On: Big words and simple truths
This article is best enjoyed whilst listening to the song "Waiting Game" by Parson James - https://youtu.be/oRksKPC6z1E
I'm not one for big words because I hardly ever remember what they mean, even if I've seen them a bunch of times (and yes, even as a writer, my vocabulary is limited to "hitherto" "basically" and "perchance"). However, one big word whose meaning has always stuck with me is the word - "equanimity".
The word is defined as "the state of being calm, stable and composed, especially under stress". And I think it has always stuck with me because, for the life of me, I could never imagine myself as someone who has the capacity to be "equanimous". I've looked back to all the times in my life I'd been stressed and nothing about my composure in those moments was calm or stable or nearly close to composed. I remember being asked to withdraw from Unilorin in 2009 because I had an abysmal CGPA in my first year and crying on the phone with my mom because I felt like a failure, after struggling to make things work with the late admission and having to deal with squatting just to make ends meet. I remember my dad needing to come over to Ilorin to take me back home because of how affected I was by all of that. Nothing equanimous there, I tell ya.
Neither was I equanimous at the time when I lost my first ever job. Technically I was fired from my first ever job for being vocal to my boss about some of the policies he was implementing, which I felt was to the detriment of the organization. I remember pretending to be equanimous when I got that termination email sent by his secretary but when I got to my face-me-i-slap-you empty apartment that had just a rug and nothing more, I remember collapsing on the floor in panic. I was alone in Lagos; no job, no family, an empty apartment, and nothing of value. Nothing about my composure in that moment was equanimous. Nothing.
Let’s see, when my contract ended with my former company, just when I needed a job and income to pursue plans to better myself. I remember calling a dear friend about it and asking the friend, not to panic (which is ironic, because I was the one panicking but pretending not to). I remember how much I tried to sound like the future was bright despite the dimness of the moment, even when deep down, I was in total panic. I remember the night after I got the news, falling down to the floor by my bed almost out of breath, thinking to myself..."30 years old in a month’s time, and no job…is this what your life has come to, Mifa?" I remember not even being able to sit straight for about an hour, as my mind raced through different scenarios of what the next course of action might be for me, without being able to settle on anything. Was I equanimous then? Your guess is as good as mine.
There are loads more instances I could recall where the word never applied to me and it has always intrigued me why despite not necessarily being able to behave as the word is defined, I find myself so drawn to it. And I may not have thought much of it until recently when the latest disruption news of life hit me again. Yes, barely seven months after the last hit, I got struck by another life-altering news that meant I had to start all over again, and in receiving that news, something strange happened (and of course I panicked, just in case you were expecting some sort of different reaction with the way I leaned into that whole build-up, Lol).
I finally understood the meaning of the word "equanimity".
This is not to say that the definition of the word is wrong but more to point to the fact that sometimes definitions are only as good as the context to which they apply. You see for the longest time, I've always believed being equanimous was tantamount to being "unfazed" by whatever curveballs life throws at you; stoic even. It has always struck me as disappointing when I look back at my hardest hit moments and can't reconcile that same resolve of calm that I have always associated with the meaning of the word, simply because my reactions at each instance have been one of instant panic. But not until recently did it occur to me that being equanimous has more to do with how you handle the process of whatever is putting you under stress than how you deal with the stress in the very moment of its impact.
Simply put, if you lost a loved one this very moment (I can hear so many people already saying "God forbid" instinctively, Lol) there's absolutely nothing to be equanimous about in that moment of such a deathly blow. You'd very likely panic or lose your shit, to say the least, and that is perfectly okay. Equanimity does not apply to that; and if you ever see someone who is unmoved by the death of a loved one in the moment of its impact, whatever resolve they are displaying isn't "equanimity"; chances are it could even be a trance-like shock, or maybe their minds haven’t yet come to terms with the reality of their situation.
But I digress.
My point in essence is that all this while, I've thought I wasn't equanimous because, in the moment of whatever stressful situation I was struck with, I panicked like a "lirru bitch". I lost my shit and rightly so. However, what I have always failed to take cognizance of is how I have been able to react in the process of those stressful situations - the day after; the week after; the month after; hell, even the year after.
Truth is, like many words that define a particular emotion, we tend to always see these things in absolutes and define our actions in the heat of the moment and nothing more. It's almost always a thing of holding our actions accountable only to the very moment of impact when ideally, the moment of impact is always meant to be shocking, painfully so. However, the real test of strength and resolve is how we handle the aftershock. And in thinking of it this way, you'd almost always find that, honestly, a lot of us are not doing badly with the way we tend to handle the aftershock of some of the insane curve balls that life hits us with, even though on the moment of impact we felt like that was the end for us.
The state of being equanimous - calm and of stable disposition even under undue stress - isn't necessarily an emotional hack that you have to train yourself to have at the moment of impact. It is not some sort of emotional core strength you can call on and brace for impact when life punches you in the gut. On the contrary, it's an emotional hack that you slowly build up within yourself as the moments pass and the ripple effects of the stressful shock (or gut punch, if you want to stick with the core strength analogy) continue to plague your mind.
Being equanimous is basically learning to live and thrive in spite of how shitty life is treating you and how many times you've fallen flat on your face, unsure of what the next move for you would be.
Being equanimous is surviving despite having days when you can't even pull yourself up from your bed (or rug, like in one of my instances) to do so. But then having other days when you do pull yourself up and keep going.
In my experience with life curve balls and my reactions to them, I can say one thing for certain: you never get used to how hard it hits. Never. You might think you are prepared for it or that you have seen it in the distance coming, but trust me, the impact is ever so paralyzing. And paralyzed it will make you feel when it does hit, so much so that like me, you'd wonder "what did I ever do to deserve this?" But, like me, you'd also learn to move with the pain and activate the equanimous hack you've learned to build over the years. And despite falling down a few times over the aftershock of the hit, you'd soon enough find the strength to run directly at life and say to its face, "Is that all you got? You throw like a lirru bitch, bitch?"
And at that moment, I'm sure you'd spit out some blood, brave a smile (like in the movies) and wait...wait...because it's certain, there going to be another one of those curveballs coming straight at you.
Would you duck, run or take that hit like the equanimous survivor that you are? Well, that's up to you and no matter what you choose, you’re still a survivor in my books.
Cheers.