Tuesday, July 17, 2007 at 1:01am
How to avoid a big stink
Column: Life at First Sight
"The art of wisdom is the art of knowing what to overlook."
When I turned over this quote of William James' on my calendar recently, it struck a chord that reverberated long afterward.
I've made several trips out of the United States in recent months, and each time I return, I bring with me two kinds of longing. One is a desire to see my home country again, as I genuinely love it, and the other is a yearning to subtract at least some degree of the there's-never-enough-time mania from my life, the one that seems so much a part of this culture I live in. It is the driven, fill-time-up, fill-up-your-list nature of such a pace that particularly confounds me. When I'm away from it, in surroundings that don't seem to culturally reinforce a message that I'm not quite worthy if I'm not in some sort of perpetual motion, I can see it clearly for what it is. I can even begin to make plans for how I might change this tone my life takes on.
But when I'm immersed in and surrounded by it, I'm truly like one of those frogs in water that's gradually coming to a boil. I can't perceive its grip or effect on me, nor understand how I get caught up in it despite my earnest efforts.
As this pace only increases, the imperative for consciously slowing down and choosing how to respond (rather than increasing the rate at which we react) seems obvious. James' words appeared like a touchstone for me, a reminder that conscious living doesn't usually fall victim to either time or circumstance, but masters them by allowing neither to control it. However, it takes a very deliberate kind of living to move beyond the fight-or-flight reacting that's so often stimulated by the ever-increasing "urgent" messages coming our way, whether from "official information" sources or our overfull email inboxes.
A few hours in the company of 3-year-olds each month also has reinforced for me the validity of James' observation. There simply couldn't be adequate space or time to react to every new, emotionally charged development that comes along in a 3-year-old's day. Responsible, life-experienced adults have to be selective in deciding what truly requires meaningful response, and what it is wiser, nay, perhaps even safer to simply overlook while refocusing on something positive or more important (which, mercifully, can be fairly easy to do with 3-year-olds).
As one friend put it, in order to achieve real quality of life, we sometimes have to follow James' wisdom about NOT reacting, about letting something go by — even essentially doing nothing. This may require riding out a considerable storm of panicked energy inside us that insists that some sort of action is required. But like anything else, not reacting becomes easier with conscious practice.
As if on cue, someone shared a story that was about as good a concrete example of this as I could ever imagine. She'd been wrestling with her cat's schedule, which involved a lot of nocturnal going in and out that was upsetting the cat-owner's sleep considerably. Finally, she decided to resolve the issue by opening the screen of her bedroom window (whose sill is quite close to the ground) to facilitate the cat's nighttime travels.
A few days later, this woman awoke one night to the sound of scratching in her bedroom; a sound that she knew right away was NOT being produced by her cat. It didn't take long to recognize the source, something in some ways similar to a cat, but which can also leave an awfully big stink in its wake.
Now, if this isn't a cause for inner alarm and subsequent reacting, I can't imagine what is. There you are in the quiet vulnerability of your own bedroom when you wake to find that you've got a skunk for company. Every terror-driven reflex I've got would be screaming for me to run for my life at that moment, which, of course, would be exactly the wrong thing to do. This woman had the admirable presence of mind to recognize that right away.
HER survival instincts took a page from animal wisdom and decided that playing possum was definitely the best available option. She steadied herself to lie quietly, and began thinking things through and conceptualizing how they would likely go if she didn't overreact or, in this case, react at all.
A skunk that had found its way in was highly likely to find its way out again, she reminded herself, and she was at least in a prime location to know when that had finally transpired. The challenge was just how much exploring it would do in the interim, whether it might fall asleep under a couch somewhere, perhaps, although the laws of basic instinct probably ensured that it would be drawn irresistibly back outside before the light of the new day.
So, this wise woman lay very quietly (although very wakefully, of course) and listened, and waited. At some point, she heard the sound of the cat's dish on the kitchen floor and eventually, thankfully, the scuffling sounds of the critter returning to her bedroom and then, the sounds of it finding its way back outside again. Phew!
This was where she was especially wise and let some more time elapse, quite a bit more time, before she got up carefully and closed that screen (which you can bet she will never leave open again).
That's the point in the story where I'd have definitely blown it, if I could even have found the will to simply lie still and let things run their course. It took wisdom and faith to recognize that there was essentially just one course that could be taken and, if it were taken, the situation wouldn't get any worse, and would even eventually get better. Reacting, however, could have easily created a really big stink to deal with later.
My guess is that she'd already had some practice with knowing what to overlook, or what to let run its course, or how to respond with that Zen-like deliberate choice to do nothing. On top of James' words, she left me with a fine inner metaphor to reference the next time life offers me an invitation to avoid what could potentially become a big stink, too.
— — —
Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring.
When I turned over this quote of William James' on my calendar recently, it struck a chord that reverberated long afterward.
I've made several trips out of the United States in recent months, and each time I return, I bring with me two kinds of longing. One is a desire to see my home country again, as I genuinely love it, and the other is a yearning to subtract at least some degree of the there's-never-enough-time mania from my life, the one that seems so much a part of this culture I live in. It is the driven, fill-time-up, fill-up-your-list nature of such a pace that particularly confounds me. When I'm away from it, in surroundings that don't seem to culturally reinforce a message that I'm not quite worthy if I'm not in some sort of perpetual motion, I can see it clearly for what it is. I can even begin to make plans for how I might change this tone my life takes on.
But when I'm immersed in and surrounded by it, I'm truly like one of those frogs in water that's gradually coming to a boil. I can't perceive its grip or effect on me, nor understand how I get caught up in it despite my earnest efforts.
As this pace only increases, the imperative for consciously slowing down and choosing how to respond (rather than increasing the rate at which we react) seems obvious. James' words appeared like a touchstone for me, a reminder that conscious living doesn't usually fall victim to either time or circumstance, but masters them by allowing neither to control it. However, it takes a very deliberate kind of living to move beyond the fight-or-flight reacting that's so often stimulated by the ever-increasing "urgent" messages coming our way, whether from "official information" sources or our overfull email inboxes.
A few hours in the company of 3-year-olds each month also has reinforced for me the validity of James' observation. There simply couldn't be adequate space or time to react to every new, emotionally charged development that comes along in a 3-year-old's day. Responsible, life-experienced adults have to be selective in deciding what truly requires meaningful response, and what it is wiser, nay, perhaps even safer to simply overlook while refocusing on something positive or more important (which, mercifully, can be fairly easy to do with 3-year-olds).
As one friend put it, in order to achieve real quality of life, we sometimes have to follow James' wisdom about NOT reacting, about letting something go by — even essentially doing nothing. This may require riding out a considerable storm of panicked energy inside us that insists that some sort of action is required. But like anything else, not reacting becomes easier with conscious practice.
As if on cue, someone shared a story that was about as good a concrete example of this as I could ever imagine. She'd been wrestling with her cat's schedule, which involved a lot of nocturnal going in and out that was upsetting the cat-owner's sleep considerably. Finally, she decided to resolve the issue by opening the screen of her bedroom window (whose sill is quite close to the ground) to facilitate the cat's nighttime travels.
A few days later, this woman awoke one night to the sound of scratching in her bedroom; a sound that she knew right away was NOT being produced by her cat. It didn't take long to recognize the source, something in some ways similar to a cat, but which can also leave an awfully big stink in its wake.
Now, if this isn't a cause for inner alarm and subsequent reacting, I can't imagine what is. There you are in the quiet vulnerability of your own bedroom when you wake to find that you've got a skunk for company. Every terror-driven reflex I've got would be screaming for me to run for my life at that moment, which, of course, would be exactly the wrong thing to do. This woman had the admirable presence of mind to recognize that right away.
HER survival instincts took a page from animal wisdom and decided that playing possum was definitely the best available option. She steadied herself to lie quietly, and began thinking things through and conceptualizing how they would likely go if she didn't overreact or, in this case, react at all.
A skunk that had found its way in was highly likely to find its way out again, she reminded herself, and she was at least in a prime location to know when that had finally transpired. The challenge was just how much exploring it would do in the interim, whether it might fall asleep under a couch somewhere, perhaps, although the laws of basic instinct probably ensured that it would be drawn irresistibly back outside before the light of the new day.
So, this wise woman lay very quietly (although very wakefully, of course) and listened, and waited. At some point, she heard the sound of the cat's dish on the kitchen floor and eventually, thankfully, the scuffling sounds of the critter returning to her bedroom and then, the sounds of it finding its way back outside again. Phew!
This was where she was especially wise and let some more time elapse, quite a bit more time, before she got up carefully and closed that screen (which you can bet she will never leave open again).
That's the point in the story where I'd have definitely blown it, if I could even have found the will to simply lie still and let things run their course. It took wisdom and faith to recognize that there was essentially just one course that could be taken and, if it were taken, the situation wouldn't get any worse, and would even eventually get better. Reacting, however, could have easily created a really big stink to deal with later.
My guess is that she'd already had some practice with knowing what to overlook, or what to let run its course, or how to respond with that Zen-like deliberate choice to do nothing. On top of James' words, she left me with a fine inner metaphor to reference the next time life offers me an invitation to avoid what could potentially become a big stink, too.
— — —
Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring.