Tell Another Story

NaBloPoMo 2021:  Do Good, Kid

What emotions and attitudes underlie the chronic and automatic narratives we harbor in our lives and relationships?  It’s a hard question, and well worth asking.  A couple days ago I wondered about stories I tell about someone after recurrent negative experiences with them.  But what about stories I tell about other people based solely on my own issues?  We each carry around a unique knapsack of biases, overt and occult.  They weigh and slow us down; they hinder our ability to connect with one another.  What relationships do we miss, damage, or destroy because of them, without even knowing?

So what about the driver who cuts you off in traffic?  Conventional wisdom tells us to imagine that they are having some kind of emergency; they are not a bad person.  I agree, we should not assume they are ‘bad.’  But let’s imagine there’s no emergency.  They drive without regard to others’ safety or traffic law every day.  So they’re rude, disrespectful, a menace—that’s another plausible, albeit still judgmental, story.  They’re not like us, we’re not like that.  So we are justified in our angry outburst at their insolence…  And now we’ve given away our peace for no benefit, and we have separated ourselves from another person, if only abstractly.

What do we imagine causes a person to behave—to live—without regard to others?  When have we behaved like that ourselves—maybe not behind the wheel, but in other situations?  What was driving us to do that?  Where is that our default pattern?  What self-justifying story do we tell about that?  Some would argue that when we knowingly harm others or put them at risk, it comes from our own places of pain.  We are wired to survive, and striking before being stricken works well for that.  We succumb to innate negativity bias, zeroing in on what could harm us and deflecting or destroying it, before appreciating what helps us, and then attracting and manifesting that.  The rude driver cuts us off, we call them a (jerk).  Everyone for themselves, check.

What if I tell the story that that person deserves more love and appreciation, more opportunity in life, than they are used to getting?  When I behave like that, don’t I have some unmet need that I’m advocating for, however subconsciously and ineptly?  What other, more fundamental question, helps us to ask when engaging with people who put us off at first?  When I tell a more empathetic and compassionate, or at least less judgmental story about others and myself, how does that affect my general outlook, and then my behavior, my relationships, and my overall satisfaction with life?

Envy.  Insecurity.  Hurt.  Disappointment.  Grief.  Disdain.  Pride.  Self-righteousness.  Loneliness.  Stories grounded in these emotions tell us about scarcity and competition, which may be real, and also incomplete plotlines.  If survival is all we can hope for, these stories may suffice.

Generosity.  Kindness.  Curiosity.  Humility.  Fairness.  Honesty.  Connection.  Love.  These themes paint a different story mural, one with more color and light, and much more depth and complexity.  Beyond survival, such stories hold the possibility for abundance, thriving, flourishing, and synergy. 

I’m not saying we should whitewash destructive behavior and waive responsibility for any harm we inflict on each other.  Accountability and compassion are not mutually exclusive.  I do think that we too easily throw each other and our connections away based on behaviors (or opinions, positions, and causes) that do not necessarily represent our whole selves.  We tell harsh, oversimplified stories based on sparse information and copious judgment.

Telling more stories is like choosing the wide angle rather than the zoom or macro lens.  It gives us an opportunity to see a bigger, more coherent, unified picture.  Exploring alternative explanations, beyond our automatic assumptions, enables crucially broader perspective.  Applying this practice regularly can help avert myriad conflicts based on miscommunication and misunderstanding, and clear the brambled paths between us.  It is yet another vital tool for connection and peace.

Spread Love

NaBloPoMo 2021:  Do Good, Kid

It’s not complicated

Just do nice things

Hold a door

Pick up something dropped

Give directions

Make eye contact and smile

Say hello

When someone does something nice

Thank them profusely

Because you feel it sincerely

So feel it sincerely

Please

When you think of your friend

Let them know

How much you care

What you love about them

How they make you feel good

Why the world is better

Because they are in it

When someone sees you

Especially your children

Make sure they see

In your face

Without question

How much you love them

And care for them

And want them to be happy

“If you have the power

“To make someone happy

“Do it

“The world needs more of that”

Calm Down and Connect

NaBloPoMo 2021:  Do Good, Kid

If you’re a child of the ‘80s and you’re looking for 45 minutes at a time to flash back during mindless cardio, I recommend Halt and Catch Fire on Netflix, a historical fiction series about the advent and uprising of personal computing and the internet.  It’s like watching a slow motion, multi-car emotional pile-up on the highway in your home town.  You see the speeding Porsche coming around the bend, just as the drivers of the F150 that rear-ended the Corolla and pushed it into the MAC truck, all friends of yours, start to realize what just happened.  You feel dread rising, your muscles tense, you know what’s coming.  You cringe and mutter (shout), “Nooo, don’t do it, slooow doooowwnnn!!”  And you can’t look away.

Hubris, ego, vision, Machiavelli, **relationship**, complexity, trauma, identity—I tapped these words onto my iPhone notepad during one particularly vexing episode, while bouncing on the elliptical.  I find myself both cringing and knodding at the raw, intense, and artfully, lovingly rendered drama of human foibles on this show.  There is something about every character that I can relate to.  I’ve been there, I think (feel?) so often.  I’m invested in these characters and their relationships; I want them to succeed—to ‘do good’.  Halfway through season 2 now, I notice what makes me squirm the most: Witnessing decisions made in the throes of emotional hijack—hurtful words slung in rage, impossible promises made under threat, carnal impulses followed in limbic heat.  It’s fiction, which gives me safe distance to reflect on how I know better, while recognizing my own absolute vulnerability to these same and other lapses.

It doesn’t take much, when someone treads too close to a strongly held identity, a fiercely held belief, or an otherwise sensitive spot in my psyche, to upend my attitude from calm clinician to defensive tackle.  I may not lash out in words right away, but I wonder how this affects my decision making going forward, especially at work.  When I experience recurrent threat, rejection, disdain, or disrespect, real or perceived, from or toward you, what stories do I start telling about you (us)?  How do these morph into entrenched assumptions that then cloud my judgment and compromise my objectivity?  In short, how does my being a normal, emotional human put my clinical decision making, and thus my patients’ health and outcomes, at risk?  How so at home?  It’s all potentially dangerous.

I can think of a few ways to guard against relational and decisive pitfalls here:

  1. To calm down, I can take a few deep breaths, remind myself that we are all humans.  We have the same fundamental needs to feel seen, heard, understood, accepted and loved.  I can ask questions, like, ‘What part of me or the other person is not having a need met here?’
  2. Practice ODP:  Observe, Describe, Participate.  This is a mindfulness tool from dialectical behavior therapy that I learned of recently.  I can take my subjective reactions and judgments and substitute objective observations and neutral descriptions.  This helps me slow down, get space and clarity.  Then I can refrain from speaking and acting from a place of hijack.
  3. I can also practice RAIN:  Recognize, Allow, Investigate, and then Nurture my experience, to gain both understanding and acceptance of myself and my circumstances.  Radical acceptance and compassion form the foundation of right relationship with self and others.
  4. Consult objective others.  Colleagues, friends, extended family, therapists—people outside of the index relationship and who have no stake in its workings can give valuable perspective and insight.  Even better if they can make honest observations about me and my hijack patterns, so I may learn and adjust, over and over.

Our lives are most meaningful, I agree with my friend, when we find deep connection with others. But too often it is our encounters and the very relationships we have with people that keep us from connecting. How ironic. Wow, these posts (and this blog) really do revolve around only a few central themes…

Self-awareness and -regulation are key to a life well lived—that is, a life at the end of which we are more likely to look back with the fewest regrets. Keeping practices and connections that tether us to our highest and best selves, even as the gales of life threaten to blow us away, is how we exert positive agency. We make the best decisions and tell the best stories about ourselves and other people when we are truly grounded and stable.

What practices keep you steady?