When Being Fair Doesn't Work

 

The Wolf Offered To Help

Some injustices arrive wearing sharp teeth. Others arrive disguised as a schedule. A horse was grazing peacefully in a field when a wolf approached. The wolf spoke kindly, though kindness was not his nature.

"Friend," said the wolf, "I see that your foot troubles you. Let me help. Lift your hoof, and I will remove the thorn."

The horse knew better than to trust a wolf's concern. Instead of arguing, running, or fighting, he answered calmly.

"My groom understands these things far better than I do," said the horse. "Come with me to the stable. Let him put a bridle on you first, and then he can tend to my hoof."

The wolf, believing he was moments away from an easy meal, followed without suspicion. He stood patiently while the groom slipped the bridle over his head and fastened the last strap.

Then the groom looked up.

For a heartbeat he froze.

"That's a wolf!"

Seizing a stout club, he drove the astonished wolf from the yard, while the horse quietly watched from a safe distance.

The wolf fled, discovering too late that strength is not always measured in teeth and claws. Sometimes the cleverest creature in the field is the one that never fights at all.

When Fairness Refuses To Show Up

I used to work in the business office of a small-town hospital. Those were the years when healthcare seemed to be changing by the week. Insurance disappeared. Families delayed treatment. Medical bills piled up. Conversations became less about care and more about collection.

As the old song says: "A mark, a yen, a buck or a pound..." Show me the money.

Most days I genuinely enjoyed the work. The exception was a phrase that should probably be outlawed from every employee handbook in existence: Other Duties As Assigned.

ODAS.

Every fifth week was Hell Week. Phones. Problems. Complaints. Interruptions. Perfume. Tasks that belonged to everyone and therefore somehow belonged to no one. I survived it because I knew it would end.

Then one Monday I discovered my week was no longer my week. A coworker had gone part-time. Someone needed coverage. And because of how the schedule fell, I was expected to repeat Hell Week immediately after finishing Hell Week.

Twice. Back-to-back. No parole. No early release. No appeal. It felt profoundly unfair.

The Battle I Couldn't Win

I went to my supervisor. Not because I expected miracles. Mostly because I wanted someone to acknowledge that the arrangement made no sense. If you want to see me become animated, don't play fair.

My supervisor listened. She sympathized. She had absolutely no solution. Then she said something I still remember years later.

"Have you noticed that when you wear brown, you get agitated?"

Brown. Not scheduling. Not workload. Not fairness. Brown.

The conversation took such an unexpected turn that my frustration briefly stepped aside to make room for confusion. Could brown really make someone agitated? The question lodged itself in my brain. 

And once something lodges itself in my brain, it usually isn't leaving anytime soon.

The Great Brown Experiment

Naturally, I researched. According to the experts, brown is supposed to evoke stability, reliability, comfort, security, warmth, and groundedness. Brown is furniture. Coffee. Trees. Earth. Leather-bound books. Not exactly the emotional equivalent of poking a bear with a stick.

So I decided to conduct a highly scientific study. I wore brown every day.

Monday.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

Friday.

Every day I appeared in another variation of brown. On Tuesday I passed my supervisor in the hallway. 

"Whew," I said. "It's been a day."

She pointed at me and said one word.

"Brown."

And kept walking. The next day she saw me again.

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

"No," I replied innocently. "Why would I do that?"

I maintained a perfectly straight face. The experiment continued. By Thursday and Friday she stopped mentioning it. Perhaps brown had created feelings of sadness and isolation. For her.

Meanwhile I felt perfectly fine. Actually, I felt rather amused.

When The Nervous System Wants Justice

What strikes me now is not the color conversation. It's how strongly unfairness affected me. Many people living with chronic illness, fibromyalgia, grief, sensitivity, or prolonged stress discover something similar.

The nervous system pays attention to fairness. When life feels unpredictable, when effort and reward stop matching, when rules suddenly change, the body notices.

We often think stress comes only from emergencies. But sometimes stress comes from carrying something that doesn't make sense. You planned for one week. Life gave you two.

You expected recovery. Life gave you another demand. The nervous system isn't simply reacting to workload. It's reacting to violated expectations. That tension can feel surprisingly physical.

The Horse Was Smarter Than The Wolf

The horse never defeated the wolf through force. He never argued. Never proved a point. Never wrestled the situation into submission. He simply understood what was happening and chose a different strategy.

Many of us spend years trying to overpower circumstances that cannot be overpowered. We argue with limitations. We fight reality. We exhaust ourselves demanding fairness from situations that have no intention of being fair.

Sometimes wisdom looks less like winning and more like adapting. The horse wasn't weak. He was strategic. There is a difference.

And perhaps there is compassion in recognizing that your nervous system isn't failing when unfairness bothers you. It's noticing. t's trying to protect you. It's reminding you that something feels out of alignment.

A Different Kind Of Victory

The wolf believed strength meant force. The horse knew strength could also mean perspective.

Years later, I don't remember much about those extra Hell Weeks. I do remember the brown shirts. I remember laughing. I remember refusing to surrender my sense of humor.

And perhaps that was the victory. Not changing the schedule. Not winning the argument.

Simply remaining myself in the middle of something unfair. Sometimes that is enough. Sometimes the cleverest thing we can do is stop fighting the wrong battle.