Last night I was told a poignant parable listing the pitfalls inherent to martyrdom.  The noble martyr and the clueless buffoon face off in a fight to the death.  The martyr sacrifices himself to destroy the buffoon’s, and the buffoon wins without ever lifting a hand in defense.

It had all the nuance of an Indian folktale, with heavy handed allegories and a moral which I’ve rarely seen.  Luck, ease and carelessness are lauded while the enemy is dedicated, hardworking and has overcome enormous challenges.  To no one’s surprise, the name of the show was the Simpson’s.

I was raised by parents who had overcome early life difficulties, and relished the struggle and the strength it instilled.  They brought me up to respect hard work, diligence, and a serious nature.  I internalized that strongly from a young age.

To my dismay, however, I am naturally absent-minded, forgetful and dreamy.  I get lost in thought and am easily distracted.  I spent most of my time exploring nature in silence or falling into the story of a book.  I was constantly chastising myself.

I would scold myself and write plans and reminders and set goals.  I would get frustrated and cry with the pain of not being able to live up to my expectations.  I would procrastinate chores and projects until I ended up being late and sometimes bearing terrible consequences.  Sometimes even lying to avoid the shame of failure.

I thought that the harder I tried, the more I hurt, the more I made myself suffer, the more I would achieve.  I honestly had no other ideas.  I didn’t treat anyone else like that.  I didn’t beat my dog into submission.

All I got from that mindset was a low-paying restaurant job and self-hatred.

That only changed once I started changing my self talk to treating myself a little more like I would any other creature, with patience, understanding, and an open hand.  My mind is flighty, and doesn’t like being caged and beaten.

Now I live a life with more enjoyment, I’ve relaxed my attitude and skip through life with confidence instead of cowering in fear.  I have stopped measuring value in suffering, and now measure it in happiness and pride.

Most importantly, I now think of myself as a list of positive achievements.  I used to only see a list of resentments and failures and what-ifs.  Now, when I think those thoughts, I notice, and shut them down before they color my day.

I was afraid, when I was a child, when I was trying so hard to exert rigid self-control, that if I let go and relaxed, I would do nothing.  I thought I was naturally lazy and boring and would never achieve anything.  It is the implication, isn’t it?

That’s not what I’ve found, though.  I am a curious, naturally energetic person with many interests and diligence.  I was refusing to perform at the point of a knife and procrastinating by doing nothing.  What I didn’t realize is that the avoidance was the unnatural state.  Remove the knife, and I would do any number of things.

So last night I watched “Homer’s Enemy” and my husband got very excited.  He said it was his favorite episode, so I paid special attention.  And as the story unfolded, I understood why.  It is a core belief of his, that luck is important above all things.

At the beginning, Homer’s boss Mr. Burns watches a heartwarming news segment about a self-made man.  The segment describes Frank Grimes, who was abandoned at 4 years old, spent his childhood as a toy delivery boy and then was blown up in a silo explosion.

He was in a full body cast, recovered, and has since graduated from correspondence school in nuclear physics.  Mr. Burns is so moved by the story of overcoming hardship that he demands the man be hired to help run the power plant. 

Once the man is brought to him a few days later, he has forgotten the story, and doesn’t remember the man.  He is now enamored with the story of a heroic dog.  The man is put to work in the plant anyway.

I have found that to overwhelmingly be true.  People love a story of hard work, it’s very nice and reminds us of the possibilities of the human spirit.  But it’s not a very interesting or lasting feeling.  People care about your attitude and energy a lot more.

The man meets everyone with a sense of impatience, self-importance and diligent focus.  This creates an immediate dislike toward Homer, and indifference among the rest of the staff.  Unfortunately for him, it makes him a curious obsession for Homer, who directs an unusual amount of focus toward the new coworker.

Grimes describes himself by his struggles, and in every interaction he has he spits venom.  That’s because he has cast himself as the martyr of his tale, overcoming every setback with diligence and suffering through life where others breeze by.

When Homer invites him to his house, he is so jealous he can hardly talk.  Grimes rants about his lonely life in a hateful apartment with no happiness, beauty or love.  Homer is shocked to his very core that his existence would arouse such hate in another person.

I have overcome extreme suffering, external, self-inflicted, existential and physical.  I have come to terms with illnesses and insecurities and hospitalizations.  At times I could only see the things I hadn’t achieved, and the pain I had suffered.

I would hear stories of people who had things I wanted and I would be so jealous.  I was hateful and blind to the difference between us.  Not the hardships, suffering, or lack thereof, but the perspective.  One of possibility, one of difficulty.  One of the trickster, one of the martyr.

I actually hated the Simpsons for many years because I couldn’t stand Homer.  He was so incompetent, I couldn’t tolerate it and I certainly couldn’t relate.  But it’s easier now, I see my own mistakes, I accept imperfection.  I see possibility in failure.

Just like Grimes, my martyr ideas burnt themselves out.  I started doing things that were easy, and felt good and I had fun.  Pretty much everything that didn’t make sense in my previous concept of the world.  But I found out they were also good for me, they were good for my future, and made me healthier and happier.

Once I stopped whipping myself, I stopped needing so much comfort.  I had been the stressor all along.  My unhealthy coping mechanisms stopped and I had more time, more energy and more optimism.  I have faith in myself.

Now I meet people with a smile and laugh at my struggles and reassure them their insecurities are okay.  People like me more.  The world is full of possibilities, suffering is only one of a million choices.  Everyone has a choice.

Every day I make the choice to be positive and have hope.  Whenever I get discouraged and unhappy and start to feel trapped by my job or responsibilities or resentments, I do some thought exercises. 

I think about how it could be a good thing and list reasons.  I think about why it happened and ask what else could have happened that would be worse.  I think about describing it to my band of orphans in my commune in the apocalypse.  I think about what I can do to like it.  I ask what would make it better. 

I generally just try to think all around the situation to try to change my perspective for the better.  If I can’t come up with answers, I’ll ask other people.  I’ll let myself have my tiff and make wild assumptions like Buggs Bunny in an argument.  I’ll laugh at myself for overreacting.

I don’t assume that I make better decisions or work harder or matter more when I’m unhappy.  I recognize righteous anger, I recognize fear and insecurity in myself.  I don’t see them as a strength, but things that prevent me from being happy, safe and loved.

Staying hopeful lets me see the possibilities in a situation and recognize when I should act.  Being calm and loving lets me treat people with respect, most importantly myself.  Constantly forgiving myself for my imperfections lets me perform my best without hesitation.

Last night after I watched that show about the importance of being relaxed, happy, and lucky, I went to art class.  I attempted a very difficult subject with a technique I had never used before.  It was very brave.  But I was unsatisfied with the results.

I am grateful for it as the learning experience that it was and it gave me tons of ideas for future pieces.  I’m looking forward to trying it again.  And most importantly, I showed my piece to my class.  I laughed with them at my high standards and critical nature and I have plans to redo it with fresh knowledge.

My husband said I was crazy to try such a piece.  The photo reference is dazzling and I can’t wait to recreate it.  I don’t care if it looks like the reference.  I don’t care that it’s hard or chaotic or confusing.  I want to do it because it’s something that only I would try.  Because I’m a trickster.