It’s not too much of a secret that I enjoy decorating, but my favorite space in the house belongs to this guy: Bubble.
Bubble the Betta fish was a gift to one of my daughters from my mother. My daughter really, really wanted a Betta and I was promised that they made easy pets. We trusted the man at the aquarium shop to help us pick out the needed supplies, including the tank that held 1.5 gallons. I reveled in the freedom of not researching a topic on my own– for the first time in . . . I can’t remember!
But, alas, old habits die hard, or maybe they don’t die ever, and after the tank was raring to go, I set about researching The Ideal Life of a Betta Fish. It turns out that the tank was entirely too small, and we’d need at least a 10 gallon, including a heater. Bubble also required better food, more plants, an adjustable filter, etc. In the end, Bubble’s supplies cost 20 times what he did, but who’s keeping track? (Besides me, I mean.)
When we first brought Bubble home, my first order of business each time I entered my daughter’s room was to determine whether or not Bubble was dead. Being a friendly and reassuring fish, he made sure to come to the front of the tank whenever I approached.* After several months of his somehow surviving and our winning the battle against algae, I finally am able to not only relax, but to enjoy him.**
I think to myself, Bubble not only has a good life, he has a great life. Respecting his preference to be a solitary soul, he lives alone, in what can only be deemed a mansion. Not that he’d describe it that way– fish don’t use words like “mansion.” They’d call it a “fishsion.” He has plants to hide in (from whom, I’m not sure), a leaf to rest on, and a good diet that helps him avoid obesity.
The happy life of Bubble gives me a sense of accomplishment and peace, which is uncommon in my own mind. Most notably, I feel a lack of Guilt. In many, or maybe all other areas of my life, Guilt prevails. It doesn’t always win– the laundry might go too many days without being folded– but the feelings are still there, looming. My Guilt touches mundane aspects of my life (I really shouldn’t be using K-Cups) to the more profound (I’m not doing enough for others . . . how can I make a difference before my time on Earth ends?).
The Guilt, then, ends up becoming noisy, nagging, ever-present chatter. Its persistence makes it difficult to decipher what counts and what doesn’t, what needs real change and evaluation, and what can be let go. It also has, on occasion, encouraged me to rebel. If Guilt Alarms are set off on a regular basis, it becomes easier and even necessary to simply ignore them– some of the time, but the ringing in my head remains.
Living a life led by Guilt is inauthentic. Guilt robs us of our ability to feel, think, and act freely. It steals a sense of self. We can’t know our true motivations for what we do, and some might assume that when Guilt is a person’s default, an act of kindness or joy really “only” arose from Guilt. In stark contrast to generosity, Guilt requires that one focus on one’s self in a negative way. A true feeling of accomplishment is often out of reach because Guilt and Perfectionism are close friends, and support each other in saying: You could have done it better.
I wish I had an easy way out of Guilt, but I’d probably feel guilty if I did. It’s imperative that I do, however. One of the most damaging consequences of treating ourselves poorly— by being consumed by Guilt— is that we risk treating others in the same way. If I feel guilty, then I may inadvertently encourage you to feel the same about yourself. Maybe it comes down to what is often the answer, mindfulness and generosity. In mindfulness, we can begin to see who we are through the lens of acceptance. Giving generously allows us to focus on others, in a way that is true and meaningful. Next time one of the Guilt Alarms goes off, which will likely be soon, I will instead take it as a signal that the Guilt needs to be released, which will make room for a more authentic life.
*Nah, he just checks to see if I have food.
**Unless I turn the tank light on after it’s been off for awhile. Then he seems dead again, but it’s only because he’s been sleeping. I panic whenever that happens.
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