There it sits, shining smugly in its painted foil, the colors hiding a thick milky deliciousness, crafted with expertise into a disarming and tasteful form: a solid milk chocolate turkey (yes, a turkey). Courtesy of my mother-in-law’s somewhat belated generosity (it was, no doubt, a seasonal product of the past). But one bite off the tail dispels any fears that it might have spoiled, and now I am faced with a decision: do I slowly but surely eat the chocolate turkey, taking a step backwards in my ever-present struggle to move forward towards health and fitness, or do I throw it away, sans consumed tail, in a demonstration of incredible will power (yes, incredible). Who cares?
Who does care? Does my decision to eat a chocolate turkey have any real significance? Outside of my personal ambitions, one might say no, it does not. But then again, my ability to exercise self-discipline is not completely irrelevant to the rest of the world. For this somewhat trivial decision reflects my ability to deny myself on a basic level what I know to be harmful or at least an obstacle to my very own goal. And if the pull of chocolate is too great, how then will I resist the pull of a tall glass of 2% that would follow so nicely, or the pull of lounging when I know exercise is what I need, or the appeal of mindless activity when learning and self-improvement would be better, or the impulse to anger when an apology is what’s in order? (my ability to apologize is highly valued, I know—as is everyone’s). This is not to say that a lapse in self-discipline on any level demonstrates an inability to exercise it at all or when the stakes are higher, but that sometimes seemingly unimportant decisions carry more significance than we realize.
The ability, or for some of us the choice to see the true consequences of our decisions is often the only thing between a life of realism and perspective and one of self-deception and internal discord. Consider another example (which may or may not be based on real events):
I come home from work. I am tired. What I want is rest, probably with some food, and time to enjoy my family and for all of us to relax together. What I do not want is more work, like cleaning, or worse, cooking for the food I do want. I do not want to pay bills or give money to anyone, except to the people who will cook the food I don’t want to cook. I do not want my internet to be on the fritz or to pack my lunch for tomorrow. Basically I want the benefit of everything I enjoy without the effort required to acquire and maintain it. But this ignores the reality behind the enjoyments. It ignores the fact that my wife too wants rest and needs my help. It ignores all the work that goes into receiving the benefit of preparations made and costs paid out. The decision here of course is not whether to come home and completely ignore my responsibilities (although that is an option, theoretically)—but whether to embrace them with enthusiasm and an attitude that lends support and relief to my family or whether to be a disgruntled presence until the nightly chores are finished. The decision seems less significant then because either way, the work gets done—but this perspective underestimates the impact of my attitude on those around me.
I wish I could say that I have always chosen the higher road, but that would be too generous. What I can say is that I’m attempting now at least to be honest about the consequences of my decisions. This requires in turn a certain amount of self-awareness about what choices I do have. There is in life a strong temptation to disclaim responsibility for the state of our personal affairs. There is hardly a limit to the external forces that we like to attribute responsibility to. Many times when we end up dissatisfied or disappointed, or unhappy, or lesser people than we’d like, we allow ourselves to fictionalize the means by which we arrived there, projecting onto other people or things responsibility for the choices we ourselves made. Sometimes this self-deception runs so deep that we end up convinced that we cannot control who we become, and that our flaws and weaknesses are “just who we are.” I have often heard people pronounce that others should just “take them as they come.” That they “can’t change who they are.” Fortunately, just as anyone can choose to believe this idea, anyone can also choose to reject it. It takes a brave individual to truly accept their role in creating the circumstances of their lives, and a wise one to see just when they have a choice in doing so and when they do not.
The chocolate turkey, I am happy to report, was thrown away, sans consumed head and tail (compromise?). Of course, the decision making is not over. There are more turkeys out there, and more chores, and more hardships and obstacles and situations that will come before me. If I’m real about it, I will take responsibility for what’s mine to take.
Like, for example, taking the Turkey back out of the trash. I mean it’s wrapped in foil so it didn’t get dirty.
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