“So how did you get to be so responsible?”
Somebody recently asked me that at a party where everyone was getting drunk, stoned, or both….except for my sad self. Believe it or not, I actually took a long pause and did not know how to respond. I wasn’t really familiar with the person that asked, so a very vague and non-committal “I dunno” sufficed at the time, and then my subtly-stepping-away-to-disappear shortly followed.
On the drive home, I was still pondering the same question. How did I become so responsible? More importantly, am I REALLY responsible and what does that mean anyway? In truth, when that person asked me at the party, deep down I wanted to say, “I’m not really so much as responsible as I am a coward, a scaredy-cat, and I think I’m just genetically built that way…you know…to not be a risk-taker”. But I knew that would’ve been too much to chew on for a stranger who I probably won’t see ever again so why make the effort to explain? I did not think it necessary to punish someone by exposing him further to my deep-seated issues when in fact, he was just being polite.
However I feel the need to disabuse myself of the notion that it is merely my strong sense of responsibility and unfailing moral compass that explain why I am, what most would describe, a ‘good girl’. In truth, I am amazingly skilled at paralyzing myself and sabotaging any plan that has any hint of creativity or novelty in them. I do this by thinking too much. In the same breath, I also scare myself to death by accepting worst case scenarios as guaranteed outcomes. Risk taking behavior and overanalysis just don’t go together.
Take for instance the following personal examples. I almost never drive above the speed limit (except of course for the 5 miles per hour over) more because of my fear of getting caught and pulled over by a cop, than my avoidance of accidents. I always imagine some police car hiding in some dark alley, just waiting to issue me a ticket. And how would I handle the situation? I’ve never had an encounter with a police officer before. What kind of damage would this do to my record? What other unforeseen repercussions could that speeding ticket cause? Rather than exhaust myself trying to answer those questions, I might as well just not do it and stick to the norm.
I also don’t really drink and therefore have never gotten drunk. I never had a taste for alcohol and am fearful of the possibility of getting out of control. This of course includes the possibility of suffering from verbal incontinence which is highly dangerous for people like me who have been utterly repressed all their lives. I’m also not particularly excited about feeling sick and throwing up the day after. Well, whether it’s losing control or getting sick to the point of barfing, both, I know, I will deeply regret the next day.
And of course there is premarital sex. I was raised in a society where Catholicism is taken very seriously and premarital sex is one act that a middle class Catholic girl with ultra strict parents just should never mess with. I grew up believing and fearing not only how this act will guarantee eternal damnation, but also how an unwanted pregnancy automatically stems from it. At age 27 (as embarrassing and pathetic as this may sound to many), when 80% of my peers have already engaged in said act and turned out fine, undamaged and sane, I decided I should be less uptight about the whole thing and that if the situation ever presented itself, that I should just face it head on, throw all caution to the wind and do what feels right at the moment, with the right person, of course. Well, one right person came and I was all geared up. And then guess what? I started thinking, overanalyzing yet again. “What if this relationship doesn’t work out? What if this makes me obsessive (sure…like I wasn’t that one yet!)? Most of all, (and this was the major reason that stopped me)…what if I got pregnant?” I sure wasn’t ready and willing to be a single mother. And I sure wasn’t ready as hell to be ‘found out’, stigmatized and disowned by my family! Well, what do you know? Four years later, I eventually found out that I was reproductively challenged and that no amount of sex, premarital or otherwise, would have caused a pregnancy!! I tortured myself for no good reason and to top it all off, I was still a miserable virgin.
So you see, for the most part of my life, I’ve never raised the stakes. And in the end, the truth is that it’s just so much easier to be ‘responsible’ when the stakes are not high; when the boundaries have not been pushed to the limit and everything is still quite predictable, manageable and definitely outside the realm of ‘risk’.
I must now admit though, that I’ve taken one risk that is quite worthy of mention. This is when I decided to uproot myself from my life in the
Philippines to live here in the . Believe me when I say that labeling my decision as ‘hasty’ is an understatement. I was only supposed to stay here for a six-week vacation, but ended up falling in love and getting engaged all within eight weeks of my arrival in United States . Staying for good at that time was still not part of the plan but at the very last minute, just on the way to the airport to board a plane back to Chicago , I just decided to stay. I never made it to the airport. I just made it to a diner close by, anguished over my dilemma of whether or not to leave, and then amidst much confusion and excitement, I made the choice. It was beyond difficult, knowing that I was abandoning a lot of responsibilities at work back home, and more importantly, abandoning my comfort zone. With one decision, I was choosing a new reality for the rest of my life; one that I knew would excruciatingly peel off every familiar sense of identity I’ve lived with through the years. With one decision, I finally knew how it felt to throw all caution to the wind and was prepared to face consequences, no matter how dreadful I perceived them to be. In my mind, the only thing that made sense was that deciding to stay, to be with the person I love, was the only risk I knew I would never regret taking. Manila
Perhaps for the very first time, at 30 years old, I was being genuinely responsible. For we really only practice a true sense of responsibility in times of genuine risk-taking. It is only when we take risks and then choose to stand by our decision, facing head-on the consequences of such choice, that we can truly say that we have practiced accountability and acted responsibly.
So maybe next time I’d give smoking pot a chance, for a change! I’m really intrigued as to how it would feel like to get stoned and what sorts of thoughts I’d be able to explore with my equally cerebral friends. But then again…What if my body gets a bad reaction to it?...What would I write on those medical background questionnaires at the doctor’s office regarding substance abuse? Would I then have to lie? What if I got caught? What if….What if…..What if………………………?