“RECIPROCAL ANALOGY” (PART II)

AUGUST 2, 2024 – (Cont.) When the auto-mechanic . . . er, dental hygienist . . . said that my Sonicare toothbrush had worked wonders on my gumlines, I immediately thought of another analogy: me as a country.

When I heard the good news about the condition of my gums, I thought of myself as Finland, where everyone, it seems, grows up on skis, is well educated and rosy-cheeked, speaks better English than I do, and quite probably, by age 12 has conducted a full symphony orchestra performing the unofficial national anthem—Finlandia by Jean Sibelius. “Being Finland,” however briefly, was a great feeling, especially when I reflected on my national struggles, such as the Winter War of 1939 against the Soviet Union (analogous to major bridgework) and ties with Nazi Germany during World War II (suspension of dental appointments during Covid and later, during my cancer treatment).

Now that you have some notion of my “country analogy,” I invite you to experience the more therapeutic side—and reciprocating feature—of pretending to be a country—specifically, the United States.

Our country is complicated—far more so than say, Finland—just as individually, we lead complex lives. All manners of issues, large and small, occupy millions of policy makers and policy implementers across America. From infrastructure to public safety to education and medical delivery systems to the entertainment industry to national defense to environmental protection, our vast nation has countless things to preoccupy us collectively. Likewise, each of us has a gazillion things to worry about personally: health, wealth, work, food, clothing, shelter, family, friends, fun and games, et cetera ad infinitum.

Whether at the national level or on an individual basis, we often feel overwhelmed. Our collective efforts are too numerous to track; our common problems so intractable, we become susceptible to simplistic “solutions” that would simply make the problems worse. Likewise, our personal challenges can induce mental paralysis and inhibit progress.

Enter then, the “reciprocal analogy.” In my personal case, I have upsides and downsides as diverse as those of the nation. For instance, on the positive side, while our Olympic gymnasts are raking in the gold this week, I’m racking up the vertical feet on my daily walks. I can reward myself with a medal without having to travel all the way to Paris. An example of a personal downside is the inside of my bedroom closet . . .

Most of the time the doors are closed, mainly in keeping with the axiomatic phrase, “out of sight, out of mind.” When I open the doors, of course, the “problem” is no longer out of sight, and what pops into my mind is harsh self-criticism. “You’re a disgusting slob,” I hear myself thinking. Or “If people only knew how unorganized parts of your life really are,” or “With one pair of shoes confused with another, you don’t deserve respect” or “When are you going to face the music, quit being lazy, invest the time, roll up your sleeves and straighten things up?”

Just as my slide down the slope of negativity accelerates, I shift into a “reciprocal analogy.” I pretend I’m the United States and my closet is the South Side of Chicago. Do I want to give up on America because of the proliferation of guns in the southern part of the Windy City? Of course not—any more than I should expel myself from our house because chaos reigns inside my closet.

What this reciprocating thought process achieves is twofold: on the one hand, it halts the slide of my self-esteem. It reminds me that I will no sooner be “perfect” than America will be. This isn’t to say I should give up on self-improvement any more than we collectively should ignore serious social and economic problems. The comparison of my closet to parts of Chicago has a moderating effect on my (unhelpful) exaggerated response to this personal shortcoming of mine. Yet, at the same time, by imagining that my neglect of the closet interior is analogous to our disregard for the misery of others reminds me that as a responsible member of the household, I have a duty to do better at keeping my things in order.

On the other hand—back to the “reciprocating” aspect of the “reciprocal analogy”—when I read about the latest shooting with an AR-15, my initial reaction is, “When will society say ‘enough is enough’?!” But before my blood pressure spikes into the red zone, I think about my bedroom closet, and I remind myself that collectively we’ll get serious about gun control at about the same time I get serious about cleaning up my closet. “Oh yeah,” I say under my breath, with the immediate effect of lowering my blood pressure over the proliferation of guns. Again, this isn’t to say that I should let myself off the hook, be it sending (another) email to my state and federal legislators or cleaning up my closet, but it moderates my non-productive anger over the inexhaustible influence of the gun lobby. Instead of hurling my smartphone—with news of the latest shooting—across the room, the “reciprocal analogy” tones down my reaction to a level where I can use the smartphone to shoot off that email to elected officials.

Thinking of myself as a country has other benefits, however. It helps to compartmentalize my personal challenges. Being somewhat of a public policy wonk-wanna-be, I can easily pretend that in any given situation, I’m the U.S. Secretary of Transportation (e.g. addressing car maintenance; trip planning), Director of the Congressional Office of Budget and Management (e.g. preparing a household cash flow pro forma), U.S. Ambassador to the UN (e.g. addressing personal discord), U.S. Attorney General (e.g. practicing law), and so on. Each of these “functions” involves a gazillion facets—just as personal life does—but by turning tasks and problem-solving into a large kind of board game, matters become more manageable and more enjoyable, especially when I pretend my car is the limousine reserved for me the “Secretary,” except I get to drive it.

The long—mostly—and short of it is that the “reciprocal analogy” can do wonders for your personal amusement, if not your personal attitude, whether the focus is public policy or personal matters. I encourage you to give the ride a try.

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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson