Pretty Human

If you're like most people -- and I definitely am -- then you probably spend a lot of your day subconciouslly mulling over your deficiencies and desires. You wish you could have a car as nice as your neighbor. You feel a bit jealous when a friend describes her latest vacation. You resent your coworker for having more success than you on the job. The thoughts are so automatic, ingrained, and routine that you probably don't even notice them most of the time.

You're interested in having all of those things because they make you happy -- for a little while, anyway. But they are not happiness themselves, and so going after them directly is merely treating symptoms, not the underlying cause. Most self-help, "obtain your dreams" type of books, though, go after exactly that -- finding a way to fix the symptoms. I think this is particularly dangerous, because if you try whatever system the book is pushing, and you don't reach your dreams (or if you backslide), you essentially reinforce your desire for those things and your belief that you cannot attain them. In short, you increase your mental and emotional baggage.

I'm not at all suggesting that working towards your goals is a bad thing -- indeed, doing so is a very good thing. I'm merely suggesting that we should take a closer look at the way we approach the problem.

A while back someone suggested to me the goal-setting self-help book "Your Best Year Yet! " by Jinny Ditzler. It's a good goal setting book; far better than many, since it recommends building your goals out from your underlying values.

The real gem of the book lies in the chaper on discovering your values. There Ditzler talks about life pursuits, and how they're generally characterized either the the question "How do I prove myself?" or the question "What can I do with the gifts I have?" Lives characterized by the latter questions are much more full and fulfilling.

That second question really resonated with me, perhaps because I don't take that approach very often. So, I started a new habit: for the past couple of weeks, while I shower in the morning, I ask myself "What can I do today with the gifts and talents I have?" I can tell you that from the very first day I started asking this question, it's had a profoundly good effect on my day. I start from a position of strength. Instead of starting with my usual uninspiring morning thoughts (like "What chores do I have to do today?"), I'm almost instantly in a good mood.

This goodness may be in part due to the phrasing of the question -- by asking what you can do with the gifts you have, you feel generous with your life and energy and skills. Generosity is energizing and inspiring. And best of all, your generosity attracts the generosity of others, forming a wonderfully virtuous circle.

Posted by michael at 11:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (2954) | TrackBacks (78)

You've had this experience, haven't you? You wanted to do something -- take dance lessons, let's say -- but you were afraid to for some reason. Perhaps you didn't even consciously admit your were afraid -- you might have just rationalized it away. "I would take dance lessons, but I'm just too busy at work." Adults don't like to apply the word "fear" to themselves.

When you stick with the rationalization and don't take the action you want to, how do you feel? Small, right? But how do you feel when you do manage to overcome that little fear? Not only do you immediately feel good, but taking the action often opens you up to a whole new set of experiences. Your personal world got bigger.

The French author Anais Nin summed this up beautifully when she wrote, "Life expands or contracts in direct proportion to one's courage." That's a nice mantra to repeat to yourself when you're feeling hesitant to take action. It reminds you that, if you don't take action, things aren't going to remain the same -- you're going to become a smaller person. Hesitate enough and you'll eventually wilt.

So, what's one thing you've been putting off out of fear, consciously or not? Armed with Nin's advice, are you willing to take a little risk to become a bigger person?

Posted by michael at 10:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (679) | TrackBacks (58)

Tomorrow is the Superbowl, which is famous as much for its commercials as for the football. Although Superbowl ads are usually a cut above typical advertisements, it's still useful to recognize them for what they are and to think critically about them.

So today's activity comes from Australian author Max Barry, who apporpriately writes:

Here’s something to try: spend the next day actually noticing every ad that features a photo of someone looking at you. Magazine ads, bus station posters, billboards: all these. Now think about what kind of situation you’d have to be in for this person to be looking at you like that in real life.

