The Building of Calluses
19 Feb
When we first met, my husband loved playing his guitar. We’d spend quiet evenings, candles lit, singing as he strummed away. With each pluck of the strings, the stress from the day seemed to vanish.
The day to day has a way of keeping us from those activities we love. The daily 9 to 5, or 9 to 7, or 9 to 8 limits our time for those simple passions and suddenly months have gone by without a flick of the strings. Now David’s thick calluses have worn down, and when he does reach for his friendly musical companion, he can’t play as long because his fingers are more sensitive than they once were.
Living vegan, there are times when people will make remarks about animals and the ways they live and die, harsh words, that can come off as rather calloused. And you know what? That’s exactly what it is; it is a callus. It’s a barrier formed from repetitive action. Just like the calluses that once adorned David’s fingers, when we hurt animals ourselves or pay others to hurt them, we build calluses that shield us from that initial discomfort. The first time, it may hurt, but after doing something again and again over months and then years, it becomes easier.
We begin our lives as children with openness and unending compassion. We want to care for the birds that have fallen from the trees or the bunnies who have been separated from their mothers. That desire to protect animals and care about their feelings is natural, but over time our behavior and actions help us to build thick calluses until we no longer question our part in causing pain to some animals while we revere others.
While volunteering at a local animal sanctuary, I’ve heard of parents who didn’t want to send their kids to the sanctuary for fear that the kids wouldn’t eat meat afterwards. They’ve said, “I’ve only just gotten them to eat meat. I don’t want them to stop now.” Instead of asking children to express their feelings about animals, we ask them to repress those feelings. (Except for the treatment of dogs and cats, of course. If a child mistreats those animals, people worry about their stability.)
It’s an extraordinary disconnect we build. Children are taken to petting zoos, fairs, and aquatic parks. They feel an innate understanding and love of animals. They want to touch them, to know them. Then they’re driven to McDonald’s to feed on some of the same types of animals that they were just petting. Without malicious intentions, we disregard that we’re asking them to separate from their own compassion.
Growing up, there were some animals that I felt too uncomfortable eating, like deer. Their long, elegant bodies were reminiscent of our Doberman Pinscher. They had such beautiful faces and expressive eyes. When I’d see them standing with their families in fields, I couldn’t help but gasp. Then as I got older, I remember thinking, “Well, I eat other animals. They’re really no different than deer.” I wish I had used that logic to extend my compassion to chickens, pigs, cows, and fish, but instead I started eating deer as well.
I enjoyed cooking, and I still remember the first time I fried chickens’ legs by myself. I stood in my dorm room while the oil in the electric skillet started to bubble. I wanted to reduce the fat, and so I pulled at the skin surrounding the legs. The skin squished between my fingers and wouldn’t come off easily. It hung around the ankle like a sock. It really ruined my appetite, and so I bought a whole rotisserie chicken the next time. I was used to chickens already cut up in parts, and it took some time to get comfortable tearing away at the body of a bird. However, the prices on rotisserie chickens were pretty good, only $4 for an entire bird, and that seemed like a deal. Over time, the more that I’d do these things, the less discomfort I felt. I’d make little jokes. I developed a callus. I thought it was progress.
Then years later, I went vegan. I met chickens. I held them, so light, so funny and inquisitive. And now when I see a chicken’s body in a plastic shell at the supermarket, I feel that sensitivity again that I once did. The calluses are gone, and $4 doesn’t seem like a deal anymore. Her whole life and her whole death, her feed, her care, her killing, and her whole body is only $4. I feel sadness that she was valued so little.
While people may look at a plant based diet and assume that it is limiting, when we remove ourselves from those feelings of guilt and discomfort, and we open ourselves to peace, it is expansive. What is limiting is shutting ourselves to our own emotions. Like Franz Kafka said, “Now I can look at you in peace; I don’t eat you any more.” When I was eating animals, I pushed away my discomfort when I saw the blood pooling around the steak on the plate. When I saw pigs and cows traveling down the highway in metal semi-trucks, I turned away. And later, when I learned how animals live and die within animal agriculture, I had to address my own pain for being part of it. Seeing it for what it was broke my heart… Maybe that’s what I needed for it to open.
