From the sidelines

There’s a sequence in the film Valentine’s Day where Reed, having been left by his girlfriend, discovers none of his friends thought they were a good match in the first place. Enraged, he says to his best friend, “Apparently everyone and their mother felt that way but nobody had the guts to tell me!”

Reed and his best friend Julia in Valentine’s Day
(Photo by Ron Batzdorff © MMIX New Line Productions, Inc.)

There are certain people in life I like to think of as being like soap opera viewers: they know all of the characters, but they’re not involved in the plot. These people vary depending on the situation, but they are the ones we can turn to when others are too involved to see it objectively.

Several such friends gave me the same advice about a certain situation recently, advice I was reluctant to take. It seemed easy for them to offer it, for the same reason that they were the first ones to see it – they were not involved in the plot. But when I eventually saw that they were right, I realised that other more plot-involved friends agreed with them. My reaction was similar to Reed’s: why did nobody ever tell me?

So I suppose the moral of the story is this: if you’re the soap-watcher on a friend’s life and you find yourself shouting warnings at the screen, do them a favour and gently tell them. They probably need to hear it, even if they may not be able to see it yet.

Bargain hunter

“If others don’t love me, I would rather die than live […]. [T]o gain some real affection from you, […] or any other whom I truly love, I would willingly submit to have the bone of my arm broken, or to let a bull toss me, or to stand behind a kicking horse, and let it dash its hoof at my chest.” – Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë.

People sometimes say, when faced with the prospect (real or imagined) of a not-so-good situation, “I would rather die”. We know death is usually not an option, and that the proposed deal is meaningless, yet we continue to make this kind of deal, regardless of its power.

I frequently attempt this myself, especially when it comes to dealing with pain or discomfort. I struggle periodically with anxiety issues. Thankfully, the effect this has on my day-to-day life now is small, but there have been times when I have tried to make deals to get rid of it.

A common “bargain” I used to propose when the anxiety seemed too much went something like this (for context, I also battle on-and-off with runner’s knee): I would rather have pain in my knees every day for the rest of my life – but please take away the fear.

(I’ve always been a deal-maker – apparently, by the age of two, I was bargaining with my mum about bedtime, and suggesting what she would have to do to make me agree to go to bed.)

But physical pain (to me, anyway) seems much easier to handle than emotional or mental pressure. Perhaps the more tangible nature of the pain makes it easier to manage. There’s a physical problem with a physical solution – be it a hot water bottle, painkillers or physiotherapy. But a problem that you can’t point to and say “that’s where it hurts” seems much more difficult to approach.

Who was I bargaining with, anyway? God? I’m pretty sure that’s not the way he works – he wouldn’t need to make a deal with us, to exchange one kind of pain for another. In fact, he’s made a deal to exchange all that’s bad for all that’s perfect. He’s already offered the ultimate exchange in Jesus – the only one we’ll ever truly need.