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 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.
Oh death.
Last week I flirted with death.
Or the idea of it at least. My own in particular. I got some overdue blood work results back with some high and low results, like low iron, white blood cells, and high B12 – nothing hugely out of whack, just outside the normal range. Carlyn looked at the results and starting poking around online to see what they could mean (probably not the best idea in hindsight), and found all kinds of disturbing possible causes, most notably including things like Leukemia on the list. I’m not usually one to worry too much about my health, but seeing this was a pretty heavy shock to my system, primarily because my mom died of Leukemia in her early forties (which are coming soon for me) – so it hit a little too close to home.
Logically, I know these test results mean nothing at this point, only that there is a chance that something is up – and a retest in a few days will show if there is anything worth investigating. So it is up to me to keep a cool head and not worry too much about it. But that first day I was grappling with my own mortality in a very visceral way. I couldn’t help but come back to the idea that I could be terminally ill. That my days could be numbered. And how it affected me was quite profound.
My first thoughts weren’t actually about how horrible the possibility was. They were about how my priorities shifted instantly – of the things I wanted to do more than anything else – adventures I wanted to have, people I wanted to connect with, and about what really matters most to me, made urgent by the possibility of my own demise. Thoughts about blogging actually came to mind as well, thinking that it could be eye-opening to share my experiences with people, in hopes that some of it would help people to wake up and cherish their own lives, and prioritize things that truly matter.
The final profound thought I had in response was a lightening. A letting go. A seeing that my petty worries and concerns did not actually matter. That fears of what people would think of me, and my search for security and comfort, were suddenly not as important – and instead diving headfirst into the adventure of life was. I can so easily get caught up in plans and future goals, living so many years ahead of the moment, that I can let life pass me by. If I am going to die, why do I care what someone thinks of me? I can wear pajamas all day if I want to, eat cake for breakfast, or tell the honest truth to somebody even if it is uncomfortable or embarrassing. Afterwards that evening, Carlyn and I had a very different connection, underscored by the presence of this potential diagnosis in the background – shifting things to the present, cherishing being alive and the small things that make up life.
The ironic thing is that I could ALWAYS die at any moment. So could you. But these ideas of possible illness and death really shifted things for me and changed my experience of life, for the better. Since that day last week, I have been drifting back to complacency, with these thoughts at the back of my mind, caught up once again in the routines of work and life.
It reminds me of a girl I once met, in a class on the meaning of life no less. She had been diagnosed as having very little chance of survival, with a heart problem that needed a heart transplant. Leading up to the procedure her boyfriend worked with her to come up with a bucket list of things she wanted to do before she died, and they started to do them all, one by one. Each activity fraught with meaning as the day marched closer. After the surgery the list was abandoned as she went back to the routines and rituals of modern living, leaving behind the list of passions and adventures.
This always struck me as tragic. I don’t want to forget the lessons I’ve learned from death. It has been a powerful teacher. But I seem to continue to get swept up in mind-numbing modern life, isolated as we are from death and suffering as much as we can. I know the meaning I experienced during that brief episode, as well as in previous encounters with death, have been painful at times, but also very real, humbling, and grounding. How to best bring this awareness into my everyday living? Perhaps trying to connect with death more intentionally. Monks have often meditated on corpses and graveyards to remind them of the inevitability of death. Doesn’t actually sound like such a bad idea. Or perhaps eventually volunteering in palliative care? Regardless of where they come from, I know that there is value in these lessons should I choose to accept them.
Death is all around us actually, if we just start to pay attention. And its not always a bad thing. Sometimes its beautiful like dead trees in a swamp, or the marsh grasses pictured here. I’m reminded of an episode of Family Guy where Death takes a vacation, which plays on popular myths about what bad things happen when death stops. Life gets kind of messed up actually. We need things to die. It’s where the nutrients for future life comes from, and room in the ecosystem. Its just when we are the ones dying we tend to get a bit more upset about things, understandably. Death and life are inseparable, and while bittersweet, that is where a lot of the meaning comes from. Like whenever I would play a video game and unlock the invincibility codes, the game would become meaningless and boring, so too does life lose some of its luster, with the specter of death removed from our awareness.