If where you live is anything like where I live, you’ll find that for a very high number of these, the situation would have to be one of:

1. They want to have sex with you
2. You just told them the funniest joke in the world ever
3. You just told them the funniest joke in the world ever and now they want to have sex with you

This is an entertaining exercise not just because it’s amusing to think about Kate Moss wanting your body, but also because it reminds you how far the arms race between advertising agencies and your brain’s perceptual filters has advanced. The more ads there are, and the more they try to get our attention, the better we get at not noticing them, so marketers have to continually up the ante. Apparently we’re now in a state where most ads are full of people looking at us in a way that would heat us up down to our toes if it happened in real life, and we don’t think anything of it.

So as you watch the multi-million dollar Superbowl ads tomorrow, ask yourself: what did I do to deserve that look?

Posted by michael at 04:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (468) | TrackBacks (46)

Take a listen to Zencast, a weekly meditation podcast. The qualities of the different speakers varies, so listen to a few to find which ones you like.

Discovered from Peter Flaschner's Almost Cool blog. Check out his burgeoning 'living consciously' category -- there's great, honest stuff in there.

Posted by michael at 02:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (1831) | TrackBacks (29)

We live such self-centered lives that it's often easy to forget that there's a huge world, and universe, around us. Sure, we're aware of it at the intellectual level, but we often lose touch with it at the deepest level.

Have you ever seen the 1977 short movie Powers of Ten by Ray and Charles Eames? It's an amazing movie that starts with an image of a man lying in a park. The camera then pulls back to show 10 times more area, then 100 times more area, and so on, until the Milky Way is just a spec of dust. The camera then zooms back in to the open shot, and then begins the opposite journey into the microscopic world in the sleeping man's hand.

Although the movie is wonderful, you can create your own powers of 10, too, and it will likely mean more to you. Here's what I want you to do: tonight, after you get settled in bed, close your eyes and picture yourself from above. Really picture it, in all of the detail you can come up with. This is likely to take several moments as you get past your sketchy "Okay-I-see-myself-now-what" image and really take the time to see yourself in detail. This is your first step on a journey, so put your heart into it.

Next, slow pull back your mind's eye until you see yourself, on your bed, in your room. Again, really see it. Now pull back and see your whole house, and where your room is in your house, and where your bed is in that room. Really feel it. Now pull back and see your whole block, and your house on the block, and your room in the house, and your bed in your room. Imagine all of the things that might be going on on your block. Take a little time to imagine everything. Not just what people are doing, but other things, too. Is the wind blowing telephone wires? Are birds asleep in your neighbor's tree? Is a cat watching the birds? Are ants digging in the dirt in someone's backyard? Spend time appreciating the flavor of the universe that is your very own block.

If you're so inclined, pull back again to see your neighborhood. Have you ever thought about how your neighborhood looks from this high up? Sure, you may have checked it out on google maps, but that's not the same as thinking about it, feeling it. Don't rely on someone else's view of your world. You have your own view, and it's more accurate for you.

You can pull back again to see your town, and where your neighborhood sits. How are they connected? What are some of the things that might be going on in your town right now? Try to spot your friends in this view. How close are they to you? Pull back to see your county. Where are the boundaries? Do you have a sense of it?

Now pull back and see your state. This is really high up (unless you live in Rhode Island). Imagine all of the people, all of the wind on all of the telephone wires, all of the birds in trees being watched by cats, all of the ants moving all of the dirt. But don't lose sight of yourself. Realize that you're right there in the thick of it, just as are all of the other people, and creatures, and things. How close are you to the ocean?

Pull back again and see your country. Then pull back and see the continent. Then the whole world. Can you imagine the whole word, and everything that's going on? Can you see where it's day, and where it's night? Where it's summer and where it's winter? Can you still see yourself? Can you imagine six billion other people spread across this world?

I think you'll find this exercise a bit exhausting mentally, but also very calming. Start small, and work your way up to larger and larger scales over time. Don't rush and try to see it all in one night. The world is meant to be savored, so take your time.

Posted by michael at 10:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (48) | TrackBacks (16)

We lead our lives in a constant swirl of words. They come at us from all directions, from every medium, from the moment we rise until we fall back asleep. Even when we think we're alone, words are with us -- they are how we think.

Due to the sheer volume of words in our lives, and the urgency with which we often communicate, the words around us are often of poor quality. They may get the job of communicating done, but they don't do it gracefully, effortlessly, inspiringly. They're flat and endless.

