WWYCD?

My dad, never a man of few words, has several phrases that he keeps in his back pocket and likes to use at the most infuriating moments. One of these phrases is, “be the bigger person,” which I know I heard at least a million times growing up because he found a way to work it into almost every tear-filled, dramatic moment I presented him with.

At age five:
Me: Daaaa-aaaad! Tori pushed me down and now I’m bleeding!
Dad: Why is your sister crying if she’s the one that pushed you down?
Me: Because I pushed her back.
Dad: That’s not what big sisters do, Quinn. You have to learn to be the bigger person.


For the longest time I’m pretty sure I believed that being physically larger than the other person in question counted as “being the bigger person.”

At age 13:
Dad: How was school today?
Me: Terrible. I hate it. I’m never going back.
Dad: Oh really, why is that?
Me: Because—because there’s this really popular girl and she’s mean to me.
Dad: She’s probably just jealous of you.
Me: Ugh! Dad! Not-uh! No one is jealous of me, stop saying that!
Dad: Well what did this popular girl do?
Me: She wrote mean things about me in like this like notebook thingy she shares with other popular girls.
Dad: Well, all you have to do is ignore it and just be the bigger person, Quinn.
Me: No! I don’t want to be the bigger person!

My dad began substituting “be the bigger person” with “take the high road” sometime after my agonizing adolescence when it had lost some, if not all, of its influence. But I hated “take the high road” even more. Where the hell is the high road? Did I miss the exit for this elusive high road? And, damnit, why is my road automatically the ‘low road’?

At age 19:
Me: I don’t know, dad. The T.A. is just a big jerkface.
Dad: What the hell is a T.A.?
Me: Teacher’s Assistant, duh.
Dad: Okay. So, basically you’re not getting a good grade because you never go to class?
Me: No! I go to class! But he’s trying to say I didn’t turn in this assignment but I totally did! I showed him the paper, it was dated and everything and he refused to believe me. I think he’s out to get me...
Dad: Well, obviously, you need to talk to your professor about this and not this P.A. or T.E. or A.T.—whatever the hell their name is—and get this cleared up. But, just remember, take the high road—no need to make any enemies.
Me: Oh my god, dad. It’s not like I’m going to go all "Jerry Springer" on him, but this is really, really, super unfair. He should be the one to take the high road, not me!
Dad: Whatever the case—you take the high road, Quinn…

At age 24:
Me: We keep getting in petty arguments.
Dad: Right, well that sometimes happens when you’ve been together for a long time.
Me: It’s so stupid, dad! We fight about doing the dishes, how to pay the bills, letting the dog out, buying groceries—crap like that.
Dad: I know it’s frustrating, but you know what…?
Me: Yes, I know, I know—be the bigger person, take the high road—I KNOW!
Dad: Exactly.
Me: Right...

I think these phrases were so ubiquitous throughout my childhood that I failed to ever think about the meaning and find a way to apply it to my own life. You can only hear “be the bigger person” and “take the high road” so many times before you start tuning it out as one of those antagonizing things your parents will inevitably say whenever you have a crisis. But the good news is that I get it now, and it’s only taken 24 years! (Ah, youth, there was so much I didn’t understand then. Luckily, I’m brilliant and know everything now…)

I’ve never been one of those overly optimistic people; I prefer to see my glasses as half empty because that leads to a quicker refill. This being said, the last six months were particularly rough. I lost my job, and then some sanity, respect and dignity. Of course, I was never that attached to the last three, but when it all hits at once and you find yourself wearing the same pajamas you spent the last three days and nights in because you haven’t left the house in a week, you start searching for a new outlook on life before your friends start planning an intervention.

After searching for inspiration in all of the places one might normally find it—nature, books, love, friendship, art—I gave up and threw myself on the couch for what I planned on being a day of utter nothingness and self loathing. With a coffee table full of candy, chips, soda and gossip magazines, I started surfing the channels for some cheesy movies I could let my brain zone out on, and that’s when it hit me as if I was the target in a particularly cruel game of dodge ball: If I was watching the movie of my life, is this really how I would want my character to act? No! The main character in the movie of my life is a badass—she’d never let herself wallow like a sloth until reaching new levels of low self-esteem, or if she did, she would have an epiphany like this and put a stop to her pathetic parade immediately so that she could get on with being as awesome as possible.

Of course, in real life, I proceeded with my day as planned because it was too inconvenient to try to change things up when I had nestled nicely into a little couch fort, but it wasn’t a day of utter nothingness as I continued to ponder this thought. Later, Tori called and was talking to me about the drama in her life—a particularly enjoyable form of entertainment to me which always wins out over anything else—and as she got to the part in the story where our dad would typically regurgitate one of his favorite phrases, I had something incredible to say.

“Well, think about it like this: what would you want your character to do if you were watching this scene in the movie of your life?” I said.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone and for a brief second I began to doubt my wonderful epiphany.

“Wow. That’s a really good way to think of it—yeah! I like that!” she said.

From there we devised a solution based on her character in the movie of her life, which is far more fun than listing, and then stressing out about, the negative ways you’re afraid you might react while handling the various hypothetical situations you’ve created in your head.

Now I know what my dad really meant when he said “be the bigger person” and “take the high road.” When I talked to him the other day and I told him about my new phrase, WWYCD (What Would Your Character Do?), he was flushed with pride (or maybe it was disappointment, I’m not quite sure)—this was evidence that something he tried my whole life to teach me had finally stuck. Of course, I would have internalized the meaning much sooner had he explained it to me using a movie analogy…(I’m just saying, dad).

Haven’t you ever watched a movie or read a book and wished you could change the character’s path or their reaction? Haven’t you ever looked back at a situation and wished you behaved differently or that you could take back the bad things you said? I hate that feeling; it’s a dangerous combination of regret and dissolution that often leads to miserable passivity. But I have more faith in my opinions and decisions as a subjective audience member watching the movie of my life play out than I do as the main character—from my view as an audience member, I can see how to be the bigger person and I know how to get to the high road.

Now when I am faced with a situation I don’t know how to handle, or when I’m nervous, or worried, or anxious about whatever issue I’ve built up to be a monster taking over my mind, I think about watching my movie and what I would want my character to do (WWYCD?), and then I do it. Of course, real life presents limits that don’t exist in movies, so when I want my character to roundhouse ninja kick someone in the face, I have to think twice before acting it out...or so I’ve learned.