Let it go.
Getting ready to let it go…
Curling is not nearly as easy as it looks on TV. After figuring out how to not fall on my ass, getting the rock to actually go anywhere near where I want it to is a a way bigger challenge than I expected – frustrating for somebody like me who likes to do things well right away. And the team elements of it make it even more interesting – even before I let it go, I’ve had to get advice from my teammates about where to aim and what spin to use. After letting it go, I’ve got to watch as they sweep to help it go slower or faster and curl or not.
This is a great illustration of themes of trust and control that I’ve been percolating on lately. I came to it from grappling with anxiety about public speaking, which happens frequently as part of my work in the form of workshops on career-related topics. In reading and reflecting on the topic I’ve seen that a lot of it has to do with me wanting things to turn out a certain way, but not being able to control that they will. No matter how much I control the details, there is a certain degree of chance, with outside factors influencing how the workshop goes – that I can never control perfectly. And knowing this can be oh so unsettling.
This isn’t the only place where I can see the temptation for control to alleviate anxiety – it is awfully tempting to try to plan away every contingency, and there are some definite rewards for doing so. There are times where my planning and organizing makes a huge impact and averts problems before they start. But there are times when the controlling IS the problem. When trying to make things go a certain way gets IN the way. Like when meeting a new person at a party for example – and trying too hard to be interesting and/or interested.
A physical metaphor I’ve discovered for this is a Tibetan singing bowl, one of which I just picked up recently. For those unfamiliar, you rub the stick around the outside of the bowl, and magically it starts to vibrate with the rich humming (similar to fingers on a wet wineglass rim). The interesting piece to me is the built-in feedback loop – if I push TOO hard or fast it falters and skips and the harmony is ruined, but if I don’t try hard enough it won’t make any sound either. So? I need to be present, put persistent effort in, and surrender the results – let them arise as they will, trusting that it will work out for the best. I find this metaphor helpful actually as thinking of the bowl puts me in the surrendering mindset, where I am focused but open and receptive – just what I need in so many tasks, be it meeting a new person, running a workshop, or sending a curling stone hurtling down the ice.
An extreme example of trust came from a book I recently read called I walked to the moon and almost everybody waved, about a man who hitchhikes as a way of life. He surrenders regularly in the book, trusting that he will find a way and things will work out. In one particular stretch he goes hitchhiking across the states BLINDFOLDED for a almost 2 weeks. Putting himself out there, vulnerable to injury or abuse, dependent on others for his wellbeing – and getting rewarded for his trust. He very rarely experiences any serious trouble, and people often open up more than they would to anyone else in response to his vulnerability. The lightness he describes, and love he receives is moving to say the least, although I question his sanity at times as the rational part of me screams out for some sort of plan or safety net.
Ironically, it is this surrender, openness and vulnerability that really seems to be at the heart of making a good connection – with a group or an individual. When we are performing, or trying to be something, it is actually not that surprising that we don’t make much of a connection with others. The times I am the most inspired by someone are the times when I feel they are authentically offering up their real self, trusting others to receive them in kind. I don’t always do it, but this image inspires me to live a more well-lived life, taking risks, being vulnerable, and following my intuitions not knowing where they will lead.
Subjectivity and Emptiness.
The flickering nature of the candle’s flame parallels the slippery essence of our existence…
Contemplating Buddhist ideas of emptiness has gotten me awfully confused from time to time. It’s complex and I won’t do it justice here, but my (fluid) interpretation of it is that basically all things are empty of a permanent independent nature. This is meant to disarm powerful feelings and ideas from taking over, diminish our sense of ego, and lessen our attachment to objects and people. If everything is inherently “empty” (perhaps fluid, dynamic, changing would be more helpful) – then nothing is worth getting that worked up about or clinging to. Which is liberating at first. But I have also found it terrifying.
If things are empty and changing – then what matters? Why should I ever do anything? Does my career matter? Do I? My ideas? If my feelings are changing can I just ignore them until they go away? It can get awfully nihilistic awfully fast if it is carried to its seemingly logical conclusion.
I think the trick lies along the lines of the idea of “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form”. While it IS true that everything is fluid, changing, interconnected and empty of a separate permanent existence – it’s also true that things still EXIST. And this impermanent, shifting, ever-emerging and elusive existence is all that there really is. Right now. So back to the previous dilemma – WHAT MATTERS?
I think that SUBJECTIVITY matters.
Had an interesting chat with Carlyn recently about subjectivity and have been pondering the ramifications since. Subjectivity itself seems to be so inherently part of experience that I often forget about it altogether, to my detriment. A few key points I’ve been pondering include:
1. Subjectivity is all we can actually know. Every situation we look at is always going to be from our own perspective. It’s always through our eyes, our ears, our beliefs, and our feelings that we interpret the world and come up with reactions to it. And it is never wholly accurate. We can never really see the objective reality in a situation. Never. Even from a scientific perspective this is true – Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle tells us this. When we try to observe something, the observing of it CHANGES it. And even the fact that we are looking from one angle means that we are NOT looking from another. Does this mean our point of view is flawed and should be disregarded? I would argue no. Because…
2. Every perspective on a situation adds to our understanding. If we can never see the actual truth in a situation, we can shed light on it from as many perspectives as possible. There is a rainbow of truth and no one side of anything is actually true in itself. Politically, religiously, or even just physically – you can’t see everything from one angle. You can’t only consider the social, economic, or environmental consequences – you need to look at all of them to truly see. Without it we are subject to…
3. Atomic thinking. Compartmentalized and specialized. Looking at things from the point of view we’ve got leads to serious flaws in logic. On one hand, it is valuable to be specialized and dive into an area of expertise – like sociology, economics, psychology, history, or science. By diving deep we can make some insightful conclusions and discoveries. But isolated we lose our power to see interconnections and various angles.
The thing that struck me is what this means for how I should be applying this to my daily life. When I am talking to people I often either value my own opinion or their opinion higher than the other. One is expert, one is passionate, one is uniformed or hasty, etc… But they all count. And this is a real boost for ME! Because it means that what I have to say matters – even when I am hesitant to share my thoughts. The catch is that is matters as much as someone else’s perspective. And remembering this in the course of my day can lead me to balance respect for other people’s ideas with assertiveness for my own – keeping a place at the table for every perspective.
Sometimes this gets tough, but that seems to be when I need it the most. Listening to perspectives that I would often prefer to discount. Like a more conservative political one, or a fundamentalist religious one, or even just the business case for something. But it sure seems to lead to leaps in understanding. And smooths out relationships and conflicts. People like to feel heard. And that their ideas matter -but they need to be kept in line too – their idea may matter – but so does it’s opposite.
And that works internally too. I’m chock full of contradictory ideas and feelings. And sometimes I go one way or the other, seeming to contradict my own feelings or ideas. But really they both count. I can love someone and be furious with them at the same time. Or feel confident and ashamed at once too.
And that brings me full circle to emptiness. I think BOTH matter. Subjectivity matters. Our experiences, ideas, feelings, views, beliefs – all matter. AND don’t. Value them, cherish them, celebrate them – because they are what life is made out of. Art, music, philosophy, science, conversations – all celebrated various perspectives – that are changing and flowing with time. But right now is where it’s at. And it won’t last. So instead of holding on and clinging to life because of over attachment, or letting go completely and drifting off into emptiness and void – it is the middle ground that is the freshest and most alive intersection for me. Counting this moment and cherishing it, but at the same time letting it go and making way for the next.
K. Miguel Hahn 