Reading My Journal

Over the past few days, I've read through some of the older entries in my personal journal. It's been interesting for me, because while I certainly have memories from that period of time, my journal entries afford me a clearer peek into the machinations of my inner life. After all, throughout our lives, each of us negotiates external and internal experiences; and the details and nuances of our inner lives, given their rich and mostly private natures, are all too often obscured in our memories by the wheres, whens, and whos.

Some of the things I read were shocking to me, given the developments of my life in the time that's passed since I wrote them. In several instances, for example, I could clearly "see" the origins of certain events and avenues of personal growth which have since manifested. In some cases, it was uncomfortable to revisit old concerns and troubles -- not to merely recall, but to reoccupy them, if only for a moment. And it was truly ponderous, having stepped back into my past, to lift my eyes from the pages and return to the present -- to traverse, in the blink of an eye, personal realities separated by years. 

I found myself wishing I could somehow reach out to my younger self. I wanted to tell him that it's okay to be confused and upset about certain things, and to not have the answers to certain questions. I wanted to tell him that "this, too, shall pass." I wanted to tell him that I know now that every experience in life, painful or sublime, is part of life's Story, and that we can and do integrate every experience into the fabric of that Story -- and that it is beautiful and good and wondrous. 

None of that is to say my life is now perfect, by the way. I still have problems and confusions and frustrations and foibles, and all the rest of the "negative" stuff that comes with the territory of being alive. But what I know now, in a much richer, more integrated way, is that my life has been, and continues to be, a gift. That's the undercurrent now. And what a gift to recognize that, and to have come to a place where I can affirm that. What a gift to be here now, writing these words.

I think we all need to be reminded of these things sometimes. That life unfolds ever onward, with or without our approval. That we will always have problems, perhaps, but that the nature of our problems is temporary. That, despite the fact we don't always perceive it, we can, and do, change (as do the shapes of our lives). That our cynicism, which would have us believe certain things about our nature, and the way life will unfold, is very possibly wrong. That each of our lives is comprised of a series of intertwining stories, which are inextricably linked to other people's stories -- and that none of us knows for certain whether any given event is at the beginning, middle, or end (or all three).

Thank you for reading today.

The Lincoln Tunnel

When I was a kid, my parents would take my sister and I down to Long Island a few times a year to visit relatives and go to the beach. Given that said relatives lived about 45 or 50 miles East of Manhattan, we usually took the George Washington or Tappan Zee Bridges as to avoid an unnecessary slog through Mid or Lower Manhattan traffic. 

On one occasion, though, for some reason I can't remember, we were indeed in Midtown Manhattan, and were taking the Lincoln Tunnel out of the city. (For those of you who aren't familiar with NYC, the Lincoln Tunnel connects Midtown Manhattan with New Jersey.) 

The Lincoln Tunnel is rather narrow, especially to the eyes of a seven-year-old kid who is unaccustomed to such sights and riding in the back seat of his Dad's car. I watched the wall -- so close, it seemed, I could touch it -- in amazement as we sped through the tunnel. My Dad's from Brooklyn, and I knew two relevant facts: 1) he knew exactly what he was doing; and 2) he had driven all over New York City. Still, I wondered, "How are we not crashing into the wall? It's so close!"

(image of Lincoln Tunnel from guestofaguest.com, "Weird New York"

So I asked him. Little did I know his response would become one of the most important working metaphors of my life -- and one that I'd pass along to countless friends, family, and clients. His response went something like this:

"It's easier than you think. When you're driving, you have a tendency to steer the car toward where you're looking. So when you're driving through the tunnel, all you have to do is look ahead at the road -- at where you want to go. Because if I were to look at the wall, I'd drive right into it, or come dangerously close."

It was an "Ah-ha!" moment for me ("Coooool!") -- I'd been given insider information on one of those super awesome grown-up mysteries: I now knew how to drive through the Lincoln Tunnel. And that was satisfaction enough for me.

It's curious, but I whereas I remember that early, simple memory with precision and clarity, I couldn't tell you much about the moment, years later, when I recognized the deeper brilliance of what my Dad told me that day. It boils down to this:

If you focus on what you don't want (to hit the tunnel wall), you're setting yourself up to get what you don't want. But if you focus instead on what you do want (drive safely through the tunnel), you're setting yourself up to get that. 

In other words, our actions, and all their consequences, tend to follow our focus. 

I think it's possible in just about any situation to identify something you don't want; heck, I'll go out on a limb and say that's even what most of us are trained to do automatically. Think of it. How often do we say, "This sucks!" or "I don't want to do that." How often do we focus on our problems? (Hint: very often.)

It is far more useful, productive, and pleasant, frankly, to give your attention to what you want, i.e., your goals, and the outcomes you desire. There will be challenges and obstacles, but if you remain persistent in your focus on what you want, you will seek, and find, solutions. 

I can't stress enough what a powerful life skill this is. And the good news is that this type of perspective reorientation is a very simple matter of choice. All you have to do is be willing to say to yourself, "Okay, I'm very clear on what I don't want. What is it that I do want?" That simple thought will propel you forward; and, as I recently said in another post, your life will open up to you.

Thanks.

Daily Affirmation and Practice

Snapshot: "Leaving Hell" (part 2)

Apocalyptic

I'll throw my hat in the ring of this Mayan Apocalypse business. (Why not?) Many folks were anticipating some version or other of End of Days yesterday, featuring the snuffing-out of life on Earth as we know it, or some other, well, apocalyptic transmogrification, via alpha-meteors, earthquakes, volcanoes, strange and sudden shifts in our magnetic field, mass hysteria, etc. etc. (You know, "cats and dogs living together" kind of stuff. Horrible.) I'll admit that I, too, was curious to see what, if anything, happened -- not because I believed any of the items on that Disaster Laundry List were going to occur, but rather because so much had been made of that day; that is, so many people seemed to believe something was going to happen. That collective belief and anticipation carried a lot of power. And it got me thinking.

Our species, and life on earth as we know it, appear to have survived December 21st without incident. We can now forget about fiery Apocalypses, and luxuriate in the business of living without Imminent Fiery Doom hanging over our heads. But what if we took a second, harder look at ourselves, and decided that an apocalypse of sorts is, in fact, occurring -- if we want it to? What if we decided to undergo an apocalypse of meaning, understanding, and intention?

On one level, surviving an apocalypse should teach those of us who expected something to happen about, well, expectations. It is my belief that we should take note of our expectations, our attachments to them, and their influence on our psychology. Expectations, and the degree to which we put stock in, or ascribe truth to them, profoundly affect us. Furthermore, when our expectations go unfulfilled -- as in the case, perhaps, of a Mayan Apocalypse -- we should take note, and think a little about it.

Many of us expect the worst in a given situation, no? We expect "everything" (whatever that is) to fall apart; we expect the most painful, hideous things. Life involves pain and suffering at times, sure -- but beware of the words "everything" and "always." If you find yourself beholden to that always-everything mindset of negative expectations, I encourage you to start to actively seek and take note of the countless examples to the contrary which Life undoubtedly presents you.

I digress. My hidden point is to suggest that we can always seek to change our perspective. We can always seek to transform the way we look at the world, or the way we filter life's events through our perspectives. We can do this on an individual and collective level. And we can use life's events, even a Mayan Apocalypse, to propel us into our personal transformations.

Nobody says it better than Joseph Campbell:

Apocalypse does not point to a fiery Armageddon but to the fact that our ignorance and our complacency are coming to an end. Our divided, schizophrenic worldview, with no mythology adequate to coordinate our conscious and unconscious -- that is what is coming to an end. The exclusivism of there being only one way in which we can be saved, the idea that there is a single religious group that is in sole possession of the truth -- that is the world as we know it that must pass away. What is the kingdom? It lies in our realization of the ubiquity of the divine presence in our neighbors, in our enemies, in all of us. — Joseph Campbell, Thou Art That, p. 107