I replied, with unconcealable exasperation, that this guy's been front and center for a solid decade, so those conclusions are pretty solid by now for those who share them. Little value could be wrung from the hundred trillionth iteration of the lament.
But I realized I'd just called him boring. And while it was true—he was being flabbergastingly boring—that wasn't the reason for my exasperation. So I reached for a metaphor.
"You're like an ice fisherman who cuts a hole in the ice, baits and sinks his line, and, awaiting a nibble, exclaims, "Jesus, it's cold!"
He stared at me blankly.
"An ice fisherman who's been at it for more than a week should have found some way to come to terms with cold. Dress for it, stoically bear it, or retrain yourself to feel eager for it. Someone who ice fishes on a frozen lake for years, complaining about the cold the whole time, is the definition of a crazy person. And while we're all free to choose our own approaches, in this case I've shown up, dropped my line, and settled in for a neighborly fishing session, and you lead with 'Is it just me, or is it cold?' Of course it's cold! We're ice fishing!!"
He squinted. "So you're telling me not to complain?"
"No. I'm suggesting you not complain in exactly the same way over the exact same situation for ten years straight. And if you can't help yourself, don't inflict it on your fellow fishermen, who've put effort into adapting to the cold. Nothing's gained by focusing on the frigidity of a frozen lake. Acceptance precedes sanity!"
"I will never accept the presidency of Donald Trump," he replied tightly, his posture stiffening in a show of staunch resistance.
And I flashed on my posting last week, which explained how accepting loss or disappointment doesn't require approval. I.e. don't expect to reach a point of approval re: the death of your hamster! Little Freddie's death will never stoke joy!
The acceptance/approval confusion seems more widely prevalent than I'd realized. We're all locked in obsession with our remaining sub-optimalities here in Utopia. Princesses, increasingly vexed by smaller and smaller mattress peas, refuse to accept perturbation because they can't, by definition, approve of it. So anything disliked is forever unacceptable. Like this unacceptably cold frozen lake!
If we'd stop requiring approval in order to accept, we might actually enjoy the ice fishing—or a rewarding conversation with a new acquaintance. The stuck record might finally play forward!
This person spent ten years perpetually renewing his shock at Donald Trump's awfulness because he cannot accept something he disapproves of lingering on his dashboard.
Anything un-approvable is unacceptable!
That's the underlying mechanism accounting for all the sour, toxic stuck-ness we all sense in contemporary society (not just politics). Anything un-approvable is unacceptable, and must be re-hashed, re-processed, and relived in an unremitting loop until it’s just the way we like it.
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