The Tortoise and the Hare

I have a friend named Greta who, when I met her two years ago in Portland, Oregon, thought so poorly that there was almost no way for me to communicate with her at all. Every time I simplified concepts so that they might be more accessible for her I found that she became even more confused. So I simplified further and further and further until I was to the point that I would merely grunt or sigh. She began to show some levels of understanding.

“Ah,” she’d say, “when you frown and make harrumphing noises I can tell you are frustrated with me.”

My impulse would be to respond, “Yes, Greta, I am frustrated with you because you continually misinterpret what I mean when I say x, y, or z.” However, to say even that would lead to another misinterpretation of what I meant.

Eventually I realized that language was useless with her. I had to literally show her what I meant through movement, drawings, three-dimensional constructions, and so on. To her credit, she began to understand what I meant.

What I learned from all of that is that language itself was the problem, not because I was thinking poorly through language, but because there is no possible way that any human being is using or understanding language in precisely the same ways. Visual and other sensory evidence much more directly communicates meaning as it is meant than ideas conveyed through language. I began to see that I was at fault just as much as Greta. I had known this earlier in life, as an infant, toddler, and young child.

Then I, as with most other American youngsters, went to school and was taught the most disturbingly wrong ideas about reality imaginable. All fantasies, all ridiculous notions of what was important while completely ignoring what actually was.

Now, what is important? The body. The human body. For human beings, there is nothing more important than the body. And yet, there’s very little within education that teaches anything meaningful or useful about the body.

One of the analogies I related to Greta before I understood that spoken and written language was creating the misunderstandings between us was a variation of the story of the tortoise and the hare. “Greta, imagine you’re a rabbit and I’m a turtle.”

“But, Michael, I’m fat and you’re fit so shouldn’t it be the other way around?”

I sighed. “Greta, the story I'm trying to tell you won't make sense if you're the turtle.

"Does that mean I'm the turtle?"

"No! You're not the turtle; you're the rabbit."

"But I want to be the turtle!"

"Oh, dear Lord. Greta, why do you want to be the turtle?"

"Because then I can stick my head back into my shell and stay safe."

I sighed. "Greta, I'm trying to make a point--"

"I can make a point." Greta picked up a pen and pressed down on a sheet of paper. "See?"

"Yes, Greta, you've made a point." I tried to think of a way to communicate that didn't have any alternative meanings. "I want you to understand a concept I am sharing with you."

"What's a concept?"

I slapped my forhead with my hand.

"Is a concept slapping your hand against your forehead and grumbling?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not ... I don't ... look--"

"Where?"

"What?"

"Where do you want me to look?"

"I don't want you to look anywhere, I'm trying--"

"If I don't look anywhere ... should I look nowhere? How do you do that?"

"Greta, close your eyes and concentrate for a minute."

"Ah, yes, this is like looking nowhere. I understand what you mean! Do I have to do this for a minute, though?"

"Grrrreta ... I have no idea what to say to you."

"Should I say something? I guess I just did, didn't I?"

I tried again. "Im agine you and I are at the starting line of a hundred yard dash and in order to get where we want to go we have to run in the direction of the finish line--"

"We have to run? I'm too tired to run."

"Greta, you just have to imagine running. You don't have to actually run."

"I have to pretend I'm running?"

"Yes!"

Greta proceeded to run in place in slow motion. I decided not to say anything and continued with the story. "So, the finish line is where we want to go but behind us is an infinite horizon--"

"To infinity and beyond! I love Toy Story. Buzz Lightyear is my favorite."

"How old are you, Greta?"

"I'm 48 years old."

"How did you survive this long?"

"I don't understand."

"Never mind. As I was saying, there's an infinite horizon--"

"To infinity and beyond!"

"Greta!"

"Yes?"

"Please stop saying that. Don't say anything until I tell you to speak, okay?" Greta remained silent and nodded her head. "Good, thank you. Now there is an infinite horizon ..." I paused while looking at Greta. She struggled to keep her mouth shut but she managed." ... that is going in the wrong direction. I, the turtle, start hopping at a very slow pace toward the finish line. You, the rabbit, start running very fast in the wrong direction. You are much faster than me, but you are going the wrong way so even though I am going slow I will reach the finish line and you never will. Thank you for being quiet, Greta. Feel free to speak.”

"What should I say?"

"What did you think of the story?"

"I didn't understand it. I think I should be the turtle and walk to infinity and beyond! And then Buzz Lightyear falls in love with me and we fly into space together and we live happily ever after."

I stared at Greta for a good minute trying to figure out if she was joking or if she was truly an idiot. I couldn't tell. I thought it was possible she was a female Andy Kauffman, but I had no way of knowing. I finally blurted out, "Are you fucking with me?"

"Oh! You said the F-word!" Greta looked shocked and her face turned red. I laughed so hard I doubled over. I was afraid I was going to pee my pants. "That's not funny, Michael. You shouldn't say bad words." I collected myself and asked her why not. She said, "Because they're bad." I laughed even harder. Greta got upset and walked outside. After I stopped laughing I went outside to see what she was doing. She was sitting on the front steps crying.

