You can’t milk orange juice from a cow.
You can’t milk orange juice from a cow. But this is exactly we try to do when we don’t radically accept other people for who they are.
Orange juice is my favorite drink. Always has been, always will be.
So I find a cow. I tell her allllll about my love of orange juice. And I try to milk some orange juice from her.
I’m pretty bummed when I get milk instead.
To be honest, I’m frustrated with the cow. She knows I like orange juice. Couldn’t she make some if she just tried harder?
I take some time to think.
Perhaps the cow just needs to be convinced that I am worthy of orange juice!
So I stick around.
I shower her with love.
I give her all of the orange juice I wish she gave me.
Surely this will convince her to milk me some orange juice!
So I stay.
And I wait.
And every day that the cow doesn’t give me orange juice, I become a little more resentful.
The more time that passes, the more I wonder if I am simply not enough for the cow.
Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t give me orange juice.
Or even worse—perhaps I’m too much?
To soothe my anxieties, I decide to buy a book: “How to Manifest Orange Juice From Your Cow.” I also read a blog: “5 SURPRISING Ways to Get Your Cow to Make Orange Juice TODAY.”
These materials give me hope! Finally, some concrete steps I can take to change my cow.
So I try their techniques.
…But still, she only gives me milk.
I stew as I think of the many people in my life who have denied me orange juice.
I give so much orange juice to everyone around me, including this damn cow.
The more I think about it, the angrier it makes me. I simply can’t believe she won’t return the favor.
I shake my fist!
I shout!
“I AM SO TIRED OF GIVING SO MUCH ORANGE JUICE AND GETTING NONE IN RETURN. I DESERVE ORANGE JUICE AND THAT COW IS INTENTIONALLY NOT GIVING ME ANY!”
She’s doing it to hurt me!
She’s doing it because she doesn’t care about me!
(Never mind the fact that she’s never milked a single drop of orange juice in her life!)
(Never mind the fact that she doesn’t give orange juice to anybody!)
Pfffft. She is such a selfish cow.
Once my anger has died down, I contemplate further.
I think.
And think.
And think.
I listen to a quiet whisper in my heart that says: Maybe this cow simply cannot give you orange juice.
It’s a truth I’ve tried to avoid.
Once it really hits me, I feel a deep sadness.
I consider leaving the cow entirely, because she cannot give me the one thing I want the most.
It’s been a few weeks. I’m still not sure what to do.
As usual, I’m hanging out with my cow. As usual, she doesn’t give me any orange juice.
As usual, she gives me some milk.
Typically, I bat the milk away. (I want orange juice.)
But now I’ve accepted that orange juice is off the table.
So I sigh, shrug, and accept the milk.
When I take a tiny sip, I’m surprised to find that it tastes rather… pleasant?
Hmmm. Strange. 👀 I eye my glass with suspicion.
It actually tastes pretty good when you’re not wishing it were orange juice, I admit to myself.
As I sip my milk, I wonder if perhaps I’ve been approaching this all wrong.
Maybe there’s another way to get the orange juice I need.
There’s an orange orchard a few hills away. I’ve hesitated to explore it because it’s new and unfamiliar… But maybe now it’s time.
Perhaps, instead of spending all of my time with the cow pining for orange juice, I could go live in the orchard.
And come hang out with the cow from time to time.
When I’m not expecting the cow to be someone she’s not, she’s actually pretty good company.
I like the sound of her snort and the flick of her tail.
I like her beautiful black spots.
I even like her milk.
Cows, Orange Juice, & Radical Acceptance.
When I see other people through the lens of my own hopes and wounds, I develop unrealistic expectations that they’ll become who they are not.
I feel personally jaded when they don’t change their fundamental nature to meet my (unrealistic) expectations.
Sometimes, I become so blinded by my pursuit of certain types of love or affection that I see the potential for it everywhere—even where it can’t possibly exist.
I forget that being a cow is nothing personal. I forget that just because I want orange juice and the cow won’t give it to me doesn’t make the cow bad or cruel or heartless or uncaring. It means…she’s a cow.
The fact that the cow can’t make me orange juice has literally nothing to do with me.
When I stop expecting cows to milk me orange juice, I can appreciate the taste of milk, which isn’t my favorite, but is delicious in its own way.
Sometimes, surrendering the illusion of control over others leaves us with a combination of grief and freedom. Learn how to cope with both in my on-demand talk “Nobody Said It Was Easy: When Boundaries, Control, Grief, and Freedom Collide.”
It can’t be hard to release the illusion of control over things we can’t control: other people’s actions, emotions, healing journeys, addictions, and more.
It often means surrendering things that are incredibly hard to let go of: our hopes for how a person would change—our dream of a future with another person—a chapter in a relationship with someone—or a person themselves.
Fear of letting these things go keeps us stuck in an endless cycle of asking for the same things over and over, even when nothing changes. We begin to resent others and ourselves.
We heal this cycle by realizing that the process of setting boundaries and releasing our illusion of control is always a two-winged process of freedom and grief.
On one wing, we experience the immense relief of no longer trying to control something we can’t. We feel empowered knowing that our needs and boundaries are in our own hands.
On the other wing, we experience the immense grief of recognizing that what we desperately want from another person isn’t, and hasn’t been, happening — and, occasionally, the grief of letting a chapter of relationship, or an entire relationship, go.