But to our rescue comes poetry. This remarkable form is all about economy of effort. A poem is exactly as long as it needs to be. No word is without meaning; each one was carefully selected, and no other can substitute. A good poem can be a refuge from the daily fury of words.

One of the best ways to enrich your life is to find a poem that you love and memorize it. It doesn't have to be dramatic, it doesn't have to be deep, and it doesn't have to be from Shakespeare. Just look for one that has meaning for you. For example, here is one of my favorites:

This Is Just to Say
by William Carlos Williams
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

What makes this poetry at all, and not just a note left on a refrigerator? It's the choice of words, the placement of words, and they way they're broken up. There are layers of possibilities. But this is my poem -- get your own!

A great place to start is the Favorite Poem Project, started by former Poet Laureate Robert Pinsky, where Americans from all walks of life talk about the poems in their lives. Poke around, read the poems, and watch some of the video interviews. They'll inspire you to find a favorite poem of your own.

Posted by michael at 09:50 AM | Permalink | Comments (1665) | TrackBacks (8)

Inconvenience, irritation, and frustration seem to rule our daily lives. Someone cuts you off while driving; the person ahead of you in the coffee shop gets the last bagel; your garbage disposal breaks; and so on. Life sometimes seems to be an endless parade of problems. So why wouldn't we be irritated?

I, like many people, wrestle with this regularly. But a while back, I ran across an amazing little essay called "On Running After One's Hat" by G. K. Chesterton, from his collection of essays All Things Considered. The essay's writing is far more beautiful than I can describe, so I'll just reprint it in full below so you can read it yourself. What I got out of it is this: when something happens, you have a moment, just a split second, to decide how you want to emotionally react to the situation. You can see it as amusing, or you can see it as impossibly frustrating. Many people, myself included, have been conditioned to tilt towards "impossibly frustrating", and it's so ingrained that we no longer realize that we have a choice.

But the choice is there, and despite our conditioning, we can choose to see things in an amusing light. The pessimists out there might argue that that approach is not correct, that having a leaking pipe because the plumber installed it improperly does call for irritation. Amusement might not be correct, but it is useful. Irritation will not make you happy. Amusement, "incorrect" though it may be, will. You still take care of the plumber, but you do it in a happier state of mind.

So read this essay and carry it with you into the weekend. The next time a problem comes up, decide to have fun with it. Happiness is yours for the taking. It may take some work, but you'll get the hang of it.

I feel an almost savage envy on hearing that London has been flooded in my absence, while I am in the mere country. My own Battersea has been, I understand, particularly favoured as a meeting of the waters. Battersea was already, as I need hardly say, the most beautiful of human localities. Now that it has the additional splendour of great sheets of water, there must be something quite incomparable in the landscape (or waterscape) of my own romantic town. Battersea must be a vision of Venice. The boat that brought the meat from the butcher's must have shot along those lanes of rippling silver with the strange smoothness of the gondola. The greengrocer who brought cabbages to the corner of the Latchmere Road must have leant upon the oar with the unearthly grace of the gondolier. There is nothing so perfectly poetical as an island; and when a district is flooded it becomes an archipelago.

Some consider such romantic views of flood or fire slightly lacking in reality. But really this romantic view of such inconveniences is quite as practical as the other. The true optimist who sees in such things an opportunity for enjoyment is quite as logical and much more sensible than the ordinary "Indignant Ratepayer" who sees in them an opportunity for grumbling. Real pain, as in the case of being burnt at Smithfield or having a toothache, is a positive thing; it can be supported, but scarcely enjoyed. But, after all, our toothaches are the exception, and as for being burnt at Smithfield, it only happens to us at the very longest intervals. And most of the inconveniences that make men swear or women cry are really sentimental or imaginative inconveniences--things altogether of the mind. For instance, we often hear grown-up people complaining of having to hang about a railway station and wait for a train. Did you ever hear a small boy complain of having to hang about a railway station and wait for a train? No; for to him to be inside a railway station is to be inside a cavern of wonder and a palace of poetical pleasures. Because to him the red light and the green light on the signal are like a new sun and a new moon. Because to him when the wooden arm of the signal falls down suddenly, it is as if a great king had thrown down his staff as a signal and started a shrieking tournament of trains. I myself am of little boys' habit in this matter. They also serve who only stand and wait for the two fifteen. Their meditations may be full of rich and fruitful things. Many of the most purple hours of my life have been passed at Clapham Junction, which is now, I suppose, under water. I have been there in many moods so fixed and mystical that the water might well have come up to my waist before I noticed it particularly. But in the case of all such annoyances, as I have said, everything depends upon the emotional point of view. You can safely apply the test to almost every one of the things that are currently talked of as the typical nuisance of daily life.

For instance, there is a current impression that it is unpleasant to have to run after one's hat. Why should it be unpleasant to the well-ordered and pious mind? Not merely because it is running, and running exhausts one. The same people run much faster in games and sports. The same people run much more eagerly after an uninteresting, little leather ball than they will after a nice silk hat. There is an idea that it is humiliating to run after one's hat; and when people say it is humiliating they mean that it is comic. It certainly is comic; but man is a very comic creature, and most of the things he does are comic--eating, for instance. And the most comic things of all are exactly the things that are most worth doing--such as making love. A man running after a hat is not half so ridiculous as a man running after a wife.

Now a man could, if he felt rightly in the matter, run after his hat with the manliest ardour and the most sacred joy. He might regard himself as a jolly huntsman pursuing a wild animal, for certainly no animal could be wilder. In fact, I am inclined to believe that hat-hunting on windy days will be the sport of the upper classes in the future. There will be a meet of ladies and gentlemen on some high ground on a gusty morning. They will be told that the professional attendants have started a hat in such-and-such a thicket, or whatever be the technical term. Notice that this employment will in the fullest degree combine sport with humanitarianism. The hunters would feel that they were not inflicting pain. Nay, they would feel that they were inflicting pleasure, rich, almost riotous pleasure, upon the people who were looking on. When last I saw an old gentleman running after his hat in Hyde Park, I told him that a heart so benevolent as his ought to be filled with peace and thanks at the thought of how much unaffected pleasure his every gesture and bodily attitude were at that moment giving to the crowd.

The same principle can be applied to every other typical domestic worry. A gentleman trying to get a fly out of the milk or a piece of cork out of his glass of wine often imagines himself to be irritated. Let him think for a moment of the patience of anglers sitting by dark pools, and let his soul be immediately irradiated with gratification and repose. Again, I have known some people of very modern views driven by their distress to the use of theological terms to which they attached no doctrinal significance, merely because a drawer was jammed tight and they could not pull it out. A friend of mine was particularly afflicted in this way. Every day his drawer was jammed, and every day in consequence it was something else that rhymes to it. But I pointed out to him that this sense of wrong was really subjective and relative; it rested entirely upon the assumption that the drawer could, should, and would come out easily. "But if," I said, "you picture to yourself that you are pulling against some powerful and oppressive enemy, the struggle will become merely exciting and not exasperating. Imagine that you are tugging up a lifeboat out of the sea. Imagine that you are roping up a fellow-creature out of an Alpine crevass. Imagine even that you are a boy again and engaged in a tug-of-war between French and English." Shortly after saying this I left him; but I have no doubt at all that my words bore the best possible fruit. I have no doubt that every day of his life he hangs on to the handle of that drawer with a flushed face and eyes bright with battle, uttering encouraging shouts to himself, and seeming to hear all round him the roar of an applauding ring.

So I do not think that it is altogether fanciful or incredible to suppose that even the floods in London may be accepted and enjoyed poetically. Nothing beyond inconvenience seems really to have been caused by them; and inconvenience, as I have said, is only one aspect, and that the most unimaginative and accidental aspect of a really romantic situation. An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is only an adventure wrongly considered. The water that girdled the houses and shops of London must, if anything, have only increased their previous witchery and wonder. For as the Roman Catholic priest in the story said: "Wine is good with everything except water," and on a similar principle, water is good with everything except wine.

Posted by michael at 10:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (26128) | TrackBacks (282)