When your feet are wet, it means....

We frequently hear something similar to this phrase--"Don't let them tell you what to do."  It also travels as "Stand your ground"  or "Don't let them push you around."  The "them" presumably are people in authority, and the implied intimidation is the result of one attempting to Do What Is Right or to Stand Up For Truth, to the evident dismay of authority figures.

I heard this phrase spoken to me several times over the last six years, in my position as a school psychologist, when I gave voice to my frustration over conflicting directions or draconian pronouncements from my supervisors.  "Hang tough," I was told.  "You're doing the right thing."

I'm not saying this is not good advice, just that it is overapplied.  While we applaud and support children who take a stand with their peers for rising above the lowest common denominator, we also counsel them (at least I do) with that timeless advice from Kenny Rogers--"You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away and know when to run."  In other words, going to the mat for everything isn't the wisest way to go through life.

When does knowing when to fold 'em and to walk away become a bad thing?   Is it a reaction to a feeling of powerlessness, that this is the one thing I can do to assert myself?  I can refuse to leave a situation in which I am being physically, verbally or emotionally pummeled because, well, I can.  It's my decision.  You can't make me leave.  True 'nuf, but sometimes wisdom trumps ability, or at least it should.  Just because I have an option, doesn't mean I should take it.

An analogy comes to mind, and I do love this one, although I have to take minor liberties with historical facts.  Let's say I'm on the Titanic, and it's at the point where clearly something is very wrong.   Some lifeboats have been put off and are hovering nearby, although at a safe distance.  I am being urged, with increasingly directive language, to get into a lifeboat.  And I am refusing.

What might prompt such a seemingly foolish stand?  First, I don't have the benefit of hindsight, so I don't know for certain what is going to happen.  Second, I am committed to the idea of holding my destiny in my own hands, and if I want to get into a boat, it will when and if I want to, not because somebody ordered me.  And I don't really want to go, because getting into a lifeboat requires acknowledging that something is terribly wrong and my initial course of action might have to change.  Maybe booking passage on the Titanic was a mistake, and I don't want to acknowledge that I made a mistake.  So I stand there on the deck, thinking, "Maybe somebody will do something to stabilize the ship.  Maybe it will stop sinking.  I sacrificed for a long time to buy my ticket, and all my stuff is still on board.  I don't want to just turn my back on my investment.  It looks cold out there in the boats.  My feet are still dry.  I think I'll stay here awhile longer."

The minutes and hours pass.  Now (here's where a little historical license is needed), I can see a ship, perhaps the Carpathia, on the horizon.  Some of the lifeboats are heading that way.  The people in the lifeboats may be cold, and they are abandoning their possessions (their "investments"), but they have acknowledged that the situation has changed, and they are implementing Plan B.  I'm sticking with Plan A, which is a sincere and profound hope that someone will do something and the Titanic will stabilize, but I'm having a harder and harder time rationalizing it to myself.  The lifeboats have all left now, but many are still nearby and not full, so if I put on a lifejacket or grab a deck chair and jump or lower myself into the water (which is getting closer all the time), I could still swim to a lifeboat, be pulled onboard and eventually get to the Carpathia.  I can still save myself...but it's gonna be my decision.  No one can force me to get into that cold, cold water and swim to a lifeboat.

You can see how this plays out.  At what point does saving myself become more important than resisting being told what to do?  At what point do I realize that the situation in which I have allowed myself to stay has become untenable?  Is it when my feet are getting wet and I can step off, rather than jump off the deck?  Is it when the vacuum is pulling me under?

Shortly before I decided to step off my own personal Titanic, hop into the water and swim for the lifeboat, a dear friend and (now former) coworker expressed consternation at my decision.  "You can't just turn your back on your degree!" she exclaimed.  "After all the time you put into getting it!"  Another dear friend wrote to me, "Don't let them drive you out!"  I heard them both, but I also could feel my feet getting wet, and I decided to swim for it.  Now I'm in a lifeboat, damp but ok, on my way to better things, and they still are on the Titanic.  That makes me sad.