The Myth of Independence

When we are driving on the highway, we see ourselves as free agents. Our actions are individual and separate, affecting only us. When someone cuts us off, we are angry. When lights prevent us from entering the highway as soon as we can, we are frustrated because we cannot get to our destinations as quickly as possible.  We are upset with the driver who sneaks into a lane at the last minute. We speed along the highway and curse those who get in our way.

The truth is, if we let everyone merge, drove at a consistent speed, and obeyed the lights that regulate on-ramps, we’d have far less traffic. If we didn’t talk on our phones in the car, we’d all move more quickly. Counter-intuitively, everyone would get to their destinations more quickly if we thought about other people, too.

Traffic author Tom Vanderbilt put it well, “The individual driver cannot often understand the larger traffic system.” 

In other words, if we stopped thinking about ourselves only and acted in a way that helped everyone, we  all would benefit. Our independence is an illusion. We are part of an enormous interconnected network. We stubbornly cling to the fact that we have a right to make our own choices, and we do, but are we making the right choices?

When we are sick, we call our doctors and ask for antibiotics. Even though some doctors refuse to prescribe antibiotics in circumstances that do not warrant them, many people can find ways to get these drugs anyway. The result of this overuse of antibiotics (and their use in food animals as well) may eventually mean that these drugs are useless to all of us. According to the Mayo Clinic, Antibiotic Stewardship is similar to the highway situation; if I only think about myself and do what I want without thinking about my relationship to the greater system, everyone is hurt.

We need to stop thinking that we are independent and realize that our actions have a greater impact. We are, in fact, interdependent. Unless one is a hermit on an island, one’s actions are part of an ever-changing and highly complex system.

Here’s one more metaphor: When studying family dynamics, I was introduced to the work of Virginia Satir, who compared the relationships in a family system to a mobile that hangs above a baby’s crib. Pull any dangling piece of the mobile and the entire mobile changes. Remove or add a piece and the mobile must find a new equilibrium. Imagine that mobile writ large with millions of pieces.

I am a teacher. It is easy to think that, when I close my classroom door, my decisions affect only my students. Most teachers know that this is far from the case. Students come into class bringing their knowledge, relationships, and feelings from experiences in and out of the school. NPR recently reported how domestic violence “hurts not only the kids who witness the violence but also their classmates.” The climate of a school has a profound influence on every person in the building. Like the highway, schools and classrooms are interdependent systems.

We live in a global economy. Our neighbors’ choices affect the neighborhood. What one passenger brings on a plane could hurt everyone else on it. Uninsured motorists or hospital patients raise the cost of insurance for everyone! Of course, we have freedom of choice and speech, but is it still not okay to yell, “Fire!” in a crowded theater. 

We are not alone. We are not independent. We are part of a highly complex and interdependent system that is beyond our ability to visualize. There are very few victimless crimes or repercussionless choices. In each of our daily lives, we are throwing rocks into the water and creating unfathomable ripples!

The old rationalization of “but I am only one person, what does it matter” may have been what many British people were thinking during the Brexit referendum. Now they must face up to a problematic and painful exit from the European Union that will affect the entire world. Their votes counted, even if they didn’t cast them!

Asking how our choices will affect the world around us is not just an act of humility. Moving beyond our selfish solipsism is an act of adult responsibility. Realizing that our everyday decisions affect more than one person is critical to the wellbeing of all of us.

Homecoming Ghosts: The October 13th Crash Ten Years Later

I see ghosts in the halls of my high school. Most of the time, they are ghosts of the living. I look down the hall and say, “there’s Sarah!” And then I remember that Sarah graduated.  She is at college or medical school or married and living in Los Angeles. That isn’t Sarah at all, but a student who reminds me of her. I turn a corner and remember how Kevin made me laugh as he imitated a teacher’s walk down the hallway. Several times a day, I am reminded of students from two or twelve or twenty-five years ago. They may have graduated, but they are still with me.

Some will never come home. There is an area in the front of the school with plaques dedicated to students who have died. I pass it several times a day and, each time, I mourn them. Sometimes, if it has been a particularly difficult day, I avoid that hall.

Most of my time, of course, is devoted to the students in front of me. My memories are fleeting, but my classes are not. I silently wish for my students what I wish for my own two children. Even after my students have left my classroom, our school, and moved away from our community, I want to remind them that they matter: that I remember them, and I am waiting for them to come home and tell their stories. I don’t tell them that I will probably “see” them in the hall anyway.

Ten years ago, on homecoming weekend, a car carrying several students sped past my home. A roaring engine awakened me briefly. The kids had been to a party, left, and were returning. They were intoxicated and collided with a tree at high speed. The driver and the young man sitting behind him were killed.

I go past the site of this crash daily. There is no plaque or memorial. The sign used to say, “Dead End.” Now it reads, “No Outlet.”

Taking a different route or changing the sign doesn’t change the past. There was a great deal of blaming and finger pointing after the crash. Lawsuits, criminal charges, and media coverage diverted our attention for a while. New parent groups were created. New legislation was passed that held parents more accountable for parties in their homes.

Then everyone moved on. Too many other young people died in the intervening years, some shortly after and some only a few weeks ago. Some due to the awful randomness of medical misfortune, others as a result of drugs and alcohol.

They haunt me.

A recent survey suggests that we are making some progress in the prevention and treatment of teenage substance abuse. I am eager to believe that such surveys give us useful, albeit incomplete, information. We need to act on that information.  

What has changed in the ten years since two boys died at the end of my street?  What must we do differently after students die from overdoses, are killed in parking lots, take their own lives, or die suspiciously?

Almost thirty years ago, it was funny when Julie Brown sang that the homecoming queen’s got a gun. The song is grotesque in a post-Columbine world. It is more that not funny; it feels horribly prophetic and wrong.

Seven years ago, I wrote that I was remembering but not surrendering. Times change, but the legacy of that horrible homecoming continues to haunt me. I remember students who struggled and succeeded. I remember students who graduated hoping for success later. Many found it. Some come home and talk about their journeys. The kids who never got a chance to grow up are still with me in the halls of our high school.

Some I can only hold in my heart and memories. They join my classes. I see them in the halls. They remind me that the important lessons go far beyond reading, writing, and preparing for college. They urge me to reach out to every student and make sure they know how much they mean to all of us: to do whatever I can to make sure that every child comes home.