Notes from an Open Life

Moving into meaninglessness

For several months now, I've had the idea for a book floating around in my head. Working title: "Meaninglessness, and what you can do about it."

Why meaninglessness? Because I think a lot of people - myself included - struggle with making meaning of their lives, or some part of their lives.

I believe that we make meaning by making sense of all of what is in our world - physically, emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. If we can make these realms make sense together, then we have meaning in our lives. If we don't - or can't - make sense of these, then we feel some conflict or dissonance in our relation to ourselves and the world.

Here's the thing - this meaning-making process goes on for us whether we consciously do it or not. I think there is something naturally within us that needs to have the world make sense. And if the the conscious part of us is not working on this process, the unconscious part definitely is.

What can happen is that the unconscious part can make some pretty strange sense of the world - but we don't have the chance, really, to review how the unconscious has made sense of the world before it becomes a part of our way of being. It just happens.

Let me give you an example.

In doing some of my own therapy work a few years ago, I was working with a wonderful therapist who was helping me explore my past. She suggested that something significant had happened to me when I was two or three years old.

Now, I literally remember almost nothing about being two or three years old. But she asked me, "What would you have been doing? What would your life have been like at that time?"

And a vision came to my mind of me standing in the kitchen with my mother. I was waiting for her to get me something. As I talked about this scene with the therapist, and started to piece together what I actually knew about my mother and my family at that time, I realized that the strong FEELING associated with all of that was one of anxiety and worry. Which made sense: circumstances as I know them at that time were VERY anxious and tenuous.

Now, before we go any further - the question in my mind was, "Am I reconstructing a memory that didn't happen?" We've all heard the issues with false memories. I asked myself that, and continue to ask myself that. And what I realize is that the FEELING of that time is really the memory - a memory that has stuck with me. The scene itself doesn't really matter.

The WORDS associated with that feeling run along the lines of: "The world is not a safe place. The world is going to fall apart. And I need to do something about it."

As an adult, I can connect back with that feeling as a kid. And, as an adult, I can PUT WORDS to that feeling. Which helps me understand the message I was getting.

Here's the kicker: The feeling impressed upon me a vision of the world and a vision of myself in that world - without using words at all.

When I was only two or three years old, I was constructing meaning about myself and about the world - and I was still carrying that meaning 35 or 40 years later.

I think I've written about this before, but this concept still floors me - mainly because I was completely unaware that this was a driving factor of my life for years and years. This was an unquestioned belief running in me, without me entirely knowing it.

So this is what I'm talking about - how we make meaning for ourselves in conscious and, more importantly, unconscious ways. When our meaning structures conflict, or conflict with what we see in the world...well, it gets pretty interesting. In some ways, the sheer amount of information that comes at us every day contributes to our struggle with meaning, as we try to integrate it all. These are the topics I would like to explore in this and future posts.

I think the writing of this will be a meaning-making exercise in itself - helping me clarify my approach as I go along.

Interested? Have a similar experience? Well, come along, then, and let's see how we make meaning.

The value of crisis

Occasionally I get together with a colleague and friend of mine, John Creighton, to talk about topics like community, change, schools, libraries and social networking, among other things. I am also fortunate to sit on a Colorado State Library advisory council, discussing the future of libraries, in Colorado and beyond. And, as you likely know, I'm also involved with the Special Libraries Association (SLA).

In my conversations with John and with the council, the topic of crisis continues to come up, in one way or another. In some ways, the conversation around the future of libraries is spurred by crisis. SLA, like many associations, is dealing with crises of revenue, membership and sustainability. The budget discussions for Colorado schools is framed by crisis. The economy in general is in a state of ongoing crisis, it seems.

I think that as a society, we'd rather not have crisis. The passing of regulation and legislation is an attempt to control crisis, and reasonably so. We can't live long in chaos. Prolonged crisis takes its toll on us as individuals and as a society.

But the value of crisis is that it is a catalyst, as reflected in SLA CEO Janice's speech at SLA. Despite the harsh nature of crisis - and our prolonged struggles to avoid it - it is through crisis that we become our most flexible and our most creative. Only in crisis are we able to let go of the old things that we need to let go of, and embrace the new things that we need to pursue in order to move forward. 

You can see this in many contexts: in the economy, in our myriad budget struggles, in the reduction of resources, in natural disasters: fire, flood, earthquakes. In our personal lives, we have crises: the loss of loved ones, addiction, sudden changes in our circumstances.

Crisis is, by its nature, devastating. It is shocking. It is difficult to comprehend. We often can't see how we're going to move through it. And when we shake off the initial shock, it refocuses our priorities on what is important now.

Crisis, navigated successfully and as thoughtfully as possible, brings forth our strengths and our resourcefulness. It brings us back to our connections with others - those we know and love, and those we didn't know, but who help us nonetheless. Ultimately, crisis renews us. 

Whatever the context - SLA, libraries, schools, economy, personally - once we've recognized the magnitude of the crisis, let's not get stuck in the crisis itself. Let us recognize the losses, and what we must face, and then look for the opportunities that await us.

Unconditional positive regard

So Carl Rogers introduced an approach to therapy in the 1940s and 50s that, at the time, was a major break from the psychoanalytic viewpoint that Freud and his immediate followers held. Freud's perspective was that the analyst was the expert, telling the "patient" what his or her issues were. The patient has psychoses and neuroses that the expert is treating. The patient comes to the analyst in a broken state. (Nowadays, a psychoanalytic approach is not typically like this, but this is very much how it was in its earlier stages. Heck, you can find several Woody Allen films that depict the psychotherapist in this traditional mode.)

Rogers' approach was radical in a few ways. One example is that it assumes that the person seeking help already has all the tools and resources to solve his or her own issues. One of the things that the analyst or therapist does is to help that person discover and use those tools and resources. This approach is very different than viewing the person as broken, as needing to be "cured".

What I want to address is a piece of this Rogerian approach, commonly referred to as "unconditional positive regard". Basically, this is a basis of the therapist/client relationship. The therapist has unconditional positive regard for the client. In other words, the therapist goes into the relationship (and maintains the relationship) assuming the client has worth and value, no matter what the circumstances. The client may have no self-esteem, but the therapist believes in the value of the client. The client may have done terrible things; the therapist still focuses on the strengths and positive qualities of the client. The therapist still sees positive value in the client, no matter what.

(A quick delineation here: having this approach does not mean that the therapist condones the "bad behavior". It means that the therapist believes, again, that the client can move towards improvement and healing with the strengths and resources that he or she already has.)

First, imagine the power of this approach for a client who has never felt like he or she has been listened to - for someone who has never felt he or she has been seen or valued.

People get hurt and angry because they don't feel they're being valued. We've all felt like this. Some people go through their entire lives never feeling heard or valued.

The power of this simple valuing of another person can be huge.

But what I really want to write about is taking this approach outside of a therapeutic setting, and applying it to people in general, and to the world.

Let me say the phrase again, to kind of separate it out:

Unconditional positive regard.

What a great phrase.

What if you practiced taking this approach - an approach of assuming some kind of value, an approach of positivity no matter what the conditions - to everyone you see and meet? To everything there is in the world? 

To put it another way - what if, rather than approaching people (or certain people) with suspicion or fear or hatred, what if you approached them assuming only positive things? What if you approached them with love and care, with enthusiasm?

As Mary Ellen Bates sometimes says, I know this is a bit "woo woo", but I invite you to try this for even part of a day.

What I find, when I consciously try this approach, is that two things happen. One, the quality of my interactions with people shifts dramatically. Not only am I able to be more open, but I listen more carefully. I am more able to actually be with the person, and I walk away with a greater appreciation of who that person is.

This works amazingly well especially with "difficult" people, people I would typically shy away from, or would rather not talk to for whatever reason. It allows me to step outside of the barriers that I'm putting in the way of the interaction. I have had the most surprising and beneficial conversations with people I'm dreading talking to by using this approach.

The second thing that happens is my whole perspective on the world and attitude changes. Often times I can shift my feeling of the world from one of apprehension to one of appreciation and warmth.

This approach can help shift how I am in the world. A variety of factors from my childhood left me with an underlying and unspoken view of the world as an unpredictable, unstable place, where the world could fall apart at any second. Practice approaching the world from one of unconditional positive regard is the opposite of this, and it allows me to relate to and see the world differently from the view I've carried unconsciously.

This kind of thing takes practice - a LOT of practice. A lifetime of practice. It's not easy to do, because I think many of us (and I'm placing myself squarely in this category) are used to approaching the world with fear, worry, doubt and suspicion. We grow up with this approach. We're often pretty well steeped in it.

In rereading this, I feel like I'm using a lot of words (and lots of "high concept") to try to illustrate a relatively simple point that I've made more eloquently before - maybe with The Santa view. But I just love the concept.

Unconditional: No matter what.

Positive: There is a positive outcome or aspect to everything.

Regard: An approach, a perspective. 

Unconditional positive regard.Try it out.

Fear, worry, hope and faith, part 2: Practical spirituality

So let's talk about religion first before we move into hope and faith.

I sometimes refer to myself as a "recovering Catholic" - I think to the offense of some of the people I interact with - because that's exactly what it feels like. My understanding of my family history is that my parents actually converted to Catholicism before they got married. My siblings and I are still puzzling over that decision, and unfortunately, my parents are not here any longer to help us out on that.

My own experience with Catholicism was not necessarily unpleasant, just illogical. James W. Fowler developed a model of stages of spiritual development, which essentially says that kids don't really understand spiritual experiences as adults do - they understand stories, they understand rules, they understand a clear-cut sense of justice. It's all about conformity - storytelling, almost. But the stories I heard in Catechism didn't make any sense. I remember a Catechism teacher telling me once that the Devil was uglier than all the movie monsters put together. Even at that age, my reaction was, "Whaaaaat?"

I'm sure there are Catechism teachers out there that do a better job of this, but this is what I got. And, unfortunately, this started a run of cynicism about religion in general for me. In retrospect, I was looking for something intellectually satisfying, and that also provided a sense of spirituality.

Part of the problem was, I didn't have any distinction between religion and spirituality, and I don't think I really had a clear sense of what I was seeking from "a sense of spirituality" anyway. I got stuck in Fowler's stages of spiritual development.

I really feel like I'm still in a very adolescent stage of spiritual development. What does faith mean to me? I'm not entirely sure. I do have some kind of logical appreciation that there's no reason to expect that the universe will not take care of me. As I've heard it stated in 12-Step programs, "God didn't bring me this far to drop me on my ass." I really appreciate the realism in that (and the coarse humor). It's very no-nonsense and practical.

Another practical thing I've taken away from 12-Step programs is the concept of religion vs. spirituality. (Again, religious folks, please bear with me here.) There is a saying I heard early on that went along the lines of: "Religion is for people who are afraid of hell; spirituality is for people who have been to hell and know there's something better."

I get that.

So let me share my introduction into spirituality through my 12-Step program.

(Sidebar: It really is not my intention to promote 12-Step programs, though they've done well by me. I understand lots of folks have skepticism around them, and I also understand lots of folks don't think they're effective. They worked for me. Maybe I was just fortunate to have some awesome sponsors.)

Coming in with this baggage around Catholicism and religion in general, it was going to take a lot to convince me of a "higher power", even of some kind of "energy" or universal principle. But here's where the magic of some of this work took place.

My introduction to spirituality was really an exercise in gathering evidence again (as discussed in False beliefs) and putting that evidence to work going forward.

First: Could I look back into my past and see places where, possibly, something OUTSIDE myself was acting in my best interests? 

I won't go into much detail, but, sure enough, as I looked back, some events seemed to be likely candidates. Instances where I most surely could have died, but didn't. Instances where I somehow - not sure how, but certainly not due to my own intentions - managed to come out OK. As I looked back, I actually saw several instances where I couldn't fully, logically explain why things worked out as they did - even in situations where my own will and intention was driving toward a much bleaker outcome.

Yes, I suppose you could call this luck, or probability. In my earlier, more logical youth, I would have said that's what it was.

Which brought me to the second part of this exercise: Was I willing to try this going forward?

In other words, if situations came up where I had an opportunity to impose my will - or perhaps better, where my will wasn't going to have any effect at all - would I be willing to let go of my will and let something outside of myself take care of things? 

Well, sure, OK.

It's easy enough to let go of the little things. "You can decide where we go to dinner, hon." Look at that, a Higher Power brought us to a sushi restaurant.

But that's not where the true test came in. It was when I was in a situation where I truly didn't know what to do. What I decided to do, in the spirit of this exercise, was to ask two people that I knew and trusted for their advice, and to follow it, no matter how it felt to me. 

They both told me the same thing - and their suggested course of action felt wrong to me. But I stuck to my decision, and I gave up my will and I did what they said. And you know what?

It was the right thing.The outcome completely took me by surprise.

And that was my first powerful experience of:

Whoa. There's something more going on here that's way beyond me. That I don't know about at all.

I finally started to understand the limits of my own self, my own awareness - the limits of what I truly had control of. And, I began to grasp some kind of vastness out there beyond my own little world.

I started to realize how self-centered I had been for years. I also realized how consistently I had approached the world feeling as if I had to do everything myself.

As I've continued to practice this release of self-will and placing trust outside of myself, my life has truly transformed. Much of it has been a series of tiny steps, little everyday things. 

In some ways, it really is simply being willing to be open to the unexpected - being open to those things I can't imagine. I've come to truly adopt the following, mainly by proving it through my own experience:

No matter how much I've envisioned what will happen, good or bad, what will actually happen will be something I haven't thought of.

Which is wonderful and surprising and eye-opening. So now I have this visceral, experiential component that accompanies the logical component. I have this almost bodily faith that what will actually result will - on the whole - be better than what I can envision. 

That's powerful. And that is the essence of hope. It's experience, plus this reaching out to some unknown better state. Hope and faith. Very powerful components, and for me, rooted in actual experience.

And last, but not least, I experienced the relief of realizing that I didn't have to take care of everything myself. I could break out of the "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" mentality. I realized that I didn't have to carry the weight of the world or my life on my shoulders. I could actually leave some of that (and ideally most of that) up to the universe, or God, or energy, or whatever, to take care of.

Because, in retrospect, I really had no control over it anyway. And, the outcome will be better than what I can imagine.

It's a truly liberating experience.

Fear, worry, hope and faith, part 1: The fear and worry part

I've been thinking about these four things a lot recently, because they have been in my face a lot. I'm almost hesitant to write the word "faith" until I talk about it more, but that's to come.

I'm choosing to address fear first because this is what seems to spring up at me and, indeed, seems to be a national and perhaps global climate right now. Lawrence Summers, Obama's economic advisor, spoke in the last month or so of an "excess of fear" - which really struck home with me, because I do believe "fear begets fear", as he stated, especially right now. Add the whole swine flu thing into it, and, well, you've probably got people thinking it's the end of the world.

I have to agree with Summers that there is an excess of fear - this is what I've partially addressed in previous posts. But I want to talk more personally about fear here.

I don't think it's very socially acceptable to talk openly about fear, at least to talk about one's own personal fear. It's OK to share with others about things that we can all be scared of - swine flu, right, and terrorism, and the economy, for example. But personal fears - not OK. Makes people feel uncomfortable and move away from you at the bar.

I get upset with my fear and my worries because they can sometimes feel overwhelming, but they don't really reflect who I am. They don't reflect the complete me. And, even more frustrating, many times, I find that they have nothing to do with reality.

At the same time, they are real for me and for many people, and fears present themselves as reality. This is the subtle work of fear.

My goal is not to become confessional here but, in the interest of being open with you, to share a bit about my recent fears and worries. The goal is not to air them, but to illustrate a process.

Some of the things that go through my consciousness as I'm about to share my fears include: I don't want to appear weak. I don't want to "burden" others with my problems (oh boy, is that family history talking).Why would you care?

But this is really another mechanism of fear. Fear grows in isolation. If I share with you, for example, my fears of terrorism, you likely can also relate to this, and that can help alleviate my fear. But, if I'm too scared to even share my fears, well, the cycle of my worries and fears goes on. (By the way, I'm not really afraid of terrorism.)

Some of the irrational fears that have been coming up for me recently include some pretty old "tapes", which include things like:

This isn't working. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm delusional. What makes me think I can make it on my own? Why don't I just go settle down in a nice job somewhere and be secure? What the hell ever made me think I could be a therapist? And again: I don't know what I'm doing.

And here is where I want to stop and take a stand. Because the act of simply writing out the fear, as I did in the previous paragraph, is powerful in itself. It brings it out of my head and puts it on paper and I can see how truly irrational it is.

A few weeks ago I had a few days of really living in fear because of these and other little gems running through my consciousness. One morning in particular, in the car, I was really struggling with fear, really feeling it. And then I broke through it and came to the reality - the true reality - that my connection with people was actually stronger and more core to who I am. That I was stronger than the fear. And this was a crucially important discovery to make yet again.

What I discovered is that I am greater than the fear. That even the most looming fears can actually be overcome, not by myself, but by being human and sharing those fears.  By relying on and trusting my connections right here in front of me.

As I kept diving into those fears and worries, those old tapes, what I saw - or more accurately, felt - was that beneath and behind and larger than that fear was a fabric of connection with some kind of underlying life force. I don't even know what it was, but I know what connection feels like, and that's what it was. Connection and support.

For me, this is a definition of strength: being stronger than fear. I did it, and you can do it too. And each time I do it, each time I come through that fear, I feel stronger, and I realize that fear actually isn't what life is all about. I cry when I come through it and I feel like I'm washed up on the beach again - out of the ocean and saved once again.

My public persona doesn't want to admit the fear and worry, but there it is. And part of this amazing journey is that I get to go through that fear and I get to come out the other side. I get to experience it and to relate it back to you - how it felt, what I discovered. And I hope that my discoveries are somehow helpful to you.

In just a day or two I'll share some discoveries around hope and faith.