- Image generated with AI.
I have been thinking about my life in the past year, and a lot has changed. I moved to a new country. I started a PhD. I became an uncle and godfather. Big milestones in my book.
With all this, I found myself revisiting something I wrote in late 2023 when frustration over my inaction was boiling over. It’s raw, but I think it still holds weight.
October 22nd, 2023.
Enough! The time to act is now. I can feel the fibres of my being stretching and tearing me apart.
How much longer can I study without applying? How many more journal articles can I skim? How many texts before the meet-ups? How many empty conversations delaying the truth?
Tonight, the darkness is chilling. The silence of the city lurks beneath. I lie in bed with my mind circling around these questions. It races without going anywhere, like a car on a racetrack running laps. This is why I struggle with insomnia. I think of inaction.
Why?
Years ago I heard about a study. I am not sure if it is true, but it goes like this:
A monkey is in a cage. On top of the cage: a banana. The monkey sees, and the monkey goes. Just before reaching it, the scientists running the experiment splash cold water on his face. After a few rounds of this, the monkey quits trying. His instinct is harming him. When was the banana that made no difference to the monkey? When did the monkey stop caring? When did the reward become background noise – a mere part of the cage?
Soon, more monkeys enter the cage. As they mingle, they notice the banana dangling from the top of the cage. Excited, they go for it. But they only get a surprisingly cold splash of water. Confusion, rebellion, dread. The first monkey understood. He had been conditioned. What he did not expect was for him to get splashed as well. What a disgrace! He did not try to get the banana, why did he get splashed? Injustice.
The next wave of monkeys gets in, also noticing and going for the banana. But now, the scientists have stopped spraying the monkeys. They do not need to. Instead, the first monkeys who already knew their fate were the ones who yanked those new monkeys down and beat them. This cycle goes on.
I found some lessons in this story. First, we learn inaction, likely because we have been hurt or punished for acting. Second, we teach our inaction to others.
Action is hard. It requires resolve and meticulous planning, only for the plans to disintegrate when movement starts.
When training for a half-marathon, I followed a training plan. It all went well until the race day, when my music suddenly stopped; when I thought I was farther ahead than I was; when a kid passed me; and when a guy mistakenly threw some water on my shoes. On race day, pain, and commitment to my goal forced me forward, not the plan. Yet, crossing the finish line is irrelevant.
What matters to me are the lessons learned; the growth. Yes, I have felt the splashes of icy water. I fell while running and hurt my knee. I ruined great moments with my stubbornness. I embarrassed myself by saying the wrong words at the worst time. I didn’t want to experience any of that. Would it be better if I didn’t try? If I sat in the corner of the cage without going after the banana, afraid of the consequences?
I don’t think so.
Maybe the monkeys would have fared better if they learned to accept the icy water on their face. What if they had moved past the struggle?
Moreover, beyond myself, there are others. Each individual is navigating their path, having endured their own set of struggles. I have surely learned ways to avoid unnecessary pain in life, but I also learned to recognise fear disguised as advice.
“It’s too risky, Gerardo. Don’t say that in the meeting.”
“If you want to get ahead, pick your battles.”
“How about we order in instead of cooking?”
The Book of Do Not – an epic story.
Comfort can masquerade as wisdom. Inaction can impersonate action.
I fell into the well of inaction more often than I care to admit. It was comfortable; warm and cosy, like a Sunday morning at Grandma’s. These warm blankets smother us while we sleep. These are lies. These are soul-crushing, mind-tangling burrows where ambition rests. No more! I don’t need the inaction. I must find what I believe in. I need to push, to struggle, to write, to speak, to act.
I wish I could say that at the age of thirty-two, I know better. I hoped that by now I wouldn’t fall for the traps of inaction. But I can’t, because I can still feel the invisible grip of the monkeys yanking me down. I am still hesitant and afraid. There is a way, there must be a way. I just have not figured it out.
What I can say is that I am learning.
And that is, in itself, an action.