Chemicals (and emotions) React
A few years ago on my brother's birthday, I sent out a fun little tweet wishing him. It's the type of public acknowledgement of birthdays that I appreciate. Within moments of my "public" display, I received a phone call from my brother. So cute, I thought as I went to pick up my phone. He's calling to thank me. Before I could even say hello, my brother got down to business. Please delete that tweet immediately he said, completely emotionless. What? Why? I asked, trying to wrap my mind around this unfathomable reaction. I don't want my birthday to be so public. Do you realize how much easier you've made it for someone to steal my identity? This is ridiculous. I can't believe you did it. Take it down now. Shocked and a bit insulted, I unquestioningly granted my brother's wish on his special day.
To this day, I find it intriguing how my brother and I have such completely different reactions to our birthdays and those of others.
I'm no science or math whiz like my brother, but I do know that to every action there is always an equal and opposite reaction. What we sometimes forget, however, is that people react to different situations, experiences, and circumstances in different ways. True, real reactions (not text messages that take you ten minutes to concoct and edit), are raw and instinctual. They're hard to control. And sometimes, they're extremely painful.
I still remember a particular day of seventh grade math as if it were this morning. I was looking around the room when I made eye contact with one of my friends. He looked at me and mouthed the words "I love you." I immediately looked away. I don't think I've ever stared so intently at a whiteboard filled with mathematical jargon as I did for the rest of that class. I ignored my friend for several days, hoping it would somehow make him (and me) forget what had happened. It didn't. We were in several classes together, and for the next several days, he would wait anxiously by my desk, presumably for some sort of response. A pretty bottled-up person when it comes to emotions, I finally exploded. It was in science this time, and he was waiting at our lab table as I entered the classroom. Just standing there, looking at me with these puppy eyes, head cocked. Heart pounding, lungs seemingly not functioning, I somehow made it from the door to my desk. "I don't like you, okay" I sputtered. No greeting. No preamble. Just an uncensored reaction. One that had been neither expected from him nor intended by me (the teen brain is a complicated, inexplicable space).
Needless to say, my friend was completely taken aback by my bluntness. Understandably, he ignored me for about the next four years. Though I was only thirteen at the time, I still look back with a shade of disappointment with myself for not having cared for how my reaction could affect another person. The explosion of emotion had gotten the weight off my chest but in the most ungraceful of ways.
What Newton never told us was that to every reaction, there is an equal and opposite action. We are allowed to have our reactions. Reactions are the only real guide to helping us understand how we truly feel about a circumstance, experience, or situation. But we have to realize that our reactions cause a chain reaction that inevitably affects other people and reactions down the line.
Though I never explored Newton's law in science or math, I did know it intimately through dance. Putting all your weight into one bent leg is the only way to launch into a leap or one-legged pose, the most artistic expression of the action-reaction. But your audience doesn't care about the preparation. It's the leap or the pose that gets the ooh's, ah's, and applause. It's the reaction that is beautiful.
Acting is the easy part. As is reacting poorly. In each of our actions, it's up to us to create and inspire beautiful reactions. Even if they can't be positive. As my life experiences grow in number and complexity, it's becoming increasingly clear that this is the only way to maintain bonds (sciency pun intended) with all the people who fill and fulfill our lives.
Needless to say, my friend was completely taken aback by my bluntness. Understandably, he ignored me for about the next four years. Though I was only thirteen at the time, I still look back with a shade of disappointment with myself for not having cared for how my reaction could affect another person. The explosion of emotion had gotten the weight off my chest but in the most ungraceful of ways.
What Newton never told us was that to every reaction, there is an equal and opposite action. We are allowed to have our reactions. Reactions are the only real guide to helping us understand how we truly feel about a circumstance, experience, or situation. But we have to realize that our reactions cause a chain reaction that inevitably affects other people and reactions down the line.
Though I never explored Newton's law in science or math, I did know it intimately through dance. Putting all your weight into one bent leg is the only way to launch into a leap or one-legged pose, the most artistic expression of the action-reaction. But your audience doesn't care about the preparation. It's the leap or the pose that gets the ooh's, ah's, and applause. It's the reaction that is beautiful.
Acting is the easy part. As is reacting poorly. In each of our actions, it's up to us to create and inspire beautiful reactions. Even if they can't be positive. As my life experiences grow in number and complexity, it's becoming increasingly clear that this is the only way to maintain bonds (sciency pun intended) with all the people who fill and fulfill our lives.
Comments