While I was away in North Carolina, I smelled like strawberries and some kind of coconut concoction allegedly endorsed by monkeys.

After a mind-twistingly long drive, I was in desperate need of sleep.  I hadn’t unpacked yet.  Couldn’t bring myself to.  But I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I’d had a shower.  I used my niece’s bathroom, and that’s what she had — strawberry body wash and fun-fun-fun, 2-in-1 coconut monkey shampoo.  I was too tired to consider the ramifications.  So I just used it.

A few minutes later, tucked into my 6-year-old nephew’s bed under Super Mario Bros. sheets, I thought to myself as I drifted off, I smell like fruit.

When I awoke a whopping two hours later to greet my niece and nephew — yep, I still smelled like fruit.  When my niece hugged me, for the first time in about a year, she said, “Uncle Erik!” and then “Hey, you smell like fruit!”

And do you know what?  I didn’t care.  I’m pretty sure society was screaming at me, “You’re a grown man!  You should care!”  But I didn’t.  And why should I care whether I smell like strawberries or monkeys or whatever “cool sport scent” is supposed to be?  I was clean and happy and reunited with family.  Did it matter?

It’s surprising to me how many shoulds we allow ourselves to be placed under.  What we should or should not wear.  How our hair should or should not be.  What kind of car we should or should not drive.   Whom we should or should not associate with.  I’ve lived in enough decades by now to know that the shoulds change.  What you should wear and drive and say in the 80s are most definitely should nots in 2011.  And if it’s always changing, was it that important to begin with?

I lived a life fraught with shoulds for a long time growing up.

I should be perfectly behaved at all times.

I should not let my hair get to such a length that it touched my eyebrows or ears or collar.

I should always say yes when people asked me to do something for them.

I should not play the piano or sing or be artistic, being a boy.

I should pretend I am fine and happy, whether I really am or not.

I should not question anyone in authority.  Ever.  No matter what.

In college, the shoulds I’d placed on myself nearly cost me my life.

I was maintaining a 4.0, because that is what I should do.  A 3.95 was the same as failure.  But I was also surrogate parent to Brandon.  And I was also interning.  And I was also on an international singing team that was planning to travel to Asia in a few months.

One night, I met up with a friend outside her dorm.  I started to feel dizzy.  She ran inside, and in a few minutes, returned with a large, plastic cup of Tang.  When I held the cup in my hands, it felt strange.  It occurred to me as I took the first few gulps that I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a drink.  Of anything.  I tried hard to remember when the last time I’d eaten was, or what kind of meal it had been.  I couldn’t.

Moments later, a fire erupted in my gut, spreading out, taking over my body.  A few moments later, I was on the ground in a tight ball.  Blackness.  My roommate appeared out of thin air.  Then I was somewhere else, over his shoulder, screaming.  Blackness. I was lying down and couldn’t move.  Someone jabbed my arm.  Red and blue lights.  Blackness. I’m moving fast.  Sirens.  I hear my roommate beside me say, “… and then he just collapsed in my arms.”  I reply, “How romantic.”  Blackness.  I’m in a hospital bed.  It’s the next day.  I’m hooked up to a bunch of machines.  I still had no idea what had happened to me.

When I was released from the hospital a few days later, my mom called my dorm room.  Being a nurse, she asked me many questions about my stats.  I learned that she’d been keeping close tabs with the doctors in the ER by phone while I was in the hospital.  The best anyone could figure, I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in about ten days.

“But you feel all right now?” she asked, full of concern.

“Yes,” I said.  “I feel fine.  Tired and weird that I missed days of my life, but fine.”

Once satisfied that I was, in fact, all right, my mother’s quiet concern gave way to the lion’s roar. “Good!  Well, then you’re an idiot!  You nearly killed yourself.  And a four-point-oh GPA does you absolutely no good if  you’re DEAD!”  She went on to explain that I’d been in critical condition due to the severe dehydration.  My temperature had dropped to death’s door and, as I recall, certain organs were already beginning to shut down by the time I got to the hospital.

I’ve quoted my mother’s words many times to myself and others since then: “A 4.0 does you no good if you’re dead.”

It’s true.  Keeping all the shoulds in the world are no good if they are at the cost of your life.

OK, so maybe it isn’t always quite so dire.  Maybe the trade-off for holding up your shoulds is stress.  Anxiety.  Missed opportunities to follow a dream.  Or simply living life less fully than you could (e.g., “You’re not young anymore, you know.  You shouldn’t be out on the dance floor acting like that”).

I’m not advocating irresponsibility.  Rather I’m suggesting that we ask ourselves, when we feel the pressure of shoulds or should nots in our lives, whether we believe in them, or whether we are merely conforming to external expectations.

You’ll recall Carlotta’s advice that, in essence, “no one can make you happy.”  I would add that neither should anyone else be able to keep you from being happy, with unnecessary expectations.  In the end, you are the only one responsible for you.  It’s that simple.

I say shed the shoulds.

Shed the "shoulds."

I want this to be a place where we can share our thoughts, our stories, the strategies each of us are finding work — or don’t work — when it comes to living like it matters. Not only will you encourage others by doing so, you will encourage yourself to remember what you already know and to live it out in practical ways today.

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The Best Advice So Far is about choice. Filled with wit, humor and poignantly real stories, The Best Advice So Far shares collective wisdom through a new lens, as well as practical application for living like it matters (because it does).


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About Erik

I'm an author, speaker, blogger, facilitator, people lover, creative force, conversationalist, problem solver, chance-taker, listener, noticer and lover of life. "It's more about writing lives than writing pages." View all posts by Erik

11 responses to “should

  • D. Wallace Peach

    Oh, the old “shoulds.” To tell you the truth, Erik, I’ve become much better with the words “I don’t see that happening” when the word should rears up in front of me. Part of it is the privilege of age when many of the shoulds of the younger years just aren’t that important.

    The one “should” that I really struggle with is exercise. As a writer I’m on my butt all day. I KNOW exercise is vital to health and well-being. I KNOW I SHOULD exercise, and I have no excuse except I’m lazy and perfectly happy NOT exercising.

    So, there’s my response to this post. I need your post that helps motivate people who are content with their laziness even though it’s obvious what they “should” do. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    • Erik

      Diana, I still am not convinced that your issue is “laziness” as much as balance or focus. You love writing and have said betimes that it can completely engulf you, sweep you away, make the rest of the world disappear. And that’s a wonderful thing! It’s tough, though, when you do love something so much, to tear your focus away and give it to other things. Those “other things” can feel just a lot less important.

      As for exercise, I can attest that the endorphins released actually improve focus and stamina – which can certainly help with writing. It will also help you remain healthy and mobile for many, many years – which I know you want, given recent reflections on aging. So don’t look at exercise as a “should”; try looking at it as a “get to” and a means of being even better (for longer) at what you DO love so much: the writing.

      Liked by 1 person

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  • Rod

    Smelling like fruit is ok. You should not smell like kerosene, with undertones of egg salad as I was unfortunately assaulted with on the elevator yesterday. It felt like someone had raped my nose. Sometimes external societal norms are there for good reason.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Erik

      I’m not sure what to think here. It sounds like you’re saying a person smelled this bad. Yeah, elevators bring everything right there, don’t they!

      I’ve found that fishermen rarely know they smell like fish. And to ask them not to smell like fish wouldn’t really be fair anyway. While not letting other people’s shoulds impede us, we also continually have to face the challenge of not being the one should-ing on other people. Brings us back to patience, I suppose.


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