By all accounts I was a bright kid. But math was always my downfall. 

The problem was, I understood it as a zero sum game. And that works great it you need to divide the last pizza into equal parts or allocate funds to different budget categories. But that math has it’s limits, because it’s based on an assumption of scarcity. Only one pizza, only so much money, and no more.

In adulthood, I realized zero sum thinking doesn’t always hold true in living systems, because the resources aren’t necessarily finite. For example, instead of measuring the rate of topsoil loss, you can actually create more soil. 

I don’t think I realized how truly pervasive and corrosive this thinking was until last week. That’s when I finally took stock of how it had damaged my relationships. 

Because relationships aren’t finite either. If mom loves you, it doesn’t mean there’s less love for me. If I pursue my dream, it doesn’t inherently come at the expense of my kids. 

But that’s exactly what I was told, again and again. Not just “Your dream is bad”. But also “Your dream costs too much. Your dream is dangerous and damaging to the people you love”. And I ate that BS right up. 

All of those people were really saying, “Your dream scares me.” They thought it would cost them too much. So I sacrificed my dream for other people’s sense of safety or comfort. 

And there can be something noble in sacrifice. It can be beautiful and life giving. It can also be deeply sick. 

Ironically, by reducing our relationship to a zero sum proposition, it became exactly that. The people who were afraid to lose me did in fact lose me. Because I had to become less to preserve their equilibrium.

And I did. Until I couldn’t any more. When something deep in my began to crack, two of the people closest to me said they had assumed I was happy, and asked if I had been pretending, or if my solution was to pretend going forward. 

If you’ve ever read anything I’ve written, you know I don’t shy away from feeling and expressing all the feelings. Grief is where I live. Yet here were these two people who know me very intimately, essentially saying, “Be happy, or pretend.” Another loved one told me to lie to myself if necessary. 

Here is what I want to tell you. Remember that quote in “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” that talks about how Aslan is not a tame lion? He’s described as good, but not tame. 

If you’ve read this far, you are not a tame lion either. Your thought process is rigorous and multifaceted. You are deep and full of riches. If someone ever tries to get you to choose between being happy or pretending, don’t fall for that BS. That is sick math at work. We are not tame lions. We can do better. 

Rejecting bad math means rejecting the notion of scarcity. No more zero-sum, transactional relationships. You are not the last pizza that needs to be divided equally. When it comes to living  breathing people, love, opportunities, there is MORE where that came from. These are not subtraction problems. Your good doesn’t inherently come at someone else’s expense. More for you can mean more, not less, for the people you love. 

It means acknowledging that you have other choices. There is (at the very least) a third way. You can feel sad or angry AND also not pretend. (choosing not to share your feelings with everyone doesn’t constitute pretending BTW). You can choose to set aside those feelings for a time and express them in another, healthier context, and that is also not pretending. 

It means loving people and forgiving them AND choosing not to be reduced to a subtraction problem.

So no, I am not happy. And no, I haven’t been pretending, and I will not pretend. I will feel all of my feelings, and heal with the people who want to and are able to walk through this with me. I will rage and I will wail and I will come to rest, empty and spent and awake to new, delicious peace.

You’re not a tame lion. But you are good. But don’t fall for bad math, or let it tame you into scarcity.