I shall not be moved

My senior year of high school, I was a peer group leader. Why I tried out for an activity usually reserved for the professionally popular (jocks, cheerleaders - i.e., NON-orchestra geeks) I don't know. But somehow I made the roster and found myself on a weekend training retreat somewhere in the woods of New Jersey. With the professionally popular.

One of our workshops was designed to show us how positive reinforcement can yield different results from negative reinforcement. (We were about to be trusted with fourteen year-olds - the school didn't want us making them cry.) The workshop leaders lay down a line of masking tape along the length of a room, and everyone else took a seat along the line, except for two volunteers. The volunteers took turns donning blindfolds and walking down the room, while trying to keep as close to the line on the floor as possible. For the first guy, everyone shouted words of encouragement, no matter if he was actually on the line or veering off into oblivion. For the second guy, the group shouted insults and words of...well, let's just say frustration.

As you probably have figured out, I was one of those brilliant, blindfolded volunteers. And as you also probably have figured out, I volunteered to be insulted. By the professionally popular. But even though I knew I was going to be insulted and that nobody actually meant all the horrible things they shouted at me, I still remember being confused and hurt as I walked down the room. But I also remember a tiny, tiny laser beam pointing me in the right direction, and an even tinier voice telling me to ignore the very loud yelling. And so I walked.

When I reached the end of the line, I took off my blindfold and was told that I had just beaten the positively reinforced volunteer by eleven steps (out of a total of thirteen). So not only did I totally frustrate the workshop, I also gave a big, imaginary middle finger to the professionally popular.

I remain proud.

But I still remember how conflicted I was as I walked down the line. Every bone in my body was telling me to give in and to give up, and that's exactly what I would have liked to have done. Instead I kept on walking. It was very confusing, this internal tug-of-war.

So as the days wind down to the bar, and as I grow more and more tired and sad, I'll have to remember that tiny little voice. I shall not be moved.