Where’s the sheepskin?
My pulse started racing as I scanned the room for it. I needed it.
I never slept without this sheepskin. It sat atop my pillow in my bed at home. It was packed in my bag whenever I spent an overnight away.
But now, on this overnight trip, it was nowhere to be found. My parents had somehow forgotten to pack it.
And now, I had two options. Stay up all night or put my head directly on the pillowcase.
I was committed to Option 1 for a while. Option 2 was too terrifying.
But eventually, I got groggy. And my resistance faded.
I felt the cool, crisp linen of the pillowcase against the back of my head. And soon I was fast asleep.
The Peanuts cartoon series features many iconic characters.
But one stands out above the rest – to me at least.
Linus Van Pelt.
Linus is a brilliant child who can easily explain scientific or philosophical concepts. His words make the other characters wiser, and they make the cartoon reader feel more enlightened too.
Yet, Linus also tends to suck his thumb like a toddler. And he carries a blanket with him wherever he goes.
This duality is rare in the Peanuts universe. Snoopy might be the only other character with such complexity.
Still, Linus is not unique. Far from it.
At any given moment, there are hundreds of millions of Linus Van Pelt protégés in all corners of our nation. You can find them in school classrooms, on playgrounds, and anywhere else kids gather.
This is no accident. It’s by design. Our design.
We lift up our children, highlighting their earliest moments of brilliance and encouraging more of it. Like a coach training an Olympic pole vaulter, we set the bar high, and then raise it ever higher.
But we also hold down our children, infantilizing them every chance we get. We let them carry around a blanket or suck their thumb until kingdom come. Because the alternative is too distressing – for both children and parents.
We’d rather not see our perfect, brilliant children crying in terror because we took away their creature comforts. And we’d rather not acknowledge that our children are growing up, and primed to turn the page on how we see them now.
So, we let them be Linus. We encourage them to be Linus – for as long as they can be.
This choice might seem inconsequential in the moment. But it carries a long shadow.
You see, the Linus model adds something toxic into the minds of the next generation. Namely, the concept of vices.
The longer children are allowed to hang onto their blanket, their stuffed animal, or their Hot Wheels toy, the more intractable it becomes. Children no longer treat the item like a companion on life’s journey; the item becomes a convenient escape instead.
We eventually do outgrow our blankets, our stuffed animals, our Hot Wheels toys. But as we morph into adolescents and adults, we never can shake the reliance on a convenient escape.
So, we turn to alcohol, to gambling, to excessive sugar, or to a whole host of other grown-up vices. Like Linus, we use these things to hide from the difficulties of the world. But unlike Linus, we have a responsibility to face those difficulties. After all, they won’t simply go away if we turn away from them.
Shirking our responsibility leaves us up a creek without a paddle. And the world suffers for it.
Make no mistake, the Linus model is not a viable one.
Vices are far from harmless. They must be rooted out.
When my family returned from our overnight trip, the sheepskin was on my pillow. Right where my parents had left it while packing for our travels.
I lay my head on the sheepskin, feeling its familiar warmth. And I quickly dozed off.
But once I awoke, a profound revelation came over me.
I didn’t need this item to sleep. The world of sheepskin-less pillows had turned out not to be so terrifying. And even if there were some frights awaiting me down the road, I had what I needed within me to face them. An inanimate object wasn’t going to save me.
I tossed the sheepskin aside and put my head back on the pillowcase. My Linus days were over.
In the decades that followed, I did pick up some vices. But they were all minor flings, rather than committed relationships.
I never let vices get their hooks into me. And when I felt their sharp edges digging into my skin, I shook them off.
Eventually, I started to make a sport of it. While some would cast off unhealthy habits for New Year’s or for Lent, I took pride in ridding myself of them for life.
So, away went McDonald’s, and Dr Pepper, and Jack Daniel’s. Whatever pleasures they gave me in the moment paled from what they would cost me over the long run.
I resolved to face life’s roller coaster with a clear mind and a clean bill of health. And for a time, my sacrifices to this end were the story.
But then life got hard.
A global pandemic hit. My career shifted. My social circle evolved.
I returned to competitive running, only for injuries to tear me apart. I managed to balance my books, only for a shift in the economy to leave me swimming upstream again.
I had every excuse to turn the clock back. To return to my old vices to dull the pain, and to provide me reassurance.
But I left my vices behind, favoring select indulgences instead. The occasional bakery sweet. The more-than-occasional expletive. The daily cup of coffee – black, no sugar – to keep me extra alert.
I wasn’t cowering from that north wind. I was turning into it and letting its bitter sting wash over my face.
These challenges weren’t going to define me. No, that was my story to write.
The Peanuts story effectively ended in 2000, when its cartoonist died. Yet the Linus-ification of society persists.
Indeed, vices are intertwined in our societal ecosystem. There are whole product lines, networks of manufacturing plants, and even a desert oasis devoted to them.
So much of what we cling to is not harmful on its own. But when we ask it to be our salvation, our sanctuary, our beacon of reassurance, we dig ourselves a hole we can’t ever climb out of.
We can do better.
We can take each new challenge as a moment of truth. We can remind ourselves that the courage to meet the moment lies deep within us – and that only we can coax it to the surface.
Once we recognize that truth for what it is, the choice should become clearer.
Do we run and hide from what’s in our midst? Or do we dig our heels in and face it head-on?
The first road feeds vices, exponentially tightening their grip over us. The second road starves vices, redefining them as indulgences.
I’m committed to that second road. Are you?