When Was the Last Time You Did Something That Scares You?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

“Try it, maybe you’ll like it,” a parental figure probably pronounced to you at the dinner table some time during your youth.

Your young brain, fueled by the anticipation of disgust, immediately kicked up reasons to avoid the offending food.

Maybe you claimed to have tried it and disliked it. Perhaps you asserted that it is similar to something else you dislike and so, by extension, you obviously wouldn’t have liked that either. Regardless, the internal narrative is woven around the idea that you do not like that food.

Some parents refuse to back down and a battle of wills ensues, a parent’s conviction butting up against a child’s expectations. The longer the battle continues, the firmer the conviction becomes. And even if the parent wins at the dinner table, the expectations of disgust usually make the assumed aversion a reality (at least as far as the child is willing to admit!).

And the chosen narrative is reinforced.

Other caregivers step back, refraining from pushing their child. The more timid children are content to stay within their comfort zones. To stay safely tucked within their beliefs. They enter adulthood having never truly tried that particular food, yet firm in their conviction that it is not for them.

The chosen narrative is reinforced.

Other youngsters are more adventurous and eventually volunteer to try the previously offered food at some point. Perhaps, upon the sampling, they decide that they don’t like the selection. But this time, it’s based on experience rather than expectations. And strangely, even though they don’t prefer the item, it has lost it’s power. It no longer requires so much energy to avoid.

The narrative has been adjusted.

And sometimes, the tentative taste results in a surprise appreciation and what was once avoided now becomes sought after or at least tolerated. The once-enemy has been reduced to simply another item on the menu.

And the narrative has been adjusted.

_____

As adults, we rarely react so strongly to strongly to offered foods and hopefully we avoid power struggles about what we choose to eat. But we still react in this same childish way when it comes to those things that we fear.

Think of the amount of emotional and physical energy you have expended over your lifetime simply to avoid what scares you. Consider the excuses your brain kicks up about why that is something that you “can’t” do. Reflect on how your fear has become woven into the tapestry of your being, becoming part of how you see yourself.

The only way to change the narrative surrounding your fears is to face them. Perhaps you find that it really is something that continues to cause you undo distress or maybe, just maybe, you discover that it really isn’t that big of a deal after all. But regardless, once it is faced, it loses the power that avoidance gives it because our imaginations almost always make the anticipation worse that the actuality.

 

So, when was the last time you did something that scares you?

When was the last time you refused to expend your energy on avoidance and instead decided to invest it in achievement?

When was the last time you challenged your assumptions about yourself and allowed for an opportunity to refine your internal narrative?

Just try it. Maybe you’ll like it.

 

Your Story Matters

Posted on by stilllearning2b

We make sense of the world through stories.

I grew up in a church with a very talented pastor. Although I hated sitting through most of the Sunday morning service with its words that were meaningless to me at the time and the repetition that dulled my senses, I always looked forward to the fifteen minutes that held the sermon.

Because it wasn’t a lecture. It wasn’t a speech.

It was a story.

Sometimes the story came straight from the scripture, the language massaged into a more modern vernacular and the characters brought to life.

But more often, it was a story straight from the pastor’s life. And as his words flowed, rising and falling as they filled the sanctuary, my mind would begin to process and anticipate and question. Although he was the only one speaking, the story created a dialog. We were not merely listeners; we were participants.

Every Sunday, I would travel with the pastor’s words. I would straddle the place between his story and my own. Pulling pieces from my own experience to make sense of the one he was relating. It always felt as though he was speaking just to me because every narrative spoke directly to something I could understand.

Because that’s what stories do.

life's waves

One of the greatest gifts of stories is that they are inclusive. By their very nature, they invite everyone in by weaving a narrative that everyone can follow. A good storyteller can make you feel like a first-time father even when you’re a little girl or put you in the shoes of a desert nomad when you’ve never left your hometown.

Because even though the details of the stories differ, gifted storytellers understand that the threads creating the stories all come from the same cloth. All stories – from Dr. Suess to Dr. Martin Luther King – speak of struggle and triumph, love and