A More Efficient Me

As long ago as I can remember, my most common retort to life’s cruel injustices was shouting a fervent, “That’s not fair!” And, much to my dismay, outing that pink elephant yielded nothing more than a lackadaisical, “Not all things in life are fair.”

Such a passive response to unfair, inequitable situations left me nothing short of irritated each time I heard it. It made me feel helpless, as if I was standing up to a brick wall. The truth was obvious, yet all the reason and logic in the world couldn’t change things. I imagined injustice to be a green horned monster that somehow managed to escape responsibility for its actions every time.

Even at a young age, my quest to make the world a fair place was not limited to the playground. I was equally concerned with the starving children in Africa as I was for a friend who cried when someone called them names after school. I spent much of my life fighting every single unfair situation or statement that came my way … no matter how big or how small.

In elementary school, I stood up for a friend who was incorrectly accused of cheating on a test; I told off my best friend’s boyfriend when he broke up with her unexpectedly; I fought for my rights when a colleague at work took credit for the advances I’d made on my project; and I was always quick to voice my opinion about television commercials that advertised household cleansers and only showed women using them.

Eventually, though, I became tired. I was always on guard, ready to make a statement or fight for what I thought was right, and that took its toll on my physical health.

One night, while reading “Gandhi An Autobiography: The Story of My Experiments With Truth,” a particular passage conveyed a life-changing message to me. I realized that my habit of fighting and protesting every single inequality in life was not the most efficient means to incite fairness and change in the world. This type of living only left me drained and spent. When a situation in which I could make a difference did occur, I had no energy to give it my full effort.

To this day, when I find myself in a position to voice my opinion or fight for someone’s rights, I stop and ponder whether it is worth my energy. If it’s not, I let it go right there and move on. If it is, however, I give it my all, confident in knowing that I’ll be able to fight the good fight.

I believe in the power of choosing my battles. I believe in the ability to respect my health. I believe in justice and will continue to fight, albeit in situations that I determine are the most efficient use of my energy.

Reflections

Writing this particular essay for “This, I Believe” proved to be a fairly difficult task for me. The experience took me on a roller-coaster ride of emotions … fast-paced ups and downs that were finished before I had time to realize that they had even started.

While writing this essay, I was once again reunited with many of the battles that I’ve faced in the past. Bits of anger sparked within me as each event came to mind but were soon extinguished by a feeling of compassion for the victims associated with these battles. I then experienced a sense of calm once I realized just how much difficulty I have overcome and a sense of pride because I’m happy that I am the type of person who fights for what’s right.

Today, I have a wealth of energy that has enabled me to work with and defend many causes that are close to my heart. I am a staunch defender of animal rights and volunteer regularly with the local humane society, taking care of and finding homes for the abandoned, abused, and neglected pets in the community. I am a survivor of domestic violence and, to this end, have devoted much effort and time toward heightening awareness for victims of rape and abuse. As a child of the 1980s, I grew up with the TV specials that documented the horrors of the hungry people in Ethiopia. In memory of this, I am a regular volunteer at a local soup kitchen, which feeds the hungry and homeless living right in my city. My dad fought for his country during the Korean War and risked his life to save a fellow soldier downed on the battlefield; my mom once befriended a homeless woman who was schizophrenic and manic-depressive and cared for her until she died. To honor their efforts, I help care for those people who suffer from mental illness, whether it be post-traumatic stress disorder or anxiety. I read to the residents of a nursing home; I work with those who have developmental disorders such as autism and cerebral palsy, helping to throw them parties and assisting with holiday meals for they and their families.

Since the night I read that passage by Gandhi, I have worked to focus and channel my energy into more productive efforts. Although I have found that my hands are able to do much of this work, my voice is still important and thus is transcribed to paper and published in local and national newspapers and magazines in an effort to defend the rights of people and animals and educate others about causes and opportunities to help.

~Michelle Amaral