer jobs when I was younger was working at a campground. One day the drains from the kitchen were clogged. We discovered that the pipe ending at the huge grease trap had to be cleaned. As the newest employee, I was entrusted with the task of unclogging the pipe. When I opened the grease trap I almost fainted. Throughout the ordeal of shoveling I was sick to my stomach. I wanted to quit that job right there and then. But I needed the money, I needed the job. I had no choice. I had to tough it out and do what needed to be done. I am sure every one of you has had equally unpleasant tasks that were out of your control to refuse to complete.

There is however, another kind of dependence. Many of us freely choose to enter into a relationship with another person that both enables and even requires us to be dependent on our spouse or partner. In such circumstances the dependence is often the most wonderfully beautiful aspect of the relationship. In addition, one of the great benefits of a long term relationship is not only being able to let our hair down with our partner but also to be on the receiving end of another’s need for us so that they can let their hair down. It is an important need to be needed. We need to feel that we are able to assist another whose needs we uniquely can fulfill. It is a good feeling to be needed.

A number of years ago in one of my churches, a beautiful young woman, who had been living at home, taking care of her elderly father, was shaken with grief when her father passed away. Several members called her frequently to console her which she greatly appreciated. One of them was a gay man named Bill. During this time they had become very good friends. Bill, who was suffering with Multiple Sclerosis, could use some help and Janet, having been used to caring for her father, felt quite capable of assisting Bill, so after a few months they decided share a house together. It worked out very well. Janet told everyone how much she enjoyed Bill’s companionship and, of course, Bill thought that Janet was an angel sent from heaven. Being wheelchair bound and having difficulty with many basic tasks was much less traumatic with Janet around.

In the spring, Bill suggested to Janet that she enter a Beauty Pageant, the “Miss County Agricultural Fair” or something like that. Though extremely attractive, Janet never had the self-confidence to do something so bold before. Bill convinced her that she should try and he would help her with her hair, make-up and wardrobe. She agreed. Both of them had a great time preparing for the fair. Alas, she didn’t win, but she did gain a lot of self-confidence by just being part of it. Bill was able to give something back. They both needed each other and were able to give to each other and both were enriched.

Being able to give of oneself to help another is what the “Interdependent Web” that we speak of in the Principle and Purposes is all about. Sometimes not being able to control ones environment enables one to discover “how the other half lives”. A few years ago I had to park my car about four blocks from my office in Washington, DC. Every day I passed several people holding out a can or a hat or their hand for money. Sometimes I would reach in my pocket a pull out a few coins, sometimes not. One day I realized that almost all of the white people behaved just like I did but most of the black people did not. My coworkers who were black were making the same salary that I was – no more no less. But almost every one gave money, often paper money, to every beggar that they passed. They made me embarrassed at my stinginess. I began to follow their example. Whenever I pass a homeless person today I am reminded that when one has been there one is much more generous that when one has lived a life of always being in control. Walking a mile in another’s moccasins often makes us more generous caring people. In order to get there, however, we may need to control the need to be in control.

I would like to close by reading a piece by Roland Merullo titled: Life Sands the Soul Smooth.

Old habits die hard, and there is a way in which the conceits of youth mutate into other forms: one can be proud of being humble, even of trying to be humble, even of thinking or writing about such things as trying to be humble; one can think one knows, when, in fact, one doesn't. Still, I find it hard to argue against one idea: that, in most lives, the rough hand of time sands the soul smooth.

Time shrinks the ego - even if the most egotistical among us must wait until old age, or the very moment of death, for that to happen. The arc of a well-lived life, a life in which good fortune is accepted gratefully and bad fortune borne without too much bitterness, leads toward a kind of interior smallness, the very opposite, perhaps, of what I used to feel walking down [the] Street with a star on my forehead.

If the ego is small enough, and the will is put to good use, then life sands the soul smooth - that's the notion that carries me. It is the I itself, the enormous, demanding, petulant, perpetually dissatisfied "I," that hangs like a bolt of gauze between the face of the soul and the world's wonder.

Little by little, the Curtain thins, there's no stopping it. You. break your back, you fail in something that matters to you, you find love, lose it, find it again, bring up children (what could possibly be more humbling?) and set them off on the same path. You follow the line of your own particular fate, built partly of your soul's unique essence and partly of your class place and time. You march along through the mud and in the flowers, toward, in the end of ends, as the Russians say “a small small godliness of your own making.”

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