Whatever's Wrong, It's Not Your Fault
"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves." Shakespeare made that rather surprising statement in Julius Caesar, since the prevalent belief in his day was that the stars controlled a person's destiny. Whether he believed that or not is beside the point: I'd like to propose that we adopt the Elizabethan philosophy.
What I eat does not matter. The stars decree that I will be fat or skinny or flat-chested or hippy. Cool. I can eat fast food five times a week and even super-size. It isn't my fault. Put another brownie on my plate, Henry Eight!
How I behave means nothing. If I'm fired or hired, loved or rejected, surrounded by friends or enisled by loneliness, it's my star-crossed state, not my personality or talent or cuteness.
The things I do are without consequence. I can fail to exercise, neglect to wear my seatbelt, refuse to brush and floss, and even forget my deodorant. If I'm lucky, the stars will handle it all, and if not, at least I don't have to take responsibility for it.
If I sound sarcastic, I don't mean to. I sort of like the idea that something outside ourselves is pulling strings that we can't see. Americans are guilt-getters and guilt-givers. Someone's always implying it's your own fault if you have an illness or a disorder or a problem: you can overcome it if only you follow this program, take this pill, think this way.
I like the idea that there's not a thing you can do about any of it. How freeing is that, to say, "The stars weren't aligned correctly for me to succeed."
The quest to be perfect, to live forever, and to be loved by all can make life seem like work, and we've bought into the idea that we have to work at living. Other times and other places have a more relaxed attitude, leaving decisions up to karma or destiny or whatever you call the forces outside of yourself. It can really take the pressure off an individual.
Of course Americans have a release as well. Thanks to psychiatrists, we blame our shortcomings not on the stars or daemons or the gods, but on good old Mom and Dad.
What I eat does not matter. The stars decree that I will be fat or skinny or flat-chested or hippy. Cool. I can eat fast food five times a week and even super-size. It isn't my fault. Put another brownie on my plate, Henry Eight!
How I behave means nothing. If I'm fired or hired, loved or rejected, surrounded by friends or enisled by loneliness, it's my star-crossed state, not my personality or talent or cuteness.
The things I do are without consequence. I can fail to exercise, neglect to wear my seatbelt, refuse to brush and floss, and even forget my deodorant. If I'm lucky, the stars will handle it all, and if not, at least I don't have to take responsibility for it.
If I sound sarcastic, I don't mean to. I sort of like the idea that something outside ourselves is pulling strings that we can't see. Americans are guilt-getters and guilt-givers. Someone's always implying it's your own fault if you have an illness or a disorder or a problem: you can overcome it if only you follow this program, take this pill, think this way.
I like the idea that there's not a thing you can do about any of it. How freeing is that, to say, "The stars weren't aligned correctly for me to succeed."
The quest to be perfect, to live forever, and to be loved by all can make life seem like work, and we've bought into the idea that we have to work at living. Other times and other places have a more relaxed attitude, leaving decisions up to karma or destiny or whatever you call the forces outside of yourself. It can really take the pressure off an individual.
Of course Americans have a release as well. Thanks to psychiatrists, we blame our shortcomings not on the stars or daemons or the gods, but on good old Mom and Dad.
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