Deserving

I keep thinking, over and over, about my experiences this weekend, and how that family does not "deserve" what happened to them, that I do not "deserve" to be sleepless and freaked out because I helped someone, that I do not know what the man "deserves" for his actions.

I've been thinking a lot about what I deserve - and, by proxy, what everyone deserves, because I don't have the viewpoint that I'm all that special. I'm a person, and I do believe that we are born with "certain inalienable rights" and that we should all have those rights protected... but the details are a little fuzzy, and messy.

I teach high school, and every day as I look out upon the sea of students that passes through my room daily, and all of the students in the halls that I do not know, and my daughter's friends and her high school community, I realize I have some clarity. Our young people deserve to feel safe, valued, and hopeful. They, and everyone, deserve to live their best lives. They deserve help, compassion, encouragement. They deserve opportunities. They deserve a chance to build their skills, to fulfill their potential.

They deserve protecting.

I've played a little trick on my own mind ever since I became a mom when I wonder what I deserve. I imagine that it is my daughter - whom I love more than I knew love was possible in the world - asking me, and then instead of advising myself, I advise her. While I'm tough on myself, and unsure, I always know what she deserves. She deserves goodness, joy, and so much more...and if she does, then don't I, also? Doesn't everyone?

***

About a week before "the incident" I joined Weight Watchers. I'd gone to the doctor for my annual blood draw, and I saw that my cholesterol levels had jumped into the "uh oh" range. I beat myself up for a minute - I know I've gained weight, that my eating habits have become sloppy, and that my exercise ranges from inconsistent to non-existent - but then I knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that I'd had enough, and that I was ready to do the work to fix it and regain my health. I knew I deserved better, and I was willing to fight for it.

I have been on Weight Watchers for a week and a half, and I've dropped seven pounds. I switched from white rice to brown; I've doubled my fruit and vegetable intake; I'm having one Dove chocolate per night instead of five; I'm skipping the sugary processed food so often available in our staff room. I'm not starving myself - most of the time I'm stuffed. Yesterday I couldn't manage cooking so I got Chinese, but instead of one of the noodle dishes I lean towards, I picked up cashew chicken with veggies and brown rice.

I deserve to feel good.

Up until I saw those cholesterol numbers, I thought "I deserve this brownie" and "I deserve to treat myself" and so on. I thought I was being kind to myself by slacking off on healthy habits.

But I wasn't.

I used to be a size 6 (less than five years ago, I'm not talking ancient history), and now my size 10s are straining against my muffin top. I used to work out a lot and have a ton of energy, and now I'm tired all the time. I used to feel confident when I got dressed each morning, and now I feel resigned. I used to relish ten mile hikes, and now they sound overwhelming (despite my absolute joy in picnics beside alpine lakes).

What I deserve - according to what I tell my daughter, my students, and (on my good days) myself - is to feel wonderful. I deserve to be healthy and fit, to feel attractive, to be filled with energy. I'd been telling myself a lie about what I deserved, and my body called out that lie. By saying "I deserve bagels and cream cheese" what I'd really been saying is "I don't deserve to feel my best."

I deserve to feel good. It's defining "good" that is the problem, of course. But losing seven pounds feels good, living my values feels good, taking care of my health feels good. Much better than before, that's for certain. The brownie felt good for about 30 seconds, and then bad for so much more.

***

I do not feel "good" about events on Saturday. I feel anxious, weirded out, and sleepless. I am filled with questions about what could have happened, about whether I did what was right for everyone (or whether I only got lucky).

But the alternative? The alternative is that I had minded my own business or let someone else manage it, and when I think about that, I feel much, much, much worse.

I feel good, even when I'm feeling bad, because I know I did the right thing.

***

I know that my grandparents must have acted out of self preservation. It's true that WWI had put Germany into a terrible position, and that Hitler was offering them a path to pride and prosperity. I also know that resisting what Hitler did put people into harm's way, in ways large and small. I also know that the shame after WWII must have been great - nobody talks about nice Nazis! - and I can see why my grandparents didn't want to broadcast what they had been a part of, in ways large and small, after they left.

But if they thought that pretending it hadn't happened, or hiding it, or refusing to acknowledge their part in the greater atrocities was a way of defending themselves, and of giving themselves what they deserved, then I think that they were very, very, very wrong. I believe that they paid the cost for their entire lives, and that they rotted themselves out from the insides by pretending that they had no shame.

My grandparents tried to get away with what they did, to lead a lovely and happy life afterwards, but I think that they approached it all backwards.

If I want to be fit and thin and sprint up the mountain so that I can dive into the alpine waters on a sunny day, washing the sweat from my body and delighting in every second... then I have to say no to the brownie today. I DESERVE to say no to the brownie.

If I want to go to sleep at night thinking "I'm someone who lives my values" then I need to go toward the screaming, even if I'm scared.

My grandparents wanted a happy life, like we all do, and they thought they could cheat the system by taking shortcuts, by giving themselves self-preservation at the cost of others. I'm convinced it didn't work, even when it looked like it did. I do not believe that they experienced peace and joy. Did they get what they deserved? Do I judge their wealth, or their long lives? Or do I judge their isolation, or the wake of anger they left behind them? Did they wrestle with their consciences? Did they measure themselves to find that they did not meet their own standards? What DID they deserve?

***

If I want to have the life I deserve, I'm going to have to fight for it.

I'm fighting for it. It's hard. I'm struggling. But I deserve to struggle valiantly, because I deserve the results of that struggle. There's beauty in the struggle, not just the victory - I'm prepared to wrestle with my beliefs, my values, my dreams. And the cost of giving up the struggle is far too high for me to accept - I realize that I can not always meet my goals, and that sometimes bad things happen, and that I can't control life's messiness. The only thing I can control is what I do to fight for the life I deserve, and the world that I want to create for myself and others.

And I deserve that.