I said to Greta, "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were so sensitive."

"That's why I said I wanted to be the turtle so I could stick my head back in my shell and be safe."

"I understand. Why don’t I try something different. Are you hungry?”

“I’m always hungry.”

“Okay. Let’s go to the store and buy some food.”

“Oh, goody!”

We went to a grocery store and I walked with Greta to the produce section. I began putting fruits and vegetables into a shopping cart. Greta turned to me and said, “I’m going to go to the candy aisle to get some food for me.”

“Uh, Greta, this is food for you.”

“No, no, no, I don’t eat things like that.”

“I know you don’t, but that’s part of the reason you’re unhealthy. Do you want to be unhealthy?”

“No.”

“Then there’s no need to go to the candy aisle. This food will be good for you.”

“But I don’t like that type of food.”

“Well, then you must like being unhealthy more than you like eating well.”

Greta chafed and began to get angry. “Why are you being mean to me?”

“I’m not being mean. I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t want to eat that stuff! I just want my candy! I hate you!”

“Fine, Greta. Enjoy you’re candy.” I turned and began walking toward the exit.

“Where are you going, Michael?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be around you if you’re going to continue to make the same choices you’ve made your whole life. If you want to destroy your body then there’s nothing I can do about it. But I don’t have to waste my time with you, either. Goodbye.”

Greta began to cry. I stopped and waited for a minute.

“Michael,” Greta pleaded, “I’m sorry. Please help me.”

I walked back to the grocery cart and we walked to the checkout line. We paid for the food and left the store. We drove back to her house, unloaded the groceries, and I began to cook. Greta didn’t like the way the food tasted, but she ate it. She told me, later in the evening, that she felt better. I left and went home. I returned in the morning and saw a half dozen candy wrappers surrounding the chair Greta had been sitting in the night before while watching television.

…

The truth is that Greta isn’t at all stupid. She may have misunderstood what I was trying to do to help her at times, but ultimately her addiction was more powerful than even her begrudging understanding. What she really wanted to do was to become healthier by doing what she had always done. The truth is that Greta has an addiction and there is nothing that I or anyone else can do to “save” her. If she had received guidance earlier in life, she wouldn't be in this predicament. But now she somehow has to break the thought and behavior patterns that have trapped her for decades.

This is not merely Greta’s problem, but the problem of most humans, particularly Americans. Why, though? Why do we receive such poor guidance? Well, for one thing most parents do not know how to guide. A second problem is that education focuses so much on math, science, reading, and writing that it ignores the body. Who in the world thinks it's healthy for kids between the ages of six and eighteen to sit at desks for eight hours a day? Another problem is poor modeling by parents and other adults. Additionally, in America's culture of “individuality” there is little human support and most institutional “help” does more harm than good--in the cases there is even access to or existence of institutional support.

But why do some do better than others? Better guidance earlier in life and even throughout life. At a certain point, an individual either learns how to direct his or her own life in healthy ways or s/he does not. In the United States, few ever learn anything truly useful. Bad habits are ingrained in a culture that focuses almost exclusively on the consumption of empty calories, vacant ideas, hollow platitudes, false advertising, useless work, meaningless activity, wastes of time, and purposeless lives.

If empty production and consumption is the process by which we live then vacuous lives will be the result. Americans are not Christian, Muslim, Jews, or atheists. They are Nietzsche’s Last Man, a sunken hollow that gnashes its teeth about boogeymen that don’t actually exist.

Now, why would that be? Why would Americans choose to believe in things that don’t exist when there is ample evidence that they have only themselves to blame for the poor choices they have made? After all, Americans vote (when they vote) for politicians who continuously write legislation and enact policies that do harm to the human body and to the environment that provides the resources necessary to sustain life. All for the sake of funneling wealth into the hands of a few. They support wars against peoples who have done nothing to the United States. They cry about taxes that actually provide help for elderly parents and disadvantaged children (Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid) all while applauding government giveaways to corporations that invest money in foreign countries, eliminating jobs that could sustain the country into the future.

So why would Americans be so stupid? Because they choose to be? Maybe. From my perspective, they are easily manipulated because they are weak-willed and choose to practice self-deception in ever more complex ways. And they are encouraged to do so through the propaganda of advertising, television programs, song lyrics, movies, stories, video games, and so on? Yes. A vicious circle. Americans like bells and whistles, loud noises filled with fury that signify nothing. Americans love nothing more than they love something.

Why should I care about such people? What would be the purpose? Well, for one thing, I have to live among Americans and many of the choices they make directly impact my life. So I’m making the choice to write about Greta and I as well as Jane Q. Public, writing about me to show you a better way and about you so that you can see how ridiculous you are. All of you? No, of course not. In fact, none of my readers. You're all too smart for that (*shameless pandering to avoid chasing away my audience*). My hope is that the country snaps out of it and makes substantively healthy changes. I know my hope is futile. The best I can do is share my stories.