Great Expectations
So there’s this thing that happens to me sometimes.
Well. Pretty much all the time.
I do something new, give it a whirl, and see what happens. And, more often than not, I end up doing pretty well at it. Kind of free flowing, not self-conscious at all. It could be performing some new skill – like singing, dancing, speaking, writing, drawing, playing a new game or a new sport, or anything really… And I’m just experiencing it in the moment. Enjoying it, and learning.
And then something happens. I notice that I’m doing a GOOD job of it. And I like it. And I identify with it. And I want more. And then I start to tighten up. And get into this mode of wanting things to go a certain way.
A vivid example of this happened the first time that I went surfing in Peru. We had this instructor show us out to get out, where to go and what to do. And the first time I went out, I stood up on the board, and rode it, totally smoothly, all the way in to the shore where the wave dissipated. I was literally riding the wave.
And instantly, my ego inflated. And I thought – I AM SO GREAT. And then I wanted to do it again. To repeat that exact amazing experience. And I never got up again the rest of the day.
I see this over and over.
Recently, starting to sing more, I had a few nights of jamming with friends where I felt like I was actually starting to find my voice. And that maybe, I could actually sing? And that maybe I’m actually this amazing singer, waiting to discover his gift, and I should just quit everything else and go into this full time, because, why not – I am just so amazingly talented and gifted.
And then?
Since then I’ve felt tense. Restricted. Expecting and craving the greatness. Trying to force it. And feeling frustrated at losing the flow. Trying can be so trying. This self-consciousness and expectation is debilitating. So far, the only way that I’ve found out of the loop is giving up.
Another example. In the last week, I’ve been humbled at work. For the first few weeks of school, I felt like I was in this groove. Flowing, intuitive, and on. In workshops and appointments, I felt smooth and natural – finally being myself and it all was easy. And I started going off in my mind – that maybe I AM actually good at this. And a natural. And I should be doing this more. And aren’t I just God’s Gift to career counselling?
Then, this past week, I went on TV for the career fair. And I was totally anxious, but also excited to do it. And I did it, and did a reasonable job, I felt. But then… I watched myself.
And at first, I was pretty happy with it. But then I started to notice things I didn’t like. How my voice sounded, how I looked, what I said. And this critical voice of mine started to dominate and take over. And I became intensely self-conscious. And critical.
And went into a workshop the next day with a good sized group of students, and was just watching myself and criticizing my every move. Look at how bored they are. You are doing a terrible job. Who are you fooling?
What comes next? Frustration, giving up, despair, sadness. And finally a letting go.
As attractive as all that ego-boosting flow experience is, it has a down side, clearly. Getting caught up in myself and my self-image, getting attached to it – is going to lead to disappointment, when something conflicts with this fragile image based on performance. Because something eventually will. Every time.
But after the letting go, after the rain clears, there is a new calmness. Clarity. Humility. Honesty. I am present. Not pretentious. And just myself, as I am, not trying or wishing to be someone else. And it’s a relief. To let myself be human. Instead of trying to be perfect. It is a setting down of a tremendous burden.
And that small pattern that I notice that keeps repeating? It is also playing out on a larger scale. Over the course of my lifetime, it seems.
When I was a kid, I was saddled with the label of being gifted. Of having an IQ of 175. Of being told that I could do anything, be anything, anywhere.
It turns out that being labelled as gifted can be a real mixed bag. While it can lead to new opportunities for learning and growth, it can also lead to tremendous pressure, isolation, and mental health challenges.
And as I’m entering middle age (I seriously never thought I would say that), I am checking my expectations. Am I the wild success I was supposed to be? Probably not in line with my initial expectations of being a rocket scientist, or world famous celebrity.
But that letting go is happening on a larger scale too. Instead of focusing as much on what I’m NOT, I’m coming more to terms with what I am. A regular person. A somewhat decent human being, doing their best, with flaws and gifts, and moments of grace and failure.
And I can notice those great expectations. That heavy weight. And set it aside. Let the cultural norms and pressures be. And let my ego sit there. Off to the side, while I go about my business, doing my thing and getting on with life.
What’s the benefit of heavy expectations? Either I manage to meet them, in which case I just feel relief at not failing to meet them – or I don’t meet them, and I feel disappointed. Instead, when I don’t have those preconceptions, or narrow vision of success, I can go with the flow, celebrate what is happening, and appreciate what is.
I feel for the students I work with, who have all the weight of the “what are you going to do with your life?” sitting squarely on their chest – parental, peer, and social pressures. Are you going to live up to them? Are you going to be a failure?
Not that I don’t see a benefit to having some kind of an agenda or vision. Having a goal to work towards can help spur me to take action, and sometimes the stress that can come from not meeting expectations can be a good motivator. But taken to the extreme, it can be a handicap. The sweet spot is likely somewhere in the middle, with loose, flexible goals that can evolve with the terrain and circumstances, built around our values – instead of rigid and confining plans.
I think there is tremendous amount of comfort to be found in a rigid plan – in telling someone THIS is what I’m going to DO, or BE. Be it a writer, a lawyer, a doctor, a world-saver, or non-conformist, a revolutionary, or what have you. There is something appealing about the security in having a structure in place that tells us where we are going, and the reassurance it gives to others that we are on the “right” track.
And at the same time, I chafe against it. And resent the expectations. In my writing class the prof talked about 2 types of writers: plotters and pantsers. The plotters like to have it all laid out in terms of plot, characters, key elements, all before they begin to actually write. But the pantsers (by the seat of their pants), DON’T have a plan – they just write for the joy of the experience, relishing the NOT knowing, the adventure and along with the reader for the ride.
I seem to tend to habitually make plans, and then resent them. Like the void of not having it all laid out is too intolerable, so I fill it with a plan. And then my feelings change, and I want to be doing something else, but I’m stuck with the plan that is there. Is it foolish to live without a plan? To be totally spontaneous? Living by instinct and whim? Will that lead to one being a dropout, a failure, a bum? Or is this really living?
Hopefully I can find the middle path here. Some plans, and some space. Some structure, and some flexibility. Knowing that I’ll move back and forth between the two, craving one and then the other. Kind of like this blog post – I had a vague idea at the start, it meandered around a little, but managed to stay around a central theme. And the end? Well, I guess I’m still not too sure how that is going to turn out…
Vipassana Reflections, Part IV – Enlightenment?
As I’m trying to write this, one month after the event, it sounds a little weird, even to me. But stay with me for one last part of the story. On the way home, I was driving and reflecting on the past 10 days, and continuing to notice my perceptions. I was seeing how I would see a car drive beside me and I’d have an opinion about them instantly, and notice feelings in my body accordingly. And I was remembering my experience of pure awareness and wondering about what I do with that. Do I try to experience it again? For longer? What next?
And then in some bizarre, zen-story-like moment of satori insight – a deep understanding arose, and I saw through all of this. There was knowing that none of this was me. These thoughts, feelings, body, breath – but also, even this awareness. All of it was NOT separate from the rest of the universe, like a wave is not separate from the rest of the ocean. But this was not an intellectual insight – it was experiential. I felt the lack of separation deeply throughout “my” body. This description doesn’t really do it justice, but that is the best I can do at this time to capture it.
That lasted for a few minutes and then passed, mostly because I had to keep driving and not get into an accident! Since then, I’ve tried to make sense of this all, hence the delay in writing. It really seems to line up with traditional knowledge and explanations of enlightenment experiences. But it came and went. For a little while, there was NO I. But now there is. But it definitely feels different. Shifted. Lighter. Looser.
To me it seems radical, or even crazy to suggest that I’ve had an enlightenment experience. Like it is out there, flakey, or grandiose. Impossible. Fantasy. But from my studies and experience, I really believe now that it is possible, and I have experienced a taste of it. I’m not writing this to show how I am amazing or now I am some great guru who knows it all. I don’t. I have learned some things from my 10 years of meditating, but I am not a zen master. But I want people to know that this is possible.
In my studies before and after, different perspectives on the path seem to point to similar truths, although they may offer different methods of getting there. Some suggest that pure awareness is the final truth, others suggest that complete disidentification and dissolution of the self is. Some suggest that it can be done in an instant just through realization, others say it requires hard work and persistent effort. I suspect they may both be right. From my experiences, getting to a different level of consciousness can arise spontaneously, or as a result of conscious intention and sustained effort and awareness. But the quality of the consciousness can be different – it can be very fleeting, or more sustained. Shallow or deep. Or throw me for a loop, or I can keep my footing. Generally, it has been beneficial to experience shifts in conciousness, and has led to wisdom, compassion, and peace.
It seems like taking the path of sustained practice and work, tends to lead to more stability, but it is not without its own perils and pitfalls (like turning things into a blind ritual or habit). Regardless, by both methods I have arrived at a similar place. A deep sense of wonder, peace, love, and oneness. But this has never lasted. That state of mind has always come and gone, like all the rest. And generally, when it does, I’m left wishing it would come back and get caught up in the cycles of clinging and aversion once again – that lead me AWAY from enlightment, instead of towards it. What usually takes me there is when I give up, and let go. And come at things with an attitude of peace, love, and truth – non-striving, non-clinging, and not knowing what comes next.
So now what? I don’t know. Honestly. I feel like in some ways I was transformed by this. But in other ways, I’m still “me”. I don’t have all the answers. But I have some clues. And I intend to follow this path and see where it leads, because so far it has been worthwhile in terms of results in my own personal life.
I think I’ve had the concept of enlightenment on a pedastal for a long time, putting it up there with other goals to strive for – thinking, perversely, if I get this, I will be special, I will be happy, and at peace. But finally experiencing a taste of it, I see that it is fleeting like any other experience – and not ultimately satisfying. Still worth exploring and pursuing, but in a grounded way, without fantasy and projection.And knowing that peace needs to be found in the here and now, in everyday living, not just on a cushion.
Vipassana Reflections, Part III – Truth.
Which brings me to the final insight. Throughout the retreat I had been starting to pay attention to my perceptions. Which is usually pretty tough to do in the sped up busy world of everyday life. But after 10 days of quiet, it gets a lot easier to notice how we notice. And I could see as soon as I looked at anything, or anyone, there would instantly be a judgment or opinion about that object. I could see my biases about the people around me, which had been accumulating the whole time. Which oftens leads to a somewhat unsettling final day, when we all get to talk to each other. Throughout the 10 days of silence, I’ve constructed all these stories in my head about everyone, decided who I like and who I don’t – all without talking to them! But when I talk to them I see how wrong I usually am – that all of them have so many interesting layers to their lives and so much to share.
And I brought this insight about perception to myself, and seeing the stories that I tell about myself. About who I am. About why I matter. About my past. About my future. These layers of identity that I hold on to. That I am a husband. Son. Career counsellor. Farmer. Student. Meditator. Smart. Funny. Helpful. Creative. Or negatively – lame, boring, selfish, and worse. And I saw the power of these stories to affect my behaviour. That they are just stories, and not the actual truth. But I take them to be the truth, and act accordingly. And these stories can limit me in many ways.
In relation to myself and the world, I started to see that what I usually take as perception, and the truth, was rarely that. I think that I am holding up a flashlight to the world and seeing things as they are, but it’s more like I’m holding up a projector – shining images onto everyone and everything – seeing these images projected as if they are the truth.
Things got a little cosmic when I started applying this idea to my perception of my inner experience. I could see how I was projecting images and stories even to my inner experience. That when scanning my body, I would actually be picturing it in my mind at the same time. Or when feeling something intense, I would be telling a story about it simultaneously – maybe telling myself why it was there, judging it for being bad, or trying to hold on to it if it was pleasant. But one of the most intense stories or projections, was that these things were real and solid and ME.
As I started to pay attention, I started seeing that rather than solid things, they were more like holograms projected by my awareness. For those of you that have played with the new virtual reality devices, this can be pretty easy to relate to. When you put on the headset and look around, you see a new reality – and it feels amazingly real. It looks like you are underwater, or on a mountain – but you are just sitting on a couch. And what I take to be reality, is NOT – it is my perception/projection of it. When I think I am seeing an image, I am actually seeing the signal from the light entering my eyeballs, flipped upsidedown by the optic structure, flipped again to be rightside up by my brain, and then edited to focus on key parts, leave out others, and even fill in blind spots – like an airbrushed reality. And all of that is just happening INSIDE MY HEAD.
As I looked at those perceptions, they started to dissolve and I saw them in a new way. Not as solid things, but instead as ripples of consciousness. Like how a wave isn’t a real separate thing – it just a temporary manifestation of the water, NOT separate from it. At this point basically everything dissolved into just pure spacious awareness with ripples coming and going. There was nothing solid. Nothing to fight. Nothing to hold. Nothing to do. Just peace. I was identified now with only my awareness. This lasted for a little while (maybe an hour?) and then it too passed and I started coming back to more normal levels of awareness.
Vipassana Reflections, Part II – Love.
Some very interesting things can start to emerge in this quiet. During the first few days of decompressing at the retreat, I often experience thoughts and feelings related to my current life situation. But after that settles, deeper memories and emotions start to come to the surface. These can be kind of intense at times, to say the least! But if I manage to keep my footing for the most part I can experience them and let them come and go. I’ll often experience waves of anger, sadness, anxiety, despair, or guilt (mixed in with highs of bliss and joy). My usual response would be to try to get right of them, or to get caught up in them, but with practice I can face them calmly.
I have found that one of the most helpful stances towards my inner experience is one of deep compassion. I can easily get critical and blame myself for having these “negative” emotions, thinking I am a failure or a loser, or worse. This tends to NOT help – just dumping more intense feelings on top of the first. Instead, I try to find a way to bring compassion – often I start by looking at my inner self as being the kid version of me. Maybe like 4 years old. Vulnerable, tender, and deserving of love. And if I manage to resist the urge to fix it or change it, and just sit with it, like sitting with a crying child (or one having a temper tantrum), eventually it calms down. And after the storm, things open up to a new level of depth and richness. Raw, but also alive. Real. Here.
One particularly powerful insight that helped me have more compassion for myself came towards the end of the course. I was observing myself being competitive with the other meditators beside me in the front row (ridiculous sounding, I know – but I manage to be competitive when meditating even!). After fighting with that, I just gave up and sat with it, being competitive. But I started to have this deep unravelling running back through my life and seeing how I’ve always striven to be the best (or judged myself for not being so). And I could see that this was tied to insecurity. A sense of not being good enough as I am. And wrapped up in my tendencies towards social and performance anxiety. All of this striving was an effort to avoid this deeply painful feeling of inadequacy, of not being worth paying attention to.
That’s when I had an a-ha insight from a research paper I did in my Master’s, on the connection between the trait of behavioural inhibition in babies to social anxiety in adults. To sum up a complex topic, babies who are born as more introverted/shy/timid, tend to be treated differently, not exposed to as many social settings, sheltered more, left alone more, and tend not to have experiences needed to develop social confidence and esteem. I saw my own childhood in a new light, seeing myself born as the second child (and naturally getting less attention because of that) of loving but busy parents who were working hard to set up a new life in the country, and dealing with their own lives and feelings. Who saw a child that seemed to prefer to be alone. So they often left him to play by himself, reading fantasy, constructing worlds in his own imagination – which I did enjoy. But I also learned that I wasn’t worth paying attention to – unless I was hurt, or helpful, funny, or accomplished something smart or special.
And I saw all of this behaviour was rooted in that childhood experience. Stemming from that feeling of not being adequate – and not wanting to feel it. Trying to escape it, to be special, helpful, funny, or smart as a way of avoiding it (again touching on experiential avoidance). These behaviours had some good results – I’ve worked hard, learned lots. But also they cause suffering. And by sitting with that deep sense of inadequacy and NOT acting, something interesting happened. I could see that it was just a feeling. Not the truth. It was based on a judgment I made as a tiny kid that lack of attention meant I was defective, rather than that my parents were busy with their own shit, or thought I was doing fine, or I was a second kid so going to get less attention anyways. And that judgment wasn’t accurate. And this helped me let go. But also to sit with myself in a whole new way. With compassion. Deeply. Seeing that child in me that suffered so, and cherish and hold him.
Vipassana Reflections, Part I – Peace.
Going through a 10-day retreat might seem like a relaxing vacation on the surface, but it can actually be an intense roller coaster with gruelling lows and blissful highs. Who woulda thunk it? And to help me keep my footing as I go through all of this, a few things helped me immensely – namely, abiding in peace, love, and truth.
After writing this, it turned out to be pretty lengthy, so I’ve split it into 4 parts to make for more bite-sized chunks of reading. This will take you somewhat in-depth through my experience, warts and all. Please keep in mind this is my 15th time going to one of these retreats, so a beginner’s experience would likely be different – in fact everyone’s experience will vary! I don’t totally understand everything that happened there, but I will report my experience as best I can.
Part I – Peace
Coming in to the retreat, I brought with me my busy mind, and my striving attitude towards life – always trying to accomplish things, and be successful. In the outer world, this tends to be rewarded, and to a certain degree, actually useful. But in the inner world of thoughts, feelings, and awareness it is often somewhat counterproductive. At this particular retreat, there are detailed instructions to follow, and me being the accomplishing kind of guy that I am, I try to follow them. The problem is, that by striving, we may actually muddy the waters.
Imagine if you had a glass with water and sand in it that was all stirred up, but you want it to be clear. Our doing self would be tempted to reach in to the glass to slow it down somehow – but ultimately any action we’d take would just stir it up further. What we need to do is be STILL. Just let the water calm down, and the sand will settle to the bottom. With observing breath, sensations, feelings, and thoughts – the more I am able to just abide and watch them come and go, the calmer the waters become.
This translates into the realms of psychology quite nicely, and the idea of experiential avoidance (which I’ve written about before). To briefly capture that complex idea, at the heart of many emotional disorders and stress is the core problem of NOT wanting to experience what we are feeling, and trying to DO something to make it go away. If this behaviour seems to work, it often ends up being repeated, and turns in to a safety behaviour that we cling to – like compulsive hand-washing with OCD for example. This also applies to many other behaviours that might actually turn out to be compulsive if we stop and look – like working, drinking, gambling, shopping, surfing the internet, checking our phones, and more – often triggered by some discomfort or unease.
It’s tricky at first to just sit and NOT respond. Because we are SO used to it. But the more I sit and DON’T respond, the more I can see that things come and go on their own.
A few lessons help to let them go – namely Buddhist insights of Anicca, Anata, and Dukkha. Put very simply -Anicca tells us that all things are changing and impermanent if we pay attention, hence not worth reacting to. Anata touches on ideas of emptiness, but may be best understood as lack of a separate, solid self. Dukkha, talks about suffering and unsatisfactoriness – that with the impermanence of all things, getting attached to pleasant feelings, or resisting unpleasant ones only leads to further suffering.
All of this helps to stay focused and not get swept away (kind of like Odysseus lashed to the mast to resist the siren songs). Eventually things get a little calmer and it is possible to start noticing some interesting things that are usually too subtle to see with all the busyness. My most successful sits were often the ones where I went in having given up my agenda, and decided to just sit and see what happens.
Before… (Part I)
Seeing how I’m headed off to do my first 10-day silent meditation retreat in 4 years, I thought it might be fun to do a little experiment. I’m going to ask myself 5 questions before and after and see how things change as a result of the retreat.
I’m doing this partly to remind myself of the value of going on retreat, but also to try to find new ways of communicating that impact to others in an open and honest way. Even though I’ve done this many times, each time has been different – so I’m also a bit curious to see how this turns out!
1. How do I view myself, others, and the world?
I have very mixed feelings about myself. In some ways I see myself as talented and capable, but at times I feel very insecure and doubt my abilities. I also have moments of self-compassion and self-esteem, but mixed with criticism and judgment about my personality, appearance, abilities, and life decisions. I worry at times that my life has been a waste of time and I have little to show for it.
I generally have compassion and empathy for others, but often am weary of caring. Routine and my work have worn this faculty down, and caring can end up being an unconscious habit. Generally I give people the benefit of the doubt, but am at times cynical about other people’s motivations and abilities to make meaningful change, and especially about society’s abilities to turn this thing around and stop ruining the planet.
The world is a beautiful but scary place. There are moments of breathtaking beauty, but mostly they are lost in the routine of worldly and mundane aspects of living. Also, I feel like I’m struggling to keep the forces of nature and time at bay in maintaining the farm and home, as well as my own body.
2. How does my body feel? What emotions are predominant?
Ha. Today my body is sore from logging on the weekend and putting the car tires in the car this morning – so my knee is feeling out, and my back is a bit out too. Generally I feel tired and run down. I feel bored. Tired of routine. In need of change. A bit down about the state of the world and my life. I feel a subtle anxiety in the background a lot of the time. I have moments of anger (which I generally don’t express). Guilt over not reaching out enough to friends and family, or doing enough to help others. But I also feel moments of happiness and love for others, compassion, empathy, and humour. Moments of excitement at new things, new media for creativity, and seeing spring springing.
3. What’s important in life? What are my values?
Security and comfort seem to dominate. I spend a lot of time setting up my life to be optimal. Comfortable, organized, efficient. Making plans for socializing, playing games, seeing movies or music. Dealing with household routines, work tasks, farm chores. I appreciate overcoming challenges and successes at work, like doing a good job presenting at the conference last week. But I also really value learning, growth, connection, play, humour, authenticity, nature, social change, sustainability, mindfulness, and adventure.I tend to act on these values in small ways.
4. What’s my thinking like? What thoughts dominate?
Lots of thinking about practicalities, running over to-do lists in my head. When I’m not thinking about what needs to be done, then I often am lamenting about feeling bored and wasting my life. Thoughts comparing myself to others, worrying about money, security, future plans are frequent. Also ideas about new projects, things to learn, and creative ventures. Lots of time to learn and read lately, so I’ve been working my way through a book called Status Anxiety, and thinking about aspects of that. Also, thinking about 2 projects for work, one a workshop on Life Design, and the other some kind of meditation group (related to the meditation teacher training we are taking online). As well as upcoming farm renovations and garden plans. Finally, I suppose I do a fair bit of reading the news, following sports and politics mostly…
5. What’s happening in the spiritual dimension? How connected do I feel with the rest of existence? Is life meaningful?
I generally feel hunger in this arena, and not profound fulfillment. A sense of something missing. Wanting this to be more important. I meditate for 20-30 minutes most days, and journal, go for walks, but these have become mostly routine and rarely enter profound depths of experience. I have some rare moments of feeling like the universe is alright, life is good, and I am a valued and integral part of the cosmos. Mostly I don’t. I feel like my life is somewhat selfish, even though I am often working to help others through counselling, or my parents on the farm, or supporting Carlyn in different ways. I have moments of meaning, but mostly I feel like this area of my life is suffering. It can come in instances of connection with others, authenticity and sharing, and touching on deep personal themes. Or at times in nature, seeing something beautiful, like the way the sunlight reflects of an icicle at a particular time of day.
Ok. So that was interesting already. Basically, it seems like a bit of a mixed bag – highs and lows. But mostly, feeling like life has been a relatively comfortable but sometimes stressful and challenging experience. When I’m not overwhelmed with work and problems of the world, I can feel bored and disengaged – but have moments of vigour too. I suppose that is par for the course at this time of year with a winter that has been dragging on, and wrapping up a busy school term and getting back from a final conference last weekend. So that’s that. I’ll answer the same 5 questions when I get back on Sunday the 24th of April!
Love is…
…Two naked eight year olds? At least according to Homer Simpson. I know it sounds funny, but sometimes I think there might be some deep wisdom hiding in this joke. 
With another Valentine’s Day come and gone, and the glitz, gifts and glamour of commercial romance with it, my mind turns to something a little more solid. Thoughts about the nature of love and relationships, and what they are made of and what makes them work, or not.
One of my favourite explanations of how love works came from The Happiness Hypothesis by Jonathan Haidt. He explained three stages to love, that functioned almost like a rocket launching into space, with each stage serving to power the next stage before dropping away. He explains the initial stage of intense romantic love and desire as animal and magnetic – what draws us together despite our differences. This stage unfortunately is the stage that seems to be the most romanticized and held up as an example of what love is meant to be like – with so many articles in magazines about spicing up your sex life, and how to “get the magic back”. And I can see where they are coming from – the initial stages of any relationship, and in particular my relationship with Carlyn were amazing – mind-blowing really – that feelings could be so strong, or that someone could exist that is so perfect. And of course I want to hang on to that! Gimme. More. I don’t want it to change.
But instead of keeping it alive, I suspect that actually kills it. Trying to hold on to the spark does not work. A metaphor I’m loving about love lately is building a fire – which also has three stages to it too – paper, kindling, and wood. I start by lighting the paper – which bursts into a quick flame, but fades fast – it is not meant to last. And if I tried to heat my house by burning newspaper I’d exhaust myself. Luckily we’ve got 2 more stages to go… The next stage Haidt talks about is companionship/partnership/deep friendship – which only comes about with time spent together bonding intensely. And in a romantic relationship, this happens in the background while the romantic flame is burning up the newspaper of intense desire. Usually this first stage lasts 6 months to a year or two. At this point hopefully the kindling has caught fire and we’ve got a better shot at this working out.
The final stage, amazingly, has nothing to do with the other person. And this bigger picture really brings a spiritual component and deeper meaning to intimate relationships. In learning to love another person, and be with them through the hard times and good, we have to expose ourselves to all kinds of discomfort, including being around behaviours and habits that we can’t stand, as well as showing parts of ourselves that we detest. But if the connection formed is strong enough, we stay with it. And this is where the naked 8 year-old part comes in. All the parts of us that we stopped developing at some point as kids and have stuck with, we have to confront – and really, we are left humbly standing before our partner warts and all. And they stay. And we start to see that these parts are not horrible, and can begin to start to think about accepting them just a little tiny bit. Which is when they will start shifting and changing on their own. As cheesy as this sounds, it can be a vehicle for learning to love ourselves.
Why does this matter? Because in finally having compassion for ourselves with all our flaws and imperfections and mistakes, we can genuinely love others too. This is the log finally catching flame. To see through all the BS and expectations and petty differences and recognize that other people are just human beings going through their lives the best they can too. So the third stage is both a learning to love ourselves, but that really leads into a learning to open up and love all beings. Ugh. Writing that kind of irritates me actually – perhaps because of the flakiness associated with peace and love, a part of me wants to play it cool and say I don’t give a shit. But as uncool as it sounds, I think that love actually IS a big part of THE ANSWER.
To me, love is not the initial bloom of romance, or even love of our partner or kids or friends. Real love is bigger than that even. It is a deeper presence that accepts ourselves and the other people around us, bigger than our upset feelings and grudges, that acknowledges our common humanity and mortality. We all suffer, and die, and have intense feelings and fears and highs and lows – we all have so much more in common than we don’t, really. Even during these Olympics where I am totally hating Finland during the third period of the last hockey game for some reason. Bigger than that. And why should I give a shit? Why try to love someone at all? One simple reason would be that it feels better. It is easier to be loving than hating. But also there are so many feedback loops in place too – when I set a positive accepting vibe out, you are more likely to be nice to me too and the cycle will build, which will keep on rippling outwards, ultimately contributing to something that resembles world peace of some kind.
And one path there seems to be mindful relationships. So many opportunities to open up and let go, continually. As Carlyn and I work through each bit of turbulence it really seems like each instance is a chance to get closer or farther apart. If I hold on to my petty anger or shame and try to rationalize it away or squish it down, it just festers – cutting off any kind of intimacy. Eventually either she’ll pull it out of me, or I’ll share it of my own accord (which I am slowly getting better at) – and we wade through our feelings, sorting through all of it to reach some kind of understanding – which invariably results in feeling closer again after the storm passes, and usually that spark reappears. It takes vulnerability on both of our parts, and removing of some armour over our wounds and tender places – but each time we are left afterwards a bit lighter and more free. As much as it kills me to do it sometimes, talking about our feelings is hugely important, and we seem to be getting somewhat better at it with time. And in between moments of highs and lows, and can already see something else emerging in the background – the deeper companionship is forming. We are more and more a team, and that feeling of partnership is slow and steady and deep – not frothy and short-lasting like the intense desire of romance. Something I never appreciated as a younger man, looking for highs, and trying to avoid the lows.
A key idea behind this is from a psychologist friend of mine who said the number one predictor of breakups is: failure to validate the other person’s feelings. Which can look like trying to convince someone not to be upset, or trying to cheer them up, and argue why they shouldn’t feel a certain way. The fact is, they do. And the sooner we both accept how we each feel, the sooner we can move on. These skills and mental postures apply to ourselves and the world at large – seeking to understand the other, and learning to accept what is up with our inner lives, and make room for it to be there and pass through. Not easy to do, but then it wouldn’t be much of a practice if it was…
Breaking the ice.
Ice breaking on the shore of Lake Ontario.
I’ve got ice on my mind lately, as I’m sure many of us do this winter. It’s everywhere it seems – and it is demanding our attention. Chipping it off our cars, stairs, sidewalks, and solar panels, slipping on it walking to work, or admiring its beauty after freezing rain, or breaking up on the lake shore in the wind. And its got me thinking about metaphors, as many things tend to do. With all of it, it seems that the hardest part is the start – getting a way in, chipping off that first piece, and then the rest start to fall away as I get better leverage and cracks start running throughout. But that first part is nasty. For water, ice can sure be hard and resistant. Once it gets going though, it can start to fall apart – as I watched in the last while on the lake – with hundreds of yards of broken ice chunks – 3 inches thick and many like 3 or more feet wide, all pushed around by the wind and waves.
I can’t help but thinking at first of one of the most obvious ice metaphors – starting a conversation. In delivering networking workshops at work I’ve been thinking of different ways to talk about networking creatively, and breaking the ice is one of the most challenging parts for many of us. And it applies to both those individual conversations with someone at a party or conference, and to the very task of starting a workshop off on the right note. Once I find that way in, that first topic of conversation, or connection with the other person, then the rest of the thing takes on a life of its own as we feed off each other, asking questions and sharing things about ourselves.
There seem to be some powerful feedback loops at play in human interactions. When I start out hesitant, grumpy, or anxious – I know I project an certain air of not really wanting to be there. But starting with a smile, and a pleasant introduction sets things off on a very different note. That quality of being open and curious about the other person sure seems to go a long way. With a group there are so many parallels, although it can take a little more for the other person to take a risk and share something back if they are a member of an audience instead of just one of two people in a conversation. So there are so many things I can do to warm them up and melt that ice – like sharing things about myself, asking easy questions they can answer without risking anything serious, establishing an atmosphere of trust, and paying honest attention. Knowing the value of putting that positive energy out can help me to be motivated to do it, especially when seeing what happens when I don’t – tension, awkwardness, and disconnect.
But how I can get that very first of positive energy going? Where does that spark come from that is going to melt the ice of the reluctant conversationalist or quiet audience? With trying to break up physical ice, I usually look for the thinnest part or at the edges where it is weakest. If I attack the middle of it I usually end up hurting myself, but with those subtle chips at the edge I risk less and am more likely to start a larger piece breaking away. I suppose these would be the low hanging fruit of many conversations – talking about the weather, work, sports, holidays that we can all relate to – and not risk quite so much to start. Once we each see that the other person is open and trustworthy, then we start to melt our own ice a wee bit and thaw out.
That very first effort though, still has to come from somewhere – the motivation for the first strike or spark. And it seems like it’s got to come from somewhere inside of ME, because I can’t count on the other person to bring it. There are different ways I can do this – with inspiring quotes, imagery, or rituals, or even just remembering the last workshop or party I went to where I met someone interesting. But there often seem to be buckets of water waiting in the back of my mind reading to douse that spark if I start thinking about the possibility of being rejected or looking foolish. It does take a bit of a leap of faith – but that really seems to be where the reward is. When I put myself into a conversation or workshop authentically, I risk being vulnerable, but I also stand a chance of a real connection happening.
Keeping this image in mind, and knowing how hard the start can be, I can work with myself to be motivated and positive, especially at the beginning of something new. If I’m trying to start a new habit like blogging, or going to the gym, or striking up a conversation with a stranger – I need to remember to protect that little flame at the very start the most, because once the fire gets going properly it can withstand the wind or rain much more handily. So tricks like progress charts, workout buddies, or just telling friends about changes I am trying to make can really make a difference in establishing that change. The knowledge that this is supposed to be hard at the start usually helps me to not get discouraged initially, especially if I remember that once I get that first crack or smile, things will start loosening up and inertia will be on my side instead of fighting me.
So You Want a Revolution?
I often wonder about the nature of change, why it happens, and more surprisingly, why it doesn’t. With so much that seems to be begging for things to change, why do we persist in our current patterns? My studies in psychology lately have gotten me thinking about change on a more personal level – looking at what gets people to change the most effectively. And most of the time it really seems to come from people actually WANTING to change. From realizing that they just can’t go on anymore in the current way of doing or being. And until they do, no amount of advice, support, or hectoring is going to get them to stick to it.
Which brings me to the thought – Do we actually WANT to change? Most bad habits are there for a reason – they let us feel better in some way, or avoid something uncomfortable at least temporarily. And watching the Hunger Games had me thinking that within each of us are those competing elements – factions that want to revolt and change, and those that DON’T want things to change at all, thank you very much. Because, quite honestly, as much as things could be better (especially for some populations), things could be way worse. And the modern system actually DOES have positive things it is doing – like healthcare, convenience, travel, cultural exchanges, innovation, and so much more.
If we blow the whole thing up, we will actually lose a lot. Which sounds like a no-brainer when I say it out loud, but it also seems almost heretical to say that part of me really likes things the way they are. The system IS giving me the things that I want for the most part. I recognize that I happen to be relatively lucky compared to some, and the more someone is profiting from the current system, the less incentive they are going to have to work to change – although it seems unfortunate that those people are often the ones who seem to have the most power to change it. I can see this change even in myself with working almost full-time lately, making some money, and living in the city. There are great things about it.
One of the most insidious results of our modern way of living is that many of us have gotten quite comfortable. And this comfort can be quite numbing, and even paralyzing. Added to that is the increasing epidemic of stress and busyness – that seems to have convinced us we just need to work harder to make that feeling go away.
With so many ways to distract and amuse ourselves, whatever voice we had that was saying “maybe I shouldn’t do this”, or “maybe I should do this instead” is muted. That feeling of WANTING to change is hushed by things being ok for us. Dangerously ok. If we need to WANT change to make change, then that really seems unlikely unless things get worse. Like trying to get someone to exercise before they have a heart attack, instead of waiting until after.
Ironically, I think the growing reports of anxiety and depression and mental health issues have some connection here. To wanting lives filled with meaning. Contribution. Connection to ourselves, each other, and nature. And instead of using that emotional energy to take action for meaningful change, we pursue things we think will satisfy like money and status, or we try to shut it down and mute it with distractions and drugs – when it just might be part of the very thing that could be helping us to move in a new direction. Out of this pain and suffering can come the motivation to act. But we struggle to face it and listen to it and be with it.
So what would seem to be the way forward then? To those of us who wish we were living more fulfilling lives? Wishing the world was a better place? Start here. Now. The world is not some place outside of us. It IS us. And tapping in to whatever inner voice we’ve got telling us some clues on actions that would be meaningful can be a great start.
Looking for inspiring quotes on revolution I found the mother lode on a page called Personal Revolution. Here are a few of the ones I found the most fitting…
“Personal transformation can and does have global effects. As we go, so goes the world, for the world is us. The revolution that will save the world is ultimately a personal one.” ~ Marianne Williamson
”There is no coming to consciousness without pain…. People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own soul. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.” ~ Carl Gustav Jung
“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.”
― Jim Morrison
“As human beings, our greatness lies not so much in being able to remake the world – that is the myth of the atomic age – as in being able to remake ourselves.” ~ Mohandas Gandhi
“And therefore, all of those for whom authentic transformation has deeply unseated their souls must, I believe, wrestle with the profound moral obligation to shout from the heart—perhaps quietly and gently, with tears of reluctance; perhaps with fierce fire and angry wisdom; perhaps with slow and careful analysis; perhaps by unshakable public example—but authenticity always and absolutely carries a a demand and duty: you must speak out, to the best of your ability, and shake the spiritual tree, and shine your headlights into the eyes of the complacent. You must let that radical realization rumble through your veins and rattle those around you.
Alas, if you fail to do so, you are betraying your own authenticity. You are hiding your true estate. You don’t want to upset others because you don’t want to upset your self. You are acting in bad faith, the taste of a bad infinity.
Because, you see, the alarming fact is that any realization of depth carries a terrible burden: those who are allowed to see are simultaneously saddled with the obligation to communicate that vision in no uncertain terms: that is the bargain. You were allowed to see the truth under the agreement that you would communicate it to others (that is the ultimate meaning of the Bodhisattva vow). And therefore, if you have seen, you simply must speak out. Speak out with compassion, or speak out with angry wisdom, or speak out with skillful means, but speak out you must.
And this is truly a terrible burden, a horrible burden, because in any case there is no room for timidity. The fact that you might be wrong is simply no excuse: You might be right in your communication, and you might be wrong, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter, as Kierkegaard so rudely reminded us, is that only by investing and speaking your vision with passion, can the truth, one way or another, finally penetrate the reluctance of the world. If you are right, or if you are wrong, it is only your passion that will force either to be discovered. It is your duty to promote that discovery—either way—and therefore it is your duty to speak your truth with whatever passion and courage you can find in your heart. You must shout, in whatever way you can.” ~ Ken Wilber
K. Miguel Hahn 