Mad(s) about banana's...

The humble banana - a perfectly packaged fruit rich in potassium, fibre, and vitamin C. Liked by many, the banana has a sweet, fragrant, and distinguishable taste with a soft, mealy texture. It's easy to eat: You just break and pull back the peel to reveal the soft, elongated pale yellow fruit inside. It makes excellent milkshakes, serves as a smoothie base, and is easy to give to kids.

It takes me about 10 minutes to eat a banana. Why? Because I hate them. But, reluctantly, because of their instant, inexpensive nutritional benefits and the lifelong steady stream of banana indoctrination I received from my Grandma, I accept that they are a pretty good go-to snack. I take my time to gradually consume them with intermittent sips of water between each bite to limit the retching.

When I eat a banana, I contemplate autonomy a lot (deep, I know). Why didn't I stand up more for my preferences? What is it about saying yes to the appeasement of someone else that some of us find so tempting? In my case, it probably meant going hungry or being offered the next best thing, a pear (also so gross). Still, either way, I went with the flow and wrestled with a banana every day of my life. It wasn't the end of the world, and I've probably ended up slightly healthier because of it. I sucked it up, ate it and went about my day. So what is it about this strange aversion to bananas, or more so in this case, autonomy?

In many ways, this banana experience represents many of the less-than-ideal choices we are left with daily. We often believe we are influenced, manipulated, convinced and persuaded into adopting and considering certain decisions, but that's not entirely the case. External forces may try to move you, but trust me, you are the one doing the moving. I could have rejected my banana out of protest and thus not be allowed to play with my cousins, but I chose not to. I assessed the consequences and chose accordingly. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not comparing my sad banana experience with, let's say, a boss we are less than happy with or perhaps a location we've moved to, only to find out it really isn't for us. These choices can significantly affect our lives, relationships and sense of ownership. It's easier to accept that we ate something we don't like than to accept that moving our entire family to a particular country was because we wanted to or because staying working for our 'evil' boss may make life harder. Ignoring perhaps that it might be less hard to, God forbid, find a way to cooperate with them.

The way we ebb and flow through our choices creates the undulating emotional tides we are so familiar with. Our choices can sway our lives between poles of complete misery and unfettered joy. Sometimes, we are born into situations we don't like, and sometimes, we cannot have something we want. I was born in the middle of the countryside and envied those kids within walking distance of friend's houses or the shops. It was frustrating, lonely and felt unfair, but to adapt, I would walk for 2-3 miles along a tight country lane (life was different back then), earn my pocket money from the minute I could count and learnt to drive quickly and well. Driving became symbolic of freedom, autonomy, time and choice. I didn't get what I wanted for a long time but instead found a way to make it work and in turn, it tasted even sweeter. However, this, too, came with limits. Sometimes, we can't adapt; sometimes, there really are just situations we don't want and can't have. £20 a week didn't always cover fuel, a pint at the pub and some new shoes, but I could make one of these situations work. The others I had to let go. One could argue this all seems rather elementary and obvious. Still, it is astounding how much of a crisis of accountability our way of being has become and how, despite intellectually knowing, we entrap ourselves time and time again.

For example, I can't marry Mads Mikkelsen and have his babies, so I must accept this. I could find the courage to pursue him at great personal risk and likely humiliating defeat. I may even get arrested (Mads, if you're reading, you can reach me through the contact page). The contrary is a cycle of self fulfilling punishment through unattainable goals. However, it is an even harder pill to swallow if I can't come to accept some past poor behaviour from someone I considered a friend. It's easy to say 'accept it' or 'let it go' and, perhaps better in the long run that I do, but holding on in some way generates an incredibly energising and reactive state. What does this mean? As long as I have my 'enemy,' I am based in a reactive, victim state. I have something to position myself against in a hypothetical moral universe where I am completely right, and they are completely wrong. As long as they are in the background and have caused me some kind of harm, I can never be fully creative about my life or never fully just Be. The illusion of less responsibility engulfs me. I ignore the tasks and challenges ahead or even those I evaded during the friendship and risk repeating the pattern. We see similar righteous indignation evolve exponentially in our Western societies. The polarised black-and-white thinking around politics, interpersonal relationships, identity and health further drives an intoxicating position of "I'm right, and you're wrong", and I'm angrily inclined to snap back and say, "Based on what?!".

In these reactive states, we allow no room for personal accountability and reflection. We have a choice either to accept, cooperate, create, and build or push ourselves further into an inflexible position that does nothing to help. We can learn to drive and simultaneously accept our lot. We can even sometimes choose to accept defeat and failure. If not, the banana has won. No, in fact, my Grandma has. The banana is supplying the sustenance. My Grandma is driving the car and I will be eating bananas forever. Everyone in some way experiences uncontrollable restrictions on their living. A concept Heidegger referred to as our 'thrownness'; for Sartre, it is our 'facticity' of existence, and, for Jaspers, our 'limit situations', the fundamental human conditions. So, why do we struggle with choice around everything else if these limits are such a given?

This takes me to courage. What does it mean to be courageous? There are many scenarios in my life where I struggle with courage. There are choices I leave for another day, conversations I want to have, activities I want to pursue and do, and famous Danish actors I want to marry. My level of moral inhibition, respect for others, doubt and laziness further implicate this. Whilst I could blow up my relationship, book a one-way ticket to Denmark, knock on Mads' door and discuss whether bananas are a prominent feature in his diet (dealbreaker), I am almost certain that I could not orchestrate this plan. If I could, it would probably be too good to be true, and I would find out that Mads is a banana-eating bore - as they say, do not meet your heroes. My fantasy is quite quickly shut down by reality. However, saving up and buying myself an old Land Rover Defender is a dream that has potential. Taking it up to Scotland, driving off road and camping in it, is also quite likely.

Existentially, I am inclined to accept people's dreams no matter how far-fetched they may seem to the societal conventional life. I, of course, do the same with my clients, but I will first delve into what the dreams/goals mean, who the clients envision themselves to be in them, and what it would mean to achieve them or not. With this information, we can paint a picture not just of our hopes and dreams but also of our values and the interactive dimensions of existence they occupy. We can slowly move closer to our (mine, not Granny's) true values (no bananas) and embrace our sense of authenticity, feeling more energised along the way. Just telling someone to go out and 'enjoy life', 'eat better', 'have more fun' and 'be more spontaneous' won't do anything if their unique sense of passion and purpose is, for example, rooted in charitable pursuits, close, deep relationships, video game design or radical political interventions. It follows only superficial intervention and may even insult. Deeper explorations show us ourselves and are a key tenet of existential therapy. Over time, the picture becomes clearer, and our value systems and decisions less jumbled. Much how AI tries to gradually build a picture of what you're inputting, taking a few attempts to reach the desired outcome. Initially, your character has 6 fingers and more muscles than is humanely possible, is much bigger than the chair they're sitting on, and the room only has half a door - we must explore details and various angles to get the whole picture. We will take wrong turns and go at some exploration completely blind, but at least we are going. At least we are facing our proverbial Gradma's and saying no more bananas.

These initial steps of courage will soon become leaps (of faith). We can then accept some of the trade off's such as Mads liking bananas, and live happily ever after driving off into the rainy highlands. Or, more realistically accept that we can't have Mads at all, and that's ok; we can leap off somewhere else with purpose and intention, bananas or no bananas, Mads or no Mads. It's just up to us to start the car and try our hardest to make authentic choices along the way.