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A Life of Should Into A Life of Power
From the Life of a Thirty-Six Year-Old Man
By Daniel Speraw
My son was looking forward to being with me for the evening, and I was still at
the office, just sitting there, punching through channels on my desk radio.
“Are the shoulds in your life weighing you down?”
My finger stopped mid-punch.
“Yes, this is the Radio Psychologist back again; so, Caller, what kind of a
should is pulling on you?”
A rough voice answered, “My job. There are times when I just do not feel like
going. I should go, though, and I do, but I hate that feeling.”
I turned up the volume. The Psychologist said, “Yours is a common complaint. To
some extent, all shoulds are a burden. They feel as if someone is pushing us to
do what we do not want to do.”
“I know!” the Caller said heatedly, “and it makes me mad! I—.”
Interrupting, the psychologist asked, “Besides the obvious possibility of
finding work that you like better, do you want a roof over your head or would
you rather be homeless?”
The Caller sounded confused, as he finally blurted, “A roof, of course.”
“Good choice!” exclaimed the Psychologist.
He added, “Each time you go to work, you are supporting your choice of having a
roof over your head. You are the one that has chosen, and you are the one that
is acting. This places the power of your life in your hands.”
I liked that idea, a lot, but then realized that no amount of choosing would
change how I felt about being with my four-year-old son. I sighed. A short time
with Ricky was always fun, but not hours!
That night, after dinner, Ricky and I were playing checkers. The somewhat
chaotic game turned into a wrestling match and then some wild tickling.
Breathing hard, we finally collapsed, side by side.
After a moment, I said, “I should go soon.”
“No!” yelled Ricky.
I asked, “Do you want to watch cartoons?”
“No! Play with you!”
“Sorry Pal. There is a report I should finish tonight.”
Ricky was silent for a time, and then he asked, “What is should?”
It was my turn for silence, as I struggled with an answer. Eventually, I said,
“I guess should is when we have to do something but would rather not do it.”
Ricky wiggled closer to me and asked, “When I am old, will I have a should?”
Feeling strangely saddened by his question, I muttered, “I hope not,” and pushed
myself off the floor.
I felt relief, as I settled my son in front of the TV and headed for the study;
instead, I walked out the front door, dropped onto the porch and I put my head
in my hands.
I am giving Ricky much more time than my Dad gave me, I thought, defensively.
With a hard shake of my head, I had to add that I was also ignoring him just as
I was ignored. Did my Dad see me as a should?
The next-door neighbor came banging down the driveway with his trash can.
“Hi Ben,” he yelled over the noise. “You doing okay?”
I waved, stood and stepped back inside the door. Leaning against the wall, I
tried to remember what that radio psychologist had said. It was something about
looking at each should and asking, “What do I want?”
I immediately thought of what I did not want: Ricky having the same negative
feelings that I had for my Dad. I wanted a better relationship.
I crossed my arms and murmured, “No, not better, I want our relationship to be
good.”
To avoid thinking about what it would take to support that choice, I pushed off
the wall and went into the study. I picked up my briefcase—then set it back
down; I turned on the computer—then turned it off.
Clenching my teeth, I thought, “Alright! So it is not easy.”
I quietly walked down the hall and snuck a look in the family room. It was a
mess. Every pillow Ricky could find was in one big pile.
“Daddy! Watch!” Ricky yelled over the cartoon.
He launched himself from the easy chair into the pile, made himself bounce
around and then looked up expectantly.
I wrestled with my feelings and finally said, “Gee Rick, nice jump.”
I thought again about supporting my choice and finally added, “Can I try it?”
Ricky screamed, “Yes,” and scrambled over the pillows, heading my way.
Throughout life, Daniel has searched, through religion, meditation and
psychology, with one goal: release the past and live without pretense…connecting
more deeply with those in his life. One result of this search is, This Human
Condition, a series of 60 ultra-short stories, each meant to ease one of life’s
inner struggles or outer conflicts. For more stories visit
www.ThisHumanCondition.com . |
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