I have a new companion that accompanies me in my car every single day. Her job is to evaluate my driving. She doesn’t say anything but quietly takes notes on everything I do, from how hard I apply my brakes to how fast I am going, to how distracted I am, and how quickly I accelerate. She then reports back to my insurance company, who adjusts my policy according to how good (or bad) I am as a driver. And she doesn’t miss a trick. Yesterday, she gave me a big red “x” for looking at my phone while driving. I argued that I didn’t, but she had the proof. She had noted down the exact time and place of my infraction. It turns out it happened while I was sitting in a line-up at a Tim Horton’s drive-thru. I had my phone in my hand and was scrolling through my messages while waiting for my coffee. I argued that it shouldn’t count as I wasn’t driving, but she reminded me that if the car is running and I’m behind the wheel, I’m considered to be driving.
She hadn’t told me her name, so I gave her a name. I call her Marla, named for a legendary Tattletale at St. George’s Public School in Etobicoke (circa 1975). Marla was in my grade one class, my grade two class, and my grade three class. Marla loved nothing better than to keep the teacher informed of every transgression in the play yard that caught her roaming eyes. She once told on me for spitting when I was only trying to eject a wayward bug who mistook my mouth for a shortcut home. The bug survived, but I had to put my head on my desk for 10 minutes.
Oh Marla, how I don’t miss you.
So, back to the new Marla. As I’m sure you guessed, she isn’t a real flesh-and-blood person; she is an app on my phone given to me by my insurance company that promises a reduction in my premiums if I can prove I’m a good driver. Marla may frustrate me at times, but I don’t mind admitting that she’s making me a better driver. The phone stays in my pocket, my eyes stay on the road, I’m more aware of speed limits, and I am learning to accelerate gently instead of revving up like Dale Earnhardt in the pole position at the Indy 500. Whether or not this pays me dividends, I’m kind of grateful to Marla for keeping me accountable.
Accountability. That’s a word we don’t talk about much. We don’t talk about it because we don’t really like it. No one likes the idea of being watched, judged, disciplined, or evaluated. No one wants to be “told on. ” We much prefer to live our lives on our terms, with the freedom to do as we please, unencumbered by the expectations, responsibilities, and agendas of others. There would be no need for accountability in a perfect world with perfect people. We would all be living our best selves all the time! But you know how it is. Sometimes, we cut corners, let things slide, or take things for granted.
Whether we like it or not, we are all accountable to someone, whether it is our kids, our partners, our boss, or our friends. Being accountable, however much we may dislike it at times, can bring out the best in us. When we know that something we do really matters to someone else, we will be more inclined to do it to the best of our ability. No one likes to let others down.
The Bible puts it this way, “let us always consider how we can spur one another on towards love and good deeds, never giving up on each other, but encouraging each other.” (Hebrews 10)
Accountability can also create stronger networks. Part of living in a healthy community is holding each other accountable, not in a hostile or judgemental way, but out of a desire to bring out the best in the people we care about the most and the best in the things that we hold in common. As such, accountability is an investment in the common good. Groups that hold their members accountable can create safe, productive and generative spaces. When we think we matter to others, we invest more of ourselves in the common good.
Accountability doesn’t have to be a bad word, nor is it an infringement on our rights and freedoms, rather it is way of taking responsibility for our lives and recognizing that we all matter to others. When we are at our best, others can be at their best, too.
Thank you, Marla.
