Good things, the old adage tells us, come in small packages. It fails to mention that bad things can come wrapped in the same way.
Both good and bad things, for instance, may be packaged in the little word “but.”
Let’s look first at its positive effect. As used in the example above, “but” acts as a cautionary flag waving down desire and temptation. It can prevent us from accidents or wrong turns and is a marker of forethought and wisdom. The single mom who’s offered a promotion at work is flattered and could use the higher salary, “but it’s just too much more time away from my 4-year-old.” A young couple considers vacationing in Hawaii, “but we decided to spend the money adding a deck to our house.”
The mom refuses prestige and benefits for the sake of her child. The couple realizes the deck will provide them with untold hours of pleasure. “But” deserves credit for helping them come to these decisions.
On the other hand, “but” can leave us feeling hopeless, afraid to step out of our comfort zones, and suffering from derailed self-confidence and ambitions. Many of us, for instance, have heard people complain about politics or culture—we’ve likely done the same—who then add, “but there’s nothing I can do about it.” “But” also intrudes negatively into matters closer to home: “I’ve always wanted to learn to paint, but I’m sure I don’t have the talent” or “I’m lonely, but I’m not much of a joiner.”
For many people, “but” then becomes an enemy, stymieing effort and aspirations. They raise the white flag before the battle begins and sign the surrender terms. Self-doubt has won the war.
So how do we handle this tricky little connector of sentences? How do we decide whether to heed its warnings or take the leap?
It’s simple, really. When we’re making significant decisions, “but” is a trumpet call to reason, summoning us to sit down with pen and paper, weigh alternatives, and find a solution that best pleases us.
Here’s a frivolous example. A good while ago, overcome with book lust, I bought the 11-volume set of Will and Ariel Durant’s “The Story of Civilization” for a song at a library sale. Year after year, those books occupied an entire shelf of a bookcase, a largely untouched behemoth of a set weighing in at 36.6 pounds and running to 8,945 pages, excluding the bibliography, notes, and index in each volume. When visitors asked if I’d read the books, I’d always shrug and say, “I’d love to, but who’s got the time?”
Finally, the absurdity of owning “The Story of Civilization” without ever reading it dawned on me. After some calculations, I reasoned that if I devoted half an hour a day five days a week to the Durants, I could travel through those 11 tomes in less than a year.
And so it happened. I dumped the “but” that had held me back, opened volume I, and finished my journey with time to spare.
Readers who watched Saturday morning television as children may remember the “Schoolhouse Rock!” song “Conjunction Junction.” The first line is “Conjunction Junction, what’s your function?”
One function of “but” is to give us pause for thought, work on our choices and possibilities, and then step out in the direction we think best.
No ifs, ands, or buts about that one.
