Like Janet Jackson Said… (Control)

It never fails. The second I decide that the weather has turned enough for me to get out the air conditioner, the second I wrestle it into the dining room window, that’s the same second the weather decides to shift, to get colder, and to make me once again look like a fool. And this year was no different. What I really can’t stand is that it shows me once again that I’m not in control, something I’m not so good at admitting. But there it is, like an old friend I love to hate, turning up the cold right after the air conditioner goes in.

From day one I’ve always wanted control, at least according to my mother (I don’t remember way back then for some reason — I still think I must have been brainwashed along the way). Even more than other children, apparently, I fought for every single thing I thought should have been mine, and against every single thing I didn’t want around me. Cheese, yes please. And more of it. Olives, no thank you, but sometimes I would forget the thank you. Stay on my back to sleep? No. I prefer my stomach. Peanut butter and jelly? Nah. Cream cheese and honey. Yeah, I guess she had it right after all. I have always wanted control.

Fast forward to more recent times. I was working on the manuscript to a novel and I had gotten it to the place I wanted it, where I felt it was really and truly perfect. And then my editor got a peek at it, and while she was largely pleased, she also had several issues she said I needed to fix. I was blown away. What do you mean, my plot is a little vague in this spot? I know what I MEANT to say. I know what I WANTED to say. And I think I said it. Hmph. I must have control. But then again, I want my work to be the best it can be. So, I had to honestly sit down and look at her markings and notations. And dagnabbit if she wasn’t right. Ouch. There goes my control. I promptly fixed all of the issues she had pointed out, and lo and behold it was better. Much better.

I once worked with a man named Paris. Paris was a kindly soul, but he wasn’t typical of someone his age (he was 50), and his vocabulary wasn’t very large, but he taught me something very important about control. We both worked in a restaurant, and Paris’s job was to fold the napkins (he did a great job folding those napkins). My job was to oversee, so sometimes we would be in the same place while he was folding the napkins and I was overseeing. Those moments were always interesting because even though he didn’t have a wide vocabulary, he was extremely precise in his language when he used it. He said what he meant to say (to paraphrase John Mayer). Well, this one afternoon it was raining, and he was sitting there folding his napkins and humming to himself when I passed by.

Me: Hi Paris. How are you today?

Paris: Fine, boss. Fine. (I wasn’t technically his boss, but he always called me that.)

Me: You like looking out the window?

Paris: I like looking at what God does.

Me: I never thought about it like that.

Paris: Nature not gonna be controlled.

Me: I guess that’s true.

And it was definitely true. Nature is not gonna be controlled, no matter how much we want to control it. That goes for not just the weather (even though we complain enough about it), but for human nature as well. We have this underlying need to be in control, to force the world into our little circumscribed ideas and ideals for it, but it doesn’t work that way. It’s only when we appreciate that some things can’t be controlled, that sometimes we need to go with the flow and not be so rigid, that’s when we can truly be free and enjoy ourselves and others.

Of course I still don’t eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (seriously, you should try cream cheese and honey — it’s much better), and I complain about the air conditioner theory, but when push comes to shove, I like that I can’t control everything. How boring would life be if I could?

Sam