Telling Myself No

All humans of sound mind and body have at least one thing in common: we can tell other people to go to hell. There are all sorts of situations in which this choice of words might not be appropriate, and of course there are always repercussions for every action we take, but still, we can do it. Telling a person, business entity or government to "go to hell" is really just a colorful way of saying "no".

When we tell someone "no, I won't do what you ask," or "no, I won't work under these conditions," or "no, I won't stay in this abusive relationship", we are attempting to negate someone else's power over us; we're exerting more control over our own lives. Yet, when someone else says no to us, we often see it as mindless defiance or pig-headedness.

The truth is, I don't much like it when people don't act the way I want them to act. Conversely, I really don't like it when people expect me to act in a way I feel is contrary to my own nature. It's an inconsistency - some might even call it a hypocrisy - but there it is. I spent years of my life bucking authority, all the while shaking my fist in the faces of others, shouting "you can't talk to me like that!" Senseless, really, but this is how many people utilize their own power of no. We try to carve out a niche for ourselves by attempting to force others to comply with our own morals and ethics.

Last night, I took myself out for dinner. It was late, so none of the friends I invited to join me returned my calls before my stomach exerted its power of now; I ate alone. After I'd been in the restaurant a few minutes, a group of eight obnoxiously loud and crass 20-somethings was seated at a table near me. Their conversation was so loud and so graphic, it turned my stomach. They said horrible things in bad Spanish, thinking the Mexican waitstaff would be titillated, rather than offended. They were just gross.

As I sat, chewing on my carne asada, I weighed my options. I could sit there and fume, or I could lodge a complaint with the staff. I was the only other person in that section of the restaurant, and I had to consider that perhaps I was the only one offended. Everything in my nature told me to complain, to try and exert my own will over that of my environment so I could have things my own way.

A third option occurred to me: I could just leave. I asked my waiter for a to-go box, packed up the remainder of my food, and took it home where I enjoyed it in an environment much more to my liking.

On the walk home, I wondered why I felt defeated. When I state this group of people were offensive, I mean their conversation was so graphic my stomach turned. They were so loud, I couldn't hear myself think. They were so stupid, I felt the intelligence being sucked out of my own head, as if IQ was attempting to transverse some sort of intellectual osmotic barrier to reach a point of equilibrium. Still, they weren't doing anything wrong.

I certainly would have preferred a more pleasant atmosphere at the restaurant, and everything in my nature, in my upbringing, screamed at me to control it. Complain! Make them shut up! But it's not my restaurant, and I had to conclude it wasn't my decision. If the owners of the restaurant didn't mind the noise, who was I to try convincing them they should?

Too often, people claim they have a right to not be offended, to be free from images, speech and ideas that confront and affront. It seems everyone wants the right to say what they want, when they want, how they want, while simultaneously maintaining the "right" to make others shut up. It's an inconsistency. We spend so much time trying to control our environment, rather than simply controlling ourselves.

You see, being offended is a decision. There are years of socialization telling us by what we should be offended, but we can choose not to be. It's not always easy to make that choice, nor is it always the correct one. Every time we let ourselves succumb to an emotional reaction, we are fettering ourselves; removing the ability to make a decision, and relying on pure emotion to drive our behavior. This is slavery.

Rather than trying to control my environment and intrude on the freedom of people who were doing nothing more than expressing themselves, I chose the easier path. I chose to control me.

How have you used your own "power of no" to take control of your own mind? Discuss it on the Myself, Unfettered blog.