I was once asked to write a conversation I might have with a personal Gremlin, one of those inner voices we all have that can make us question our judgements, justify negative acts and generally be the devil's advocate to any forward-thinking attempts at improving one's self. In this case, my Gremlin is letting me in on little secrets that, without thought or insight, help him thrive by keeping me emotionally down, or physically back. But he does it in such a way that I have to come up with the answers that, ultimately, I knew all along...
“So…what?” I said. “You called me here.”
“Like heck I did! You sit there in all your self-pity and wait for someone else to kowtow to your mood,” said the Gremlin. “Your little immature display is an engraved invitation to me, my friend.”
“So,” I began, “what you’re saying is that I get wronged and I can’t show any outward emotion of it.”
“Hell no,” said the Gremlin, “by all means, show your anger. Let people know that they’ve crossed a line with you, and that it is unacceptable. It’s all how you present it.”
“So I’m doing it wrong,” I challenged.
“Y’know, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. I tell you secrets on how to avoid me, and I’ll be out of a job. Oh, sorry, sore subject. But hey, you’re not a bad guy, so let me give you a couple of pointers.”
“And I’m just going to trust you,” I said.
“No,” said the Gremlin, “you’re going to trust you. Consider this conversation a buffet, and you only take from it what you want. No more, no less, and if you decide not to take anything, well, then it’s your hunger to deal with.”
“But what if I was starving for insight? Wouldn’t I be more tempted just to grab something even if it wasn’t a good fit for me?” I asked.
“If you hadn’t eaten in a few days, and the buffet was full of cakes and cookies and ice cream, sure, the temptation would be great. It’s up to you to decide what your body needs and what it can do without.”
“Okay,” I said. “What’s the secret?”
“Secrets, my friend,” said the Gremlin. “There is more than one. And they constantly change, as your life does. So what worked last year or last month or yesterday may not work tomorrow. Because like it or not, the people around you change as well.”
“So if people are too tightly wound…,” I started.
“…it’s harder for people to affect change in themselves,” finished the Gremlin. “Look, it’s related a bit to the ‘love it or leave it’ syndrome. If you force something to go against its natural tendencies, you’re going to break it. What totally sucks, as I’m sure you’ve realized, is although YOU may be aware of a breaking point and ease off the pressure, others don’t always, so you’re left in the role of backing down and away to relieve the pressure. And YOU specifically, my friend, are way tired of backing down.”
I considered that for a moment. At last I came up with a very potent and concentrated pill of thought, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to feel the side effects from.
“If,” I began, “I tend to be a certain way in living. On or off. Black or white. Doing or not doing.”
“Love it or leave it,” said the Gremlin.
“Yikes!” I exclaimed.
“Exactly. The thing is, no one is asking you to change. Personally, I think it’s unfair for anyone to ask anyone else to change their root style. However, what is easier to change is how you let outside events affect you.”
“Oh sure,” I said, “easy for you to day.”
“Yup,” said the Gremlin. “But never said it was easy. Easier, I said, than the other way.”
“What is the other way?"
“Changing yourself.”
“But I like who I am!” I exclaimed.
“Listen up, you bonehead! That’s why I am suggesting the other way. I like you too, for the most part, except for times like maybe right NOW! You won’t be changing yourself, just changing a part of how you ingest things.”
“Getting a bit testy, aren’t we?” I teased.
The Gremlin rolled his eyes. “You’re just getting in the way of yourself again. Stop over-thinking, analyzing, dissecting – just STOP! You are like that goofy memory foam. You push out any new thought until your original shape is back. But maybe that shape is not quite right to begin with.”
“So,” I began, “I’m not quite right.”
“Maybe,” said the Gremlin, “but who truly is? The trick is to not look at your life as though you’ve been doing things wrong. Maybe you have and maybe you haven’t. Who cares? The trick is to start doing some things differently. Better? Maybe, but certainly differently.”
“What if these new things aren’t the right way either?” I countered.
“Then you go out and try something different again. And if that doesn’t work, try again, and again, and again, if you have to. There are infinite and infinitesimal ways to present, to react, to digest. Sometimes you get lucky and you get pretty darned close on your first or second try, and only some minor adjustments are needed. Other times, it could be months or years before you latch onto something that works.”
“That,” I said, “sounds like a pain in the ass.”
“Agreed,” said the Gremlin. “It’s frustrating as hell. And remember, as I said before, people and situations change, which requires some change on your part.”
“So you’re saying I’ll never be caught up. I’ll always be doing this conscious adjustment.” I felt like I was whining.
“In a word, yes. But no one is ever caught up, really. We’re all doing minor adjustments constantly. It’s just more automatic, from practice and familiarity. Look, taking driving a car as an example. At this point, today, you think you’re a decent driver, maybe better than most. Whatever. But many of the adjustments you do while driving are automatic. You regularly check your mirrors, you drift a bit one way and you apply just enough pressure on the steering wheel to correct it, you let off on the gas as you near another car or stop sign. You don’t go to a signal light at 40 miles-an-hour-per and then slam on the brakes. You ease into the stop.”
“I prepare,” I said, pleased with myself.
“Precisely.”
“Okay,” I said, “point taken. But driving is a relatively emotionless event…”
“For you, maybe,” interrupted the Gremlin. “There are some mighty high-strung drivers out there. Come to think of it, I’ve heard a few colorful descriptions coming from your…”
“Oh, shut up,” I said, without really meaning it.
“But I know what you’re asking. And the answer is relatively simple, once you get over the hump.”
“What hump?” I asked.
The Gremlin had that look in his eye of a great revelation. “When a kid is learning to ride a bike, the whole process is daunting. Big machine, large moving parts. The thrill of speed mixed with the sheer terror of not being able to stop.”
“Fear,” I said.
“And lots of it,” continued the Gremlin. “And the tears and the bloodied knees and the humiliation and the frustration are where, now?”
“I can’t remember when I couldn’t ride,” I said nearly as a whisper.
“It’s automatic,” kneaded the Gremlin. “So, take that knowledge that with practice and perseverance the fear will diminish as it is replaced with knowledge and skill and automatic behavior.”
“I hate that I’m not a great arguer. It’s like I want to be a black belt just so I can know I could kick somebody’s butt if I get hassled.”
“Hey, just because it’s not your strength doesn’t make it a weakness,” prophesized the Gremlin. “You probably won’t win the Tour de France or mountain bike down Mount Everest, but that doesn’t mean you can’t ride a bike. Your black-or-white, on-or-off, love-it-or-leave-it mentality is showing. Why not be a yellow belt? Why does it have to be black?”
“The emotional stuff makes me wig out. I feel like I’m in the wrong, I’m in trouble, I’m at fault.”
“Habit, habit, habit,” chanted the Gremlin. “Nothing more. If you question something, as in, ‘What did I do wrong?’ then you probably didn’t do anything wrong and are living with past, and dated, mentalities in a present physical world. You are watching the latest widescreen 10 zillion pixel color DVD on a 13 inch black and white television. You are seeing new stuff, the DVD, the old way, the TV. You’ve got to bring yourself into the present, with all the new information you possess. Otherwise you’re not doing anyone, kids, relationships, and especially yourself, justice.”
“Justice,” I said. “I hated learning about Socrates’ arguments on it.”
“As I recall,” said the Gremlin, “what you hated was you couldn’t grasp the way it was written. You rather liked the concept.”
“Fair enough,” I replied.
“And the funny thing is?” queried the Gremlin.
I thought for a moment, but just a moment. “All I ever bitch about is getting justice. Fairness. Equality. Parity. Touché, Gremlin.”
“De nada,” smiled the Gremlin.
