We are all the blobfish.
Behold, on the left, the “world’s ugliest animal”.
There it is on the right also, looking as camera-ready as a fish can reasonably be expected to be. Key difference: it’s alive and in its natural habitat.
(With some light Procreate adjustments to emphasize its natural beauty.)
I will argue here that there’s a lot to be gleaned from the story of this misunderstood fish, and much to reflect on how we humans treat ourselves and each other.
When we talk about what separates humans from animals, among many reasons, the ability to successfully adapt within our own lifespan (as opposed to through evolution as a species) is highlighted as a key factor. Rick Potts, director of the Human Origins Program at the Smithsonian Institution National Museum of Natural History was interviewed in 2013 by Nathanael Massey for Scientific American, saying “[In] the modern era, we know that in the human genome there are all kinds of interactions that allow human organisms to have plasticity — the capacity to adjust is itself an evolved characteristic.”
Beyond being a defining characteristic for us dangerous bipeds, this quality, when demonstrated by individuals in a big way, is something idolized in modern society. Origin stories including “against all odds” or “nevertheless” are a significant part of why we admire so many of our cultural heroes, from literary orphans to Oprah. And that makes perfect sense! Why roll out the red carpet for easy achievements?
The trouble is what is left unsaid. “If [insert hero] can overcome [insert trouble], why can’t you?”
How does this relate to our floppy fish? In another 2013 Scientific American article, Colin Schultz writes “Psychrolutes marcidus (a more dignified name for the blob) are a deep water fish that live off the coast of Australia, somewhere between 2,000 and 4,000 feet beneath the waves. Down there, the pressure is up to 120 times higher than it is at the surface. You wouldn’t want to be down there without an intense submarine. And, likewise, the blobfish really doesn’t like being up here. Many fish have something called a swim bladder, sacs of air in their body that help them move around and stay buoyant. When you take fish with swim bladders out of their natural habitats that air sac “may expand when they rise. Because of the expansion of their air sac, there is a risk that their insides will be pushed out through their mouth, thereby killing them.”
He goes on to quote Henry Reich for Minute Earth who says “Super-deep water fish often have minimal skeletons and jelly-like flesh, because the only way to combat the extreme pressure of deep water is to have water as your structural support.”
Essentially, if yanked from its pressurized deep water environment, the blobfish will become disgusting and die. As someone with profound ADHD who pretty much only performs under pressure, I can relate.
So fine- the blobfish is particularly maladaptive, what does this have to do with humans?
My blobfish musings were again triggered this past summer during Simone Biles’s challenges at the bewilderingly titled 2020 Tokyo Olympics. (I guess if we’re denying everything else, might as well deny the calendar year too? I digress.) While she received a lot of support for understanding her body and mind well enough to know when to bow out of a competition, she also received sharp criticism, facing accusations of “quitting” and comments from professional clown Piers Morgan calling her “selfish”. Let’s unpack that.
Morgan, and critical thinking abstainers the world over, would rather have seen her risk death or serious injury for their own entertainment rather than take a step back, preserve herself, and trust her talented teammates to carry the competition.
This isn’t the first time risking serious injury has been glorified in gymnastics- Kerri Strug, who tweeted her support of Biles, was an American hero in 1996 for doing a vault on a terribly injured ankle.
In the same competition, Dominique Moceanu performed at fourteen years old with a tibial stress fracture and a head injury from falling off the balance beam. She was not given a medical exam after that fall and had to compete on floor minutes later. Respectfully, fuck that.
By my meaning an environment can be internal or external, and it isn’t only great athletes who understand that an environment should be ideal for them to perform at their best. Organizers for Barack Obama’s 2009 inauguration admitted that the world was listening to pre-recordings of Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman’s cello performances, though they were also playing live without mics. January in Washington D.C. simply isn’t a priceless cello’s happy place. Rather than risk the warping of the wood of their instruments from the cold temperatures, they chose to play on less expensive cellos and broadcast the pre-recording. While some might consider this classical lip syncing (which we also freak out about with no inch of sympathy for the singer’s condition) I would call it wisdom.
Respecting ones limits isn’t a sign of weakness.
Between steep income inequality, food insecurity, environment and resource inequality and crimes, underpaid teachers, staggering medical costs, social isolation, disabling urban planning, plain old war, and endless other horrors (happy holidays, everyone) there are choice few who can afford to create the ideal personal environment to thrive in. It is a capitalistic, individualistic, convenient for the powers that be, lie to expect ourselves and others to carry the full burden of blame when we aren’t at 100% all the time.
My thesis is not to throw in the towel, quit your job, and eschew responsibilities if every corner of your life isn’t curated to perfection. It also isn’t to withhold deserved praise for people who overcome huge challenges. It also isn’t to argue that life’s challenges don’t strengthen us and to encourage you to blame the world for your every problem.
It is simply, truly simply, to be a little gentler when we find ourselves in the shallows, feeling and acting a little floppy.
(Or our insides explode out of our mouths.)
May you find deeper waters, dear blobfish.
