I know a woman who continues to inspire.
One of my favorite animals is the giant anteater. Native to South America, the giant anteater is exquisitely adapted to do a limited range of tasks, specifically those associated with what it does best; eat ants, termites and other yummy small insects. One of its key tools for gaining access to those yummy packets of insecty goodness is an impressive set of large, sharp claws that come in handy for tearing open rock-hard termite mounds and logs. It walks/runs on its knuckles to protect these valuable assets. This insectivore has a brain about the size of a large peanut which fits nicely into its narrow skull, which is in itself small compared to its overall head which is mostly made up of a long narrow mouth, which in turns houses a 2-foot long, sticky tongue. About 5-7 feet in length (including its tail), the giant anteater’s primary defense strategy is to run (Run away! Run away!!), capable of speeds of up to 30 miles per hour. However, if cornered and feeling threatened, this beautiful, docile, evolutionary wonder will rear onto its back legs & tail and, now 4-5 feet tall, attack with those previously mentioned impressive set of large, sharp claws that come in handy for tearing open rock-hard termite mounds. A zookeeper was killed by a frightened giant anteater a few years ago.
You: Huh…..ok…..interesting….and what was that about?
Me: I think this is a nice opening for what I want to chat about next.
You: Okkkkkk……..
Me: Metaphor. It will make sense in a bit.
You:…………..
I was recently in a meeting at work with a bunch of my colleagues doing one of those things that happens every few years in the Land of Work where we are required to stare deeply into our collective Work Psyche and question with great seriousness if we are collectively using enough strategery, using the right kind of strategery, and are generally being strategerific. It is one of many curses I bear that I am both extremely good at strategerific type meetings and my brain gets bored & quickly turns to acts of general tomfoolery at strategerific type meetings. The facilitators of these types of meetings both love and hate me. I guess people like me are probably their curse to bear.
In this particular meeting, I was sitting next to someone I know well who is what would be accurately described as “tightly wound” and highly anxious. They manage this anxiety through a series of mildly bizarre behaviors and rituals. It is easy for me to judge this person’s behavior (many people do) in part because of the overt forms it takes, and, in my quieter moments, I also recognize their desperate attempts to try to control the emotions and to keep from drowning in the waves. I can see my own fears mirrored in theirs. My random act of kindness was to help this person find one the talismans (it had fallen under their chair) which was needed to decrease their anxiety enough to participate in this strategerific meeting.
Given that my brain had already shifted into “how can we cause just enough trouble to be amusing and reduce the boredom” mode, I think I deserve extra credit for this RAK.
We are far from the forests and savannahs of our evolutionary history where we were hunted by creatures designed to enjoy us as a high-protein meal. With the exception of the odd encounter with a suburban lion, metro tiger or inner city bear, our highest risk of being bitten these days is not from an animal that is actually trying to eat us. In fact, the biting animal is most likely not even really trying to harm us, rather it is trying to send a message, typically after attempting to communicate this message several times before scratching or biting us (Humans are notoriously bad listeners and animals must think we are oblivious dumb assess who deserve a solid bite). Much like our friends the giant anteaters, most animals we encounter now who rip us open like a poorly-crafted termite mound (in the case of the giant anteater) or bite us (in the case of cats & dogs & hamsters) are afraid, not aggressive. Often this fear comes from their history, the current bite is triggered in response to shadows/ghosts from the past.
Biting is a pretty damn adaptive response if you think about it. Most humans, even though bigger than most dogs & cats & hamsters, are shockingly lacking in the tooth and claw department. It can become a cycle that makes a lot of sense: Fearful of fur-less creature, bite fur-less creature, fear-inducing fur-less creature goes away. Repeat as necessary. Works great! Until the fur-less creatures abandon you by the side of the road or have you put down.
Perhaps time for a Damn Hippie moment. What if every reference to animals above was swamped for humans? (Me: See! I told you the giant anteater was a metaphor. You: We were told it would make sense and….? Me:…..)
There are of course exceptions, but most humans who bite us are afraid. Their fear often rises out of deep water, too dark to see clearly, who knows what monsters might be down there? Those shadows mean something that most likely has nothing to do with right now, but that doesn’t change the survival instinct to bite right now. And of course it’s not just others biting us that is worthy of this understanding. When we are doing the biting, even to a totally bite-worthy narcissistic douchebag, in all fairness we should face the tough question of what ghosts have risen which we fear? What shadows from before are being seen on the wall of now?
Again, biting is a pretty damn adaptive response, so why stop biting? Bite, bite bite! Escape, escape, escape from the scary stuff! Yea!! Prizes for good biting. Until the humans in your life abandon you. Well, fuck. Why? Why do we so often seem to end up in a place like this? Sure wish it was because I am so wise and insightful (Ommmm) as I guide us through the profound lessons of RAK, but I suspect it is the opposite.
Either way, maybe this gives us a frame to understand when we are bitten that helps us to not automatically bite back? Maybe it gives us a frame to consider what is happening when we are doing the biting that helps us not bite so much? Or not. For me, recognizing this fear-biting behavior thing gives me a little more courage (emphasis on “little”) to not just run away (and end up alone) or bite back (and end up alone), instead try to stay and understand the fear. I also hope it helps me to avoid backing a giant anteater into a corner, because those mothers are seriously badass.
