A few weeks ago, I read this blog post and then messaged my wife: “This seems so dangerous to me.”
She read it and then replied, “What about this seems dangerous to you?”
And indeed, it’s something that shouldn’t probably seem dangerous. For those who didn’t click through (though really, you should, the story is well worth the read), the story is (at its simplest) about a younger man learning from his older friend not to ask permission to do what he wants with his life.
To me, that screams DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!
I realized, while reading that post, that I have spent my whole life asking permission to do everything. Often my ‘asking permission’ comes across as ‘just doing what I want,’ but in actuality I’m asking: is it okay? Is it okay if I go to grad school now? Is it okay if I go to this grad school? May I go to this program? What about this, or this, or this?
Some of the permission-asking makes some sense. I have a wife, and now a lover and a boyfriend, and so there are others whose considerations must be taken. My wife, in particular, bears legal and financial burdens with me. My wife and boyfriend, in particular, move with me. So if I am thinking about attending a school across the country, then I should be discussing that with them.
But that’s the crux, I think. I don’t merely discuss. I ask. I don’t ‘just do.’ I ask.
At various points in my life, I have found myself marveling at people who ‘just do’ things–from going to stores to moving across countries. How do they do that? I wonder. How do they just do that? Until reading that blog post, I never realized that my underlying question was, Whose permission do they have?
Likely, they only have their own permission, as adult human beings.
I could stand to give myself permission more often, I think. I wish I could figure out how to make it seem less dangerous.