Do the Next Right Thing

 Prison is full of uncertainty. One never knows if or when he'll be transferred or moved to another cell, or whether the same will happen to the friends he's made. He doesn't know if he'll have his job tomorrow, if the regular officers in his housing unit will change, if the prison administration will change (and start doing things differently). He might not know if he'll have money for the next store order, whether the courts will rule in his favor, or whether or not the legislature will finally pass favorable prison legislation (like a good time bill). 

Some of the most stressful uncertainty comes from the unknowns outside of prison. Will my loved ones die, will my children, wife, parents, or siblings stop talking to me, will the support I've had suddenly stop? Other uncertainties surround what will happen after prison. Will I have a job, a place to live, experience discrimination because of my criminal record, find acceptance and belonging in a community (faith or otherwise)? 

But other uncertainties involve daily decisions. How should I respond when I'm treated disrespectfully by other prisoners or by corrections staff? What should I do if someone steals from me? Should I quit my prison job or look for a new one? Should I stay in my bunkie situation or find a new one? Should I reach out to family or give them the space they seem to need? Should I write this letter, file this grievance, or appeal this sentence? 

Many of these decisions don't seem to be that difficult to make. For instance, if one is having trouble with a bunkie, why not try to get moved? The problem is that sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don't. You never quite know how things will turn out if you take action one way or the other. 

A few years ago I was struggling with some decisions. I'm normally a pretty decisive person, but with so many uncertainties, I felt frozen in indecision. I don't even remember, now, what those decisions were, but they were important and stressful at the time. Perhaps it was a conflict situation with another prisoner. That happens often enough in prison. 

As I faced these uncertainties and didn't know what to do, advice I had received over the years, from my mother and others, coalesced into a single phrase: Do the next right thing. 

Such simple advice, but so powerful. Even in prison, when choices are often not so cut and dry and where the wrong choice can make the difference between flourishing and floundering, doing the next right thing is simple enough. It means letting go of all the what-ifs, all the future uncertainties, and focusing on the moment. Doing the next right thing uncomplicates decisions. No longer must I wonder if an aggressive response to another prisoner might come back to bite me. If I do the next right thing, I choose to treat that prisoner with dignity, even if his behavior begs for something else. 

Choosing to do the next right thing even changes the way we make decisions. Instead of parting with a difficult bunkie on bad terms, choosing to do the right thing, even if it means a move, means honoring that person's dignity while making the move. It means choosing to not demean him when people ask why you moved. 

Doing the next right thing is not always easy, but it's always right. And keeping one's perspective on the here and now helps to uncomplicate those choices. Honestly, doing the right thing is just the right thing to do.