The Uneaten Danish

by Amy

“He’d watched her during the meeting, again choosing a seat one removed from the next person, not grabbing a coffee and Danish with the others. In fact, not doing anything anyone else did. It was almost willful, this desire to separate herself from the team.”

This post is about an uneaten meal. It’s an offering not accepted. It’s a refusal to engage or join in. It’s a form of self-denial in which Agent Yvette Nichol chooses, through a series of small gestures, not to be a part of the team. The sad part is that she yearns to fit in, to belong, to be accepted. She’s ill-equipped to do so, though. She hides behind a façade of aloofness while, inside, she’s crying out to be seen and understood.

I think we all have some of Agent Nichol’s fear of rejection in us. That fear influences our attitudes and our actions. We also all have at least a hint of Beauvoir in us – he can barely stand her (and maybe wouldn’t, if not for his respect for Gamache). Chief Inspector Gamache frequently sees beyond actions and at least tries to understand the reasons behind them. He was willing to give this inept agent a chance. Those who have read the books know it wasn’t just one chance, nor did Agent Nichol graciously step up and do well. She blundered and fumbled awkwardly and was usually more trouble than she was worth… but who’s to judge worthiness anyway?

It’s a fine line, isn’t it? The line between fitting in and staying true to yourself? Knowing when it’s important to stand up for your beliefs and when to go with the flow?

Just yesterday I was talking to a friend about how easy it is, as a parent, to teach children the bare basics. By that, I mean teaching them not to stick things into electrical outlets, touch fire, or pull plastic bags over their heads. Those are easy. They require attention (on our part) and much repetition of the rules, but we are in no doubt about what we are teaching and why.

Then there are the lessons we have a very hard time teaching because we have not mastered them ourselves. Sometimes I feel like the blind leading the blind when I am confronted with my child’s questions. They are frequently the same questions that bounce around in my own mind and to which I have incomplete and sometimes ambivalent and contradictory answers to. Some of the issues he’s struggling with are the ones I struggle with myself. I’m confronted with the realization that what I do, think and feel are very far from the high standards I would like to think I will set for myself.

One perk in interacting with children is in seeing the world through their eyes. It is fascinating to discover that we spend a lifetime reliving our childhood (to an extent). As preschoolers we start to deal with issues of conformity, individuality, egoism, altruism, manipulation, values, authenticity and friendship. And we’re never quite “done”, are we?

There is heartache in Kindergarten. There are battles for recognition, attention, and prestige. There are bitter feuds (that are sometimes resolved in a matter of minutes, but are no less angst-filled because of their short timespan) and marrow deep friendships. There are broken hearts and disappointments. There is profound joy…  And there is pain (beyond that of scraped knees).

 “We choose our thoughts. We choose our perceptions. We choose our attitudes. We may not think so. We may not believe it, but we do. I absolutely know we do. I’ve seen enough evidence, time after time, tragedy after tragedy. Triumph over triumph. It’s about choice.”

When he is confronted with the choice between fitting in and staying true to himself, my son is constantly questioning the importance of being authentic and firm in his beliefs and the need to be open to change. He is questioning what his “non-negotiables” are and learning when and where he can be flexible. He is sorting through acquaintances and identifying who his friends are: those who like him the way he is, who understand his strengths and weaknesses and the little irksome – and delightful – traits that make him himself. He is learning how to forgive and how the same things that attract us in another can sometimes annoy us, too. He laughs… and sometimes he cries.

And he teaches me. He teaches me because he is mostly unarmed. He forgives more readily. The pain is bewildering and usually unexpected and may hurt more... but he still expects to be loved. Unconditionally. As I watch him gradually lose his naiveté in social interactions and begin to create strategies to protect himself, I find myself seeing the parallels in my own life and rethinking old lessons.

When he tells me that he needs to cry sometimes because only he knows how much it hurts, I am reminded that it takes real strength of character and self-awareness to acknowledge our pain. It takes courage to stand up for your beliefs and to swim against the tide. It takes wisdom to discern when to be firm and when to bend.

Some wounds are deeper and harder to heal. Sometimes the sum of hurts becomes unbearable and walls are erected, true fortresses, in order to protect the heart. This form of safety comes at the cost of loneliness and, sometimes, bitterness. Agent Yvette Nichol was so full of self-condemnation and fear of rejection that even a simple snack of Danish and coffee and the pleasure of being part of the team seemed to be too much to hope for. So, to avoid disappointment she sat apart and didn’t eat. What she may not have realized is that she also deprived the team of herself. In trying to be what she was not and making sure no one discovered her weaknesses, she removed herself.

The lessons my son has begun to learn are the same ones we all are confronted with throughout our lives. Love brings us both joy and pain, and much of that latter is, I think, a kind of “growing pain”. These are the pains of compromise, of being uprooted from our point of view, of being confronted with the reality that we are not the center of the universe and while we are far from perfect, we are worthy of love and acceptance. And there are the bitter hurts of realizing that not everyone wants the best for us, not everyone loves us, and not everyone will live up to our expectations…

Children might actually be better equipped than calloused adults because they trust more readily than we do. Some might view such vulnerability as a weakness, but I think it is, frequently, their strength. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all venture beyond our hurts and scars and be brave enough to put down our weapons and defenses? If we were less self-conscious of the traits we perceive as defects and more self-aware of both our weaknesses and strengths as integral parts of ourselves and no less worthy of respect?

Scars are usually not as painful as the wounds that preceded them. Not all past hurts need cripple us. We can learn to forgive and, if not forget, be willing to trust again despite the hurt. Maybe we can even grow stronger in learning from the blows that we have been dealt.

Frequently, throughout the books, Beauvoir feels the need to protect Gamache from his apparent naiveté. At times Peter (and others) question Clara’s willingness to forgive. Olivier is humbled by Gabri’s loyalty and kindness. Yvette Nichol is also frequently baffled by Gamache’s actions. What many of these hardened (hurt and scared) characters have yet to realize (and some of them gain understanding as the series goes on) is the incredible power of faith. The shields we erect can sometimes distance and harden us.

As I watch my seven year old son, I pray that, (although he will inevitably be hurt sometimes), he manages to retain faith and hope and the courage to engage. I pray that he never loses himself or compromises his integrity and beliefs, but that he learns to bend. I pray that he continues to understand that forgiving and learning from our differences is one of the great joys of relationships. I hope he discovers that loving someone in spite of or because of their imperfections is more powerful than loving an idealized version that is easily shattered. I pray that he becomes a man who is strong enough to understand his assets and who doesn’t underestimate his weaknesses. And I pray that I learn, with him, to be all of that too.

My own Danish snacks were (appropriately, I suppose) ignored the first time they were set on the table. Once we started eating them it took no effort at all to finish off the entire batch. The star shape was fun to make, but they didn’t turn out as contained (the filling spread a bit) as the ones I saw pictured online. They’re basically fancily-cut croissants with jam or custard on them. I used the same recipe as the one for croissants (in earlier post) and just added the jam filling.

Quotes are from Still Life page 79 (Paperback Edition).