Escaping the Dark Stars of Joy
So, I was having my tea the other morning when I hear "Is There a Happiness Gene?" floating out of my television. Another teaser went something like, "a condition that causes extreme joy, but it comes with a price," or something like that. The segment, which was on Good Morning America was about Williams Syndrome, according to GMA's reporters "a condition in which the areas of the brain that process hearing are more rich in connections than a normal brain, resulting in people who experience sound—like music and language—more intensely than the rest of the population. They also tend to be incredibly sociable."
The segment featured a young man named Ben Monkaba, who was, indeed, joyful, from the looks of it; he glowed. And it wasn't phony. He made me put down my tea and listen to him. He went straight to my heart.
What’s remarkable is that this condition is not brought on by what he does have, but what he doesn’t: He is missing 20 chromosomes on one particular gene. But with the bit that is missing (an apparently, a smaller brain) he can do what many people with more going on for us cannot. Provide unconditional friendship and happiness.
Yet, physicians and psychiatrists, scientists, and, to a certain extent, the news writers, portrayed Williams Syndrome as a disease, perhaps because with it comes physical and cognitive setbacks—damaged heart valves, fine motor difficulties—abstract and detailed thinking escapes people with Williams syndrome. All of these things, to be fair, would catergorize the syndrome as a disability. But the fact that people with this condition don’t understand “social cues and boundaries, which can create awkward situations” escapes me as a disability.
“Ben is a very social being, but he’s not the best socially. Everyone is friendly to him but he’s never had a close friend—or very few—and that’s hard for him,” [his mother] Terry Monkaba said.
A joyful person bringing joy is a problem because he doesn’t understand boundaries? Interesting, considering there are plenty of people with all of their chromosomes intact, and so-called “normal” brains and IQs, who wouldn’t know a social boundary if it smacked them in the face—people who feel it necessary to get in your space; be unnecessarily rude; pass on mean-spirited gossip; personally attack you, either physically or emotionally; people who can't wait to tell you the next miserable thing, no matter that it benefits no one; people who are not joyful, and who do not bring joy into anyone's life, either intentionally or unintentionally. These people suck the joy right out of life, they are black holes, dark stars of joy, taking happiness from others with no way of enjoying it themselves except as something beautiful and unreachable, dancing on the peripheries of their souls. They are the opposite of Ben, who cannot help but give joy, and makes me think about how many boundaries I have crossed myself as a dark star of joy. And how much true happiness I am capable of giving, if I and my complete set of chromosomes and good brain work a bit harder.
The segment featured a young man named Ben Monkaba, who was, indeed, joyful, from the looks of it; he glowed. And it wasn't phony. He made me put down my tea and listen to him. He went straight to my heart.
What’s remarkable is that this condition is not brought on by what he does have, but what he doesn’t: He is missing 20 chromosomes on one particular gene. But with the bit that is missing (an apparently, a smaller brain) he can do what many people with more going on for us cannot. Provide unconditional friendship and happiness.
Yet, physicians and psychiatrists, scientists, and, to a certain extent, the news writers, portrayed Williams Syndrome as a disease, perhaps because with it comes physical and cognitive setbacks—damaged heart valves, fine motor difficulties—abstract and detailed thinking escapes people with Williams syndrome. All of these things, to be fair, would catergorize the syndrome as a disability. But the fact that people with this condition don’t understand “social cues and boundaries, which can create awkward situations” escapes me as a disability.
“Ben is a very social being, but he’s not the best socially. Everyone is friendly to him but he’s never had a close friend—or very few—and that’s hard for him,” [his mother] Terry Monkaba said.
A joyful person bringing joy is a problem because he doesn’t understand boundaries? Interesting, considering there are plenty of people with all of their chromosomes intact, and so-called “normal” brains and IQs, who wouldn’t know a social boundary if it smacked them in the face—people who feel it necessary to get in your space; be unnecessarily rude; pass on mean-spirited gossip; personally attack you, either physically or emotionally; people who can't wait to tell you the next miserable thing, no matter that it benefits no one; people who are not joyful, and who do not bring joy into anyone's life, either intentionally or unintentionally. These people suck the joy right out of life, they are black holes, dark stars of joy, taking happiness from others with no way of enjoying it themselves except as something beautiful and unreachable, dancing on the peripheries of their souls. They are the opposite of Ben, who cannot help but give joy, and makes me think about how many boundaries I have crossed myself as a dark star of joy. And how much true happiness I am capable of giving, if I and my complete set of chromosomes and good brain work a bit harder.
Comments