practiced indifference
Psychology fascinates me. I am intrigued by the theories into the psyche and exploring the causes and results of behavior. I find my interest peaked particularly with respect to how individuals respond to obstacles. While most psychologists and academics study the human responses to major crises, I am curious about how we react to more minor conflicts. How do we deal with lesser obstructions that inhibit our enjoyment of life? I think I am particularly fascinated by this area because my own responses perplex me.I am full of idosyncrasies. While I am a take-charge and energetic person when it comes to events outside my personal life, I am afflicted with an inability to respond to minor occurrences within my personal hemisphere. I do not know if is laziness, tedious forethought or some other flaw that debilitates me, but often, when I face minor challenges, I tend to ignore them than to try to conquer them. Is it my ostrich-like reflex -- do I sincerely believe that if I don't see it, it's not there or something possibly more insiduous?
There have been two unopened roll of paper towels on this desk for over a month now. In early January, I ran out of paper towels and while visiting George's parents, George pilfered some paper towels from his house. That evening, when we entered my apartment, he placed them on the desk. I told myself that I'd put the towels away with the other groceries. While cleaning the kitchen last week, I asked my roommate if there were any more paper towels in the closet and if so, could she please give me a roll. She passed me a roll that from the desk. I was so astonished that I had never put the rolls away that my roommate had to laugh at my surprised expression.
How is it that over a month, I somehow ceased to notice the presence of the rolls? Did my mind selectively edit the rolls out of the image of the desk? Did my subconscious grow too tired of noting the continuing presence of the towels? It seems like a silly thing with which to be concerned, but it makes me wonder how often in life I stop seeing things. Can I trust my perception of reality when I cannot rely on something as simple as my memory of an image that I see daily?
This leads me to question how I managed to forget that the desk itself was a huge eyesore in my first year of living in this apartment. I was the first to move here and my roommate followed the week after. I brought my bedroom furniture, kitchen-related items, living room entertainment stand and a dining room set. My roommate brought her bedroom and living room furniture, per our agreement of which of us was providing which items for the shared apartment space. I was out running errands and only returned after she had moved her belongings in and then returned home for a few days. The first thing I noted when I entered the apartment was the large, mahogany, corporate office-like desk in the large combined dining-living area we shared. My roommate later told me that the desk was a castoff from her father's brokerage firm and did not fit into her doorway so she went home to obtain a saw. Her plan was to cut the legs off the desk and then move it into her bedroom. Eighteen months have passed and the desk is in its original place. In the meantime, she purchased a smaller desk for her bedroom but never made an attempt to do anything with this large eyesore. It used to drive me crazy, this obvious presentation of "what in this picture does not belong?" My visitors commented on it whenever they first came to the apartment, but at some point, I went from total aggravation to accepting its presence.
Is this what oysters experience? When they first encounter an grain of sand in the sensitive folds of skin, they are irritated. Over time, however, that experience fades as their bodies produce a chemical to coat the object and reduce the irritating quality. Eventually, those tiny irritants become beautiful pieces that, when taken together, form the obligatory accoutrement for a female Capital Hill employee or DC attorney -- the pearl earrings/necklace set.
While oysters have the ability to take an obstruction and create something beautiful from it, a skill I obviously do not share, I wonder if there is a similarity in my response and the way oysters gravitate from irritation to acceptance of the annoyance. Is this fanciful thinking? Am I just too lazy to take control of a situation and confront the annoyances? Or am I too non-confrontational that I would rather allow a situation to proceed than give voice to my aggravation?
I've told myself that there's no point in making a fuss about the desk now, seeing as it's already been a year and a half and hopefully I'll be moving out soon. This kind of rationalization is common for me. I delay responding to an aggravation to the point that I convince myself there's no need for a reaction. I tell myself that I am not bothered by minor irritations, but then they catch me off guard, as do the towels and the desk, and I remember that there was a time when things that were out of place like this would have driven me insane.
Now, the most I can muster up is a vague feeling of annoyance, but nothing more. I know that this desk will continue to be an eyesore and taunt me with my failure to respond timely, and that is now the source of my annoyance. I wish I could take minor aggravations and transform those feelings into something of value or utility, but that would require more effort than I am capable of expending at the moment. One of these days, I will teach myself to respond to situations at the moment I am irritated, instead of allowing their abrasiveness to wear off so that I can conveniently ignore them. Hopefully I will learn how to be discerning, to pick and choose the opportune moments to respond to something. In the meantime, I will hone my ability to ignore annoyances.
posted by happy roy @ 9:43 PM
1 Comments:
You crack me up. Love the comparison to an oyster.
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