The Autonomy Gym
Exercising My Right to Do Nothing
I occasionally go to the senior luncheons at the LA LGBT Center.
Not because I particularly want to socialize.
Not because I’ve discovered my tribe.
And certainly not because I suddenly developed an enthusiasm for group activities.
I go because there’s free food.
But I’ve recently discovered that the luncheon provides another valuable service:
It is an autonomy gym.
Think of it as physical therapy for people who have spent too much of their lives automatically doing what everyone else expects them to do.
And the exercises are surprisingly varied.
Exercise #1: The Mandatory Applause
Someone gets up and says, “Let’s give it up for our amazing volunteers!”
Everyone claps.
So I have to decide:
Do I actually want to clap?
Or am I about to clap because a room full of people has collectively decided that clapping is now required?
This is harder than it sounds.
Because social conditioning is incredibly efficient.
Someone says, “Everybody clap!”
And suddenly your hands are doing something before your brain has even been consulted.
Not today, Satan.
Sometimes I just sit there.
Not angrily.
Not defiantly.
Just… hands down.
The volunteers are still amazing.
My hands are simply off duty.
Exercise #2: The Birthday Singalong
Then somebody has a birthday.
Everyone starts singing.
And there I am, sitting silently while thirty people enthusiastically perform a song I’ve known since childhood.
I could sing.
I know the words.
I have the physical capacity.
But once again, I ask myself:
Do I actually want to participate?
No.
Excellent.
Another repetition.
Exercise #3: The Phone Babysitting Machine
Then somebody asks:
“Can you watch my phone while it charges over there?”
This is a particularly advanced exercise.
Because “Can you watch my phone?” sounds so harmless.
But buried inside those five words is a tiny transfer of responsibility.
Suddenly, while I’m eating lunch, I’m apparently the temporary guardian of somebody else’s expensive electronic device.
And the old version of me might have said:
“Sure!”
The new version is practicing:
“No, sorry, I can’t.”
And then… silence.
Perhaps they quietely think “what a dick!”
I give:
No elaborate explanation.
No excuse.
No fabricated medical emergency.
No “I’m probably leaving soon anyway.”
Just no.
Their phone.
Their responsibility.
Exercise #4: The Empty Water Bottle
This one is fascinating.
You finish your water.
There is no blue recycling bin around.
Someone comes around collecting empty bottles.
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Perhaps they’re fundraising.
Perhaps they’re recycling.
Perhaps they’re doing something entirely legitimate.
But sometimes I want to keep my bottle.
So I keep it.
And this is another surprisingly difficult autonomy exercise because there’s this weird social expectation that if someone asks for something that appears trivial, you should surrender it.
It’s only an empty bottle!
Exactly.
Which makes it perfect training.
If I can’t say no to an empty bottle, what exactly am I practicing autonomy for?
Exercise #5: The Table Trap
And then there’s the furniture.
Oh, the furniture.
Sometimes you’re sitting at one of those tables where everybody is packed together so tightly that getting up requires the coordination of a small military operation.
Someone is sitting beside you.
Someone is behind you.
Someone’s chair is blocking the only possible exit.
You realize that you have been physically converted into part of the seating arrangement.
Congratulations.
You are now furniture. 😂
Eventually you have to say:
“Excuse me, can I get out?”
And suddenly you’re negotiating passage through a human obstacle course.
This is another autonomy exercise.
Not because asking someone to move is inherently oppressive.
But because I’m practicing remembering that I am allowed to move.
I don’t need to remain trapped simply because the table was badly designed.
The Point of the Gym
The funny thing is that I’m not trying to become some antisocial asshole who refuses everything.
That’s not autonomy.
That’s just another form of rigidity.
Sometimes somebody needs help and I genuinely want to help them.
Sometimes I want to clap.
Sometimes I want to sing.
Sometimes I’ll hold the door.
Sometimes I’ll move my chair.
The difference I’m trying to practice is extremely simple:
Did I choose to do it?
Or did my nervous system automatically comply because that’s what people are supposed to do?
That’s the muscle I’m working.
For most of my life, I was extremely susceptible to the invisible pressure of social expectations.
Someone asks.
I do.
Someone expects.
I comply.
Someone offers something.
I reciprocate.
Someone needs something.
I become responsible.
And somewhere along the way, “being a good person” can quietly turn into being permanently available to other people.
I’m trying to separate those two things.
So yes, I go to the LGBT Center luncheons.
I get out of my apartment.
I eat a free lunch.
I see other human beings.
I observe the strange rituals of civilization.
And I get several repetitions on the autonomy equipment.
Don’t clap.
Don’t sing.
Don’t surrender the water bottle.
Don’t babysit the phone.
Get out of the fucking table.
And then go home.
It’s actually a pretty good workout.
If someone gives me a dirty look, it reveals far more about their expectations than it does about me.
The food is free, but the autonomy training is priceless.
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