Day 59 Why, Why, Why?

It’s one of the first questions a writer learns to ask, so I guess I came to this occupation honestly. I’m obsessed with understanding the “why?” behind stuff. Like rules, for instance. (Which made me a poor fit in my fundamentalist, conservative, evangelical family. I’ve no problem with God, never have had, but “the Bible says…” was never a good enough answer for me. It is, however, the kind of answer that pretty effectively shuts down further questioning.)

Or human behaviour, which is all about “why,” it seems to me. My kids, from infancy on, were so darn interesting. There was always so much going on inside them. I had a problem with the old school method of child-rearing that said badly-behaving children need to be smacked into line, so I always tried to look for reasons. I figured that children, like puppies, want to please the people who care for them. And that when their needs are met, they’re for the most part, pleasant small animals to be around.

But small animals have a lot of needs. Bored, lonely puppies eat furniture. Does that make them “bad?” No. It means that their owners didn’t provide them with sufficient stimulation, exercise, training, etc. Children usually don’t eat furniture, probably because most of them aren’t given the chance, but they can sure exhibit a lot of other unpleasant and destructive behaviours. And it still comes down to unmet needs.

One of my daughters, when she got hungry, was prone to blistering tantrums, that frightened her as much as they did me. Was she “bad?” No, of course not. She was hungry. And that made her scared, and angry. (In the Urban Dictionary vernacular, “hangry.”) We all know how that feels.

Yesterday, in an unexpected turn of events, I barely made it through my yoga class. I had to skip the second rep of most postures and by the end, I was just lying there, gasping, trying not to bolt for the door. Why? As I staggered out I looked at the thermometer and there was my answer: 110 degrees. I’m sorry, you Bikram nuts, but that’s just not right.

Today, despite feeling under the weather, and being a little gun-shy after yesterday, my practice was strong again. Temp: 107. There you go.

Most of the time, things aren’t so cut and dried. Usually, we’ re only vaguely aware of the reasons behind our actions, if we’re aware at all. I doubt very much that individuals get up in the morning, pour themselves a bowl of Cheerios and think, “Today I’m going to be an asshole!” But something happens to make us feel threatened or unappreciated or worthless or impotent or (fill in the blank) and we lash out, or we withdraw, or do whatever we can to build ourselves up, or to dull the pain.

I can’t remember why I started this post, probably because I’m labouring under the fuzzy weight of a persistent headache. (Denge fever? Brain tumour? Lyme Disease?!?) To outsiders – and here I mean men mostly – I probably appear to be one or more of the following: bitchy, grumpy, grouchy, selfish, mad, nursing a grudge, preoccupied, tired, in a “mood,” miserable, someone to avoid, etc.

In fact, I’m not really any of those things. In classic break-up language, “It’s not you, it’s me.” And I have a headache.

I might avoid people because I know I appear to be those other things, plus, I really don’t have the wherewithal to be chipper when I’m trying to avoid loud noises and sudden movements. But it really has nothing to do with anyone else. It’s about my pain. Today, it’s my “why.”

Is this clear? It’s nothing personal. I’ll take a little sympathy, even some TLC if it’s available, but if that’s too much, then please just leave me alone. I’m not having a headache at you.