Tag: Atlas Shrugged

I used to think that saving my own life was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and would ever have to do. That’s what I get for thinking. I’ve since learned that watching someone else destroy their life is much harder. However out of control I felt to stop my own suffering was illusory, but the inability to stop another’s suffering is soul-crushingly concrete. When you are the conductor, you can stop the train at any point. Yes, you can, lying brain. But have you tried to stand on the tracks and stop a train? I’ve smiled at that train, wagged my finger, reasoned with it, prayed for it, screamed at it, greased it’s gears, held it in a loving embrace. Every time it went off the tracks, I used my might to set it right, saying “Now, you go slow this time.” I supplied diesel, new paint, sign posts, warning signals, and always a push off when need be. “Good train! Good train. You go be good now, OK?”, ignoring the reality of the man at the controls.  I’ve gone weeks with no sleep, worrying that it would run me over at any point, all the while spending precious resources to build more means for destruction. Then I would lay down on the tracks and wait, as only the most hopefully stupid person could. The conductor is a madman, but the psychopathy is mine.

I’ve had years to think about these things, to put them in pictures and forms that I can understand. In my experience, everything is much simpler than we estimate and the more we complicate, the farther we get from the solution. It may be comforting in some sense to determine that a solution is so complex that it is nearly unattainable. There is an absolving element to that belief. The truth is, people make choices and we don’t always get a say in those choices. The truth is, our control is limited to our own being. Anything beyond ourselves requires either an act of force or an act of agreement. We can limit ourselves, we can limit our participation, we can limit our resources, but barring force, the final say is out of our control. If you are as willful and determined as I am, this will be a hard reality to accept. As I write this, part of me still believes I can stop a train, if I try hard enough, if I devise the right plan, if I change my approach and hold my tongue just right. I don’t like to lose. I fucking hate to lose. But some games have no winners.

So what do you do? This is the question I’ve asked myself a thousand times over. I just finished reading Atlas Shrugged, and the irony that I am Dagny is not lost on me. I’ve been using the train analogy for so long that Dagny’s focus was almost a foregone conclusion. One of my greatest takeaways was that existing within a destructive society and existing with a destructive individual requires the same approach; total removal of one’s participation. If you haven’t read the book, I highly recommend it, but if you have, you will know that Dagny fought to maintain productivity and normality despite insurmountable obstacles, and she did so until there was absolutely nothing left for her to save. This is what I’ve done, like so many other enablers. I’ve repaired the tracks more times than I can count, forgoing my own well being for the well being of the system which was designed for good but has been used for evil. But a tool is only as good as what it produces, therefore I have produced evil. I have enabled it in every way. Swallow that pill.

I think our primary failure, as enablers, is that we seek to make people into what we need them to be. Sometimes we need them financially, sometimes we need them emotionally. Maybe we just need them to be what they used to be, to restore our faith or sense of security. Maybe we assume they are a reflection of us, of our choices, abilities, devotions. Maybe their failures open up a wound within our ego, causing us to reflect on our own failures, which we don’t want to acknowledge. Regardless, our reliance on these people, on these trains, is our Achilles heel. It is the need to bring about change by which we are held captive. Suffer another analogy. Two men are held captive in an unlocked, unguarded prison. Neither are handcuffed or restricted in any manner, save for their own willingness. One wants to leave, but will not leave without the second. He cannot imagine his life without the other. The second will not leave for reasons which cannot be explained. Both will remain captive, neither will have life. This is not martyrdom, this is submission to death.

I realized recently that my prayers have, for some time, been completely contradictory. I have asked God to protect the conductor, but simultaneously I asked him to make him a better conductor. Assuming God behaved like Dumbledore, this might seem like a reasonable request. He could just wave his wand, fix everything and soon we’d be dancing through the tulips. “Enabler, The musical.” Disney worthy wishes. God isn’t a fairy godmother, though. He can protect you from your choices and simultaneously protect you from growing through experience, or He can allow you to face consequences, thus allowing you the opportunity to improve yourself. I italicize opportunity because it is just that, a chance, not a guarantee. Remember, there is force or there is agreement. Force removes freewill and won’t lead to growth. The other day I mentioned to a friend of mine that miracles happen when willingness meets opportunity. I fully believe this two-part recipe is what separates successes from failures. My willingness only matters if it’s my opportunity, but no matter how willing I am on behalf of another, I cannot accept their opportunity for them, nor can I force it upon them. I don’t like these truths. In fact, I hate them. I want to be so strong that I am strong enough for anyone whom I choose, willing enough for them also. I want to be able to give my hard earned gifts to people who don’t even want them, but desperately need them. This doesn’t work, of course. Something is only worth what it costs to attain it. Attaining it without cost doesn’t give you it’s worth, it only gives you the illusion of the worth. The worth is in the sacrifice, the resources used, the hours spent, the tears cried and knowledge gained. For this reason, I’ve amended my prayers, removing a plea for protection and focusing solely on growth. Hard won growth. You can’t utter this prayer without feeling deep pangs of sadness. What could be harder than to ask that the world come crashing down upon someone you love?

I, like Dagny, have spent my resources down to the last. I have exhausted all options, waited out all of the others, made ways when there were none and suffered to see one more day, knowing that even one more day was a gift that I would pay dearly for. The lights are out, the world is in ruins and now I retreat, removing my participation. I will not replace one more track, hammer one more nail. I will not waive the lantern or signal the approach. I will not be used to bring about my own destruction. This is the one place where I do have a choice. This is my opportunity to say no, this is my willingness to be unwilling. Welcome to Galt’s Gulch, Rachel.