On being done with asking “why?”

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I feel bad for “who, what, where, when and how”. My whole life I have been obsessed with just one: Why? It’s like those other poor Ws don’t even matter. I didn’t care about the practical, give me existential every time.

My mom ended up deploying that classic mom response in exhaustion.

“Because I said so”

I hated this sentence so much. I found it inexplicably frustrating not to have the reasoning behind every family decision, every get in the car, every no dessert until you eat your vegetables explained to me as though I had the right to approve or deny based on the information.

This need to know followed me into adulthood, except at some point it turned inward. Why is it so hard to advocate for myself? Why do I always fall for narcissists and addicts? Why does my brain always say such cruel things to me? Why do I always think of the witty comeback when it’s too late? Why do I sleep so much or resist online dating or want to eat triscuits and cheese for every meal when I know it hurts my tummy?

Why am I always sad when I should be angry? Why can’t I decide what I want next? Why am I so averse to loving myself?

I’ve spent years in therapy asking these whys. Like if I could just figure out the causation, truly understand the reasoning, I could fix it. I could make a plan and turn it around.

My therapist used to say to me “Ya know, right now it doesn’t really matter why”.

I wish he had screamed it. I wish I had heard him, believed him the first 30 times he said it. But that’s not how the heart, mind and soul work is it? We come to these understandings in our own time. But I think I finally get it.

Why is the least important, least interesting question there is.

Why is the past and what matters is the present.

As I am on my midlife enlightenment journey, embracing radical acceptance has been an incredible gift. It makes the “why” of it all so much less important. “Why” is ruminating, which has been my ego’s favorite game for as long as I can remember and WE DON’T DO RUMINATION ANYMORE REMEMBER??

When I realized that knowing why wouldn’t change the past, present or future, I began to see how little weight it carried. Does it help to understand your traumas to know that you created your egoic mask for self protection in the first place? Sure, but once you understand that the ego is a defense mechanism that no longer serves you, the only path is releasing it. At a certain point “why” becomes obsolete.

This is an incredibly liberating understanding and helps in all aspects of life. Including the tightly controlled environment I currently live in.

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Which brings me to the ship.

A cruise ship is all the best parts of corporate structure and military structure smooshed together in a tight floating package. They are the peanut butter cup of American capitalism.

There are a lot of seemingly nonsensical rules, regulations and requests that crew members must obey. A lot of these things make no sense to me. Some of them actually make no sense at all, and were decided by people who love spreadsheets in a boardroom far far away.

Meanwhile, some are very important.

Like the maritime rules. These I don’t question. I don’t understand how this big bitch stays afloat. I watched the Costa Concordia documentary. I accept that safety is and should be the number one priority on the ocean. So when they close down deck 7 for maintenance or run an hour long P.A. test at 8am or hold an analogue crew drill that requires two hours of standing quietly in line wearing a life vest in 95 degree heat, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let it go.

I do not ask why. If I did I’m sure the captain would deploy my mom’s answer.

(When they told me I had to wear sleeves in the mess hall I DID ask why. “Because it’s unsanitary to have exposed armpits hanging over the salad”. To which I said “excellent point” and bought a cute little shrug to go over my strappy dresses.)

Some of the corporate mandates from shoreside are very annoying. I’m talking about the “hotel” side of the operation, not maritime. These are the decisions handed down by those data loving boardroom overlords. These are harder to radically accept. I want very much to ask why. Sometimes I still do, quietly and snarkily to my peers.

But alas, my why’s go unanswered, so these too I have released. I have to wear the hot itchy accessory for the entirety of my show? ok. I’m not allowed to eat upstairs in the dining hall until 5pm on sea days? sure why not. No gym clothes in the mess hall, no stickers on my name badge, no saying “cunt” into the microphone? You got it boss.

I used to rail against it, but now I am at peace with the madness. It’s all above my pay grade anyway. Rules change as senior leadership comes and goes like the phases of the moon. One can’t be too precious about anything.

A new decree came down the pipeline this week. Very soon we will reposition to NYC for the month of April. NYC is my home. I was excited. I had plans. I was going to rehearse my play in midtown and visit my best friend and pick up those toiletries I left behind.

But then “they” changed our port from the one in midtown to the one in Red Hook.

Then “they” announced that the CBP (US Customs and Border Patrol) would not be granting shore leave. This means that crew members would not be allowed off the ship.

You read that correctly. I, an American citizen, when docked in my hometown, a few short miles away from my apartment, am not allowed to get off the ship in which I am currently contractually contained.

One friend stated it succinctly when she said “That sounds prison-esque”

DOESN’T IT JUST?

I’ve often described working on a ship as like being in prison in paradise. It’s unsettling to be accustomed to a certain amount of freedom and to have that freedom stripped away. Considering all the authoritarian atrocities being committed across the world and in my own country right now, I am talking from a place of real privilege here and I recognize that.

In flows the radical acceptance. I don’t need to ask “why” the CBP isn’t granting shore leave even to the American crew members. I could offer any number of guesses but it doesn’t change the outcome. I have to stay on the ship.

SO I’ll try to sign my theater company members onboard on day passes so we can rehearse here. I’ll find another friend who can bring that bag of toiletries to me. And I’ll wave at Brooklyn from the edge of deck 16. I’ll see her again soon enough.

These days, when a “why” starts to bubble up, as it has the habit of doing, I hear the answer from God/the Unmanifested/the Tao/the Universe and it sounds surprisingly like my mom.

“Because I said so”

There are plenty of important battles to be fought, grounds to stand, major life decisions to be made. As I a sit in the middle of a huge inflection point in my life, I don’t need to wrestle with the small stuff. “Because I said so” is good enough for me.

ADDENDUM:

It turns out bad information is as common as seasickness around here. A few days ago the crew engagement officer stopped me on the A1A to tell me he’d heard I was saying there was no shore leave for NYC when in fact they cannot stop Americans from leaving the ship in American ports.

Like, duh.

So it looks like I AM allowed to get off the ship in my hometown. I’m so glad I already arranged for my theater company to come onboard. It’s a good thing I’m so relaxed and zen about everything these days or this whole misunderstanding could have been pretty annoying.