Everybody has their limit as to how much they can handle, how long they can wait out the annoyance, the anger, the rage before they implode. Everybody has a different amount of tolerance for stupid—his or her fuse. I am short, about five foot two really. Not necessarily a bad height unless you’re a stick of dynamite, which I am. So much of my natural height is taken up by the dynamite’s casing that my fuse is rather small. What I’m trying to say is that I have an explosive temper that lights itself at the first sight of a match. Calm is so not my thing.
Imagine my surprise when I was given the assignment to be calm (I am physically incapable of welching on an assignment). My English teacher, Ms. Brewster, handed us an excerpt from Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography this past Wednesday. My buddy Ben had come up with thirteen virtues to make a man (or in my case woman) perfect. We were to pick one of Ben’s virtues and try to adhere to it for a week. A chart would note our progress with a little black dot on our calendars for every day we failed at assuming whatever virtue we had chosen. So my progress would be marked by the black spot, great.
I took this very seriously. If I was going to pick one of Franklin’s virtues I was going to keep that promise—unlike the parody Lent I undertake every year for my Grandparents’ sanity. So I carefully looked over the list of oh-so-daunting values.
TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
SILENCE. Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.
FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing.
INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
MODERATION. Avoid extreams; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths, or habitation.
TRANQUILLITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dulness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates.
Some of these precepts I knew I could never achieve—Frugality, Order, Industry. Some were outlawed by Ms. Brewster: Temperance because we shouldn’t be drinking, and Chastity because she didn’t want to know. Some were just plain funny—oh how I wanted to imitate Jesus and Socrates. I also eliminated Cleanliness and Moderation because I figured I had the basis for those anyway.
I entered an intense debate with one of my friends on which of the remaining five virtues I should attempt. Things such as Justice and Resolution would be the easiest, but as I’ve said I can’t do an assignment halfway. Sincerity, my friend argued, I would not have a problem with because I am already blunt enough. Oh I knew where she was going and did not like it. I parried with the fact that I enjoy mindless chatter more than I ought to and that Silence would be a good life lesson. I was babbling at her now (really illustrating my point), slightly panicked. I may have even squeaked. She just shook her head, smiled, and told me that if I didn’t get some Tranquility I would wind up in prison. Ouch. And that is how I ended up choosing to attack the virtue of Tranquility.
My perceptions of Tranquility are very cliché. A serene lake or country pond with a leaf gently traversing the surface of the still waters; a Buddhist monk meditating in the lotus position as a soft breeze whispers along; a lush clearing straight out of Bambi illuminated by cozy sunlight; Mr. Miyagi. I prefer to think of myself as a realist more than as a pessimist; I knew I couldn’t manage to be a lake. My surface is too easily rippled for a leaf to safely sail my waters. A fly the obnoxious breeze had brought in would easily interrupt my thoughts of Nirvana. And I would wind up telling Mr. Miyagi where he could stick his wax.
Despite my doubts I woke up on Friday morning with a shiny new optimism. I could be a pond if I darn well wanted to. The day was going with out a hitch. I was happy and peaceful. Even my test on the Pilgrims could not ruffle my inner waters. And then my friend Anna skipped a stone across my serene surface, a stone in the shape of an apple. It was lunchtime and Anna had brought the epitome of apple perfection to eat. Admittedly this apple was quite nice. It fit flawlessly in the palm of her hand. A perfectly squat, shimmering, crimson apple that would even tempt Snow White twice. And because of this Anna didn’t want to eat the apple.
At first I was right on board with the whole ‘don’t eat it it’s too cute’ thing. I thought it was slightly amusing to be so devoted to an apple but I figured her hunger would win out. All the way down to the Cafeteria Anna rhapsodized about the apple. I nodded and made approving noises smiling all the way. When we sat down Anna set the apple in front of her and stared at it. The rest of us (Megan, Miriam, and myself) were already digging into our food. Anna said she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t eat the apple but she was very hungry.
We urged her to eat the apple—it was just a fruit, she was hungry, end of story. Not so for Anna. For minutes on end she would go on about the apple, stop, pick it up, look at it, put it down again, and then continue explaining why she couldn’t possibly eat it. She eyed my brownie, and being a person on a search for a better me, I offered her some. She ate most of it, which annoyed me because another of our friends had given it to me as a tranquil incentive. Maybe it was the loss of my tranq-aid but I became more and more piqued with Anna.
In my defense I was not the only one getting annoyed with Anna’s apple fetish. Miriam and Megan kept trying to talk her into eating the apple becoming more and more forceful with their words. I was gritting my teeth and telling my self to breath deeply and not be “disturbed by trifles”. Then Anna said for the one-hundredth time in twenty-five minutes that she was starving. I pointed out the obvious that she did in fact have an apple. I could hear my braces creaking from the tension in my jaw. She would not shut-up about the apple.
“Oh just eat the damn apple!” I exclaimed glaring mutinously at the brownie-eating-apple-saving-nut-job that was my friend.
“No.”
I thumped my head on the table in despair. I had just been given the black spot by one of my best friends. Now there would be a little cancerous dot next to Friday on my chart and I would have to explain why I had failed at being Tranquil. I groaned. I was agitated for the rest of the day, the ripples working their way across my clenched muscles until all was still.
It wasn’t really until the fall sports assembly seventh hour that I was able to find a semblance of calm. The riotous drums, the cavalcade of athletes, and the chaos of students crammed against one another ironically gave me peace. After that I could think, I needed to figure out how to handle Tranquility. I picked the idea up, just like Anna’s apple, and stared at it.
I had known it all along, I wasn’t meant to be a lake. I had no intention of giving up on my assignment though. Perhaps I was thinking on too broad a scale. A lake after all is huge in comparison with my stature. Maybe I was meant to be a puddle. Yes, a calm puddle I could handle that. Or instead of a full-bodied sunny clearing I could be a cheery strip of grass along a sidewalk. I could start small (it’s what I’m good at), and build up to being more Tranquil. Who knows maybe my fuse will grow too.
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