ask emma
Just Do It
a certain amount of risk-taking can make you happier
by emma tennant
Photo: © iStockphoto.com/Lise Gagne.
I
’ll be driving on the highway and every now and then some guy on a motorcycle — no helmet, T-shirt flapping — will blast by, zigzagging out of sight. This last weekend, the guy was wearing a pair of sunglasses and an equally helmetless blond girlfriend hanging on for dear life — one arm around his waist, the other trying to hold up her jeans. “Idiot,” I said, and then found myself drifting toward the slow lane and dropping my own speed by about 10 miles an hour. Does this guy have no idea what happens to unhelmeted girlfriends who hit stationary cars or concrete guardrails at 80 miles an hour? While I do understand that young men — and this is true — have an entirely different brain than middleaged women psychotherapists, I also understand in a way that Captain Invincible and his girlfriend do not that there are downsides to risk. Your odds of living a long and healthy life diminish substantially if you ride a motorcycle without a helmet at that speed. At least he’s in charge of the machine, I thought. “She must be brainless, or soon will be” was my conclusion, as I pulled into my comfortable, safe driveway. Thing is, though, I also know that — assuming they arrived at their destination — Mr. and Mrs. Invincible’s excursion was a lot more enjoyable than mine. They were having fun. I was merely traveling. The truth is that studies have shown that people who take risks tend to rate themselves as happier. Or to be more specific, the more curious people are — the more willing they are to eat raw octopus or attend post-modernist operas — the more likely they are to have a greater sense of personal agency, to find life richer and more colorful, and find it easier to get themselves out of ruts. It makes sense when you think about it — the willingness to take risk and live with a bit of anxiety is necessary if you want to keep learning and discovering the world. As we get older, this gets harder to do. As we surround ourselves with comfort and familiarity, we lose the sense of adventure that makes life interesting. As I write this I think of my patient Tim. We go back a long way. Tim lived with his father until his father’s death, and then came into therapy and I became his “father,” in the sense that I’m a replacement for this old relationship even though I’m a woman. He lives alone. He has worked for the same accounting firm since he left college. One day, about seven years ago, I said, “Get a dog.” I don’t know where it came from, but I think I just couldn’t stand that nothing was happening. There was no relationship going on. So, the conversation started. “It will cost too
much. What if it gets run over by a car? How do I get rid of it if I don’t like it? They are dirty. Should I take a class in how to take care of a dog?” This conversation went on for years until a neighbor got ill and asked Tim if he’d be willing to adopt his dog, Mulligan. “No,” Tim said to the neighbor, and then came into my office to explain to me that he was proud of his decision to say no because Mulligan was the wrong kind of dog.
I
try not to get angry with my patients. But every now and then you just have to let your feelings fly and I said, “What happens to Mulligan if you don’t take him.” Silence. “I’ll tell you what happens to Mulligan,” I went on. “He goes to the pound.” Silence. “You’ve been talking about getting a dog for seven years, and now one is handed to you on a platter and it’s the wrong damn dog?” “I’m not ready.” “I see,” I said. “So Mulligan dies because you are not ready.” Yes, it is true. I pushed Tim into it. But I didn’t do it unthinkingly. I knew that his risk-averse nature was such that he could only imagine the worst outcomes of change — and was unable to conceive of a richer life, one with a companion, one with love. The story ends happily. Tim took Mulligan. He was mad at me, particularly when Mulligan spent the first weeks hiding in the spare bedroom. But eventually, dogs being dogs, the two bonded and the give and take of love — feeding, being met at the door by a joyous housemate — has opened up new vistas of self-satisfaction for Tim, and more importantly, greater emotional risks with others. I leave you with this final thought. Another patient, Melissa, like Tim, lives alone. She worries about money. People “are hateful,” she says. “OK,” I say. “I’m going nowhere,” she says. And I wait. I wait for the moment when she says, “There’s a woman I work with who is taking a karate class.” Great, I think to myself, now we can really get started. HL Emma Tennant (not her real name) is a practicing psychotherapist. All advice offered here is simply that. If you have a pressing concern, you should see a specialist in person. If you have a question you’d like addressed or a comment for Emma, send it to askemma@healthylifect. com. Inquiries will be treated with confidentiality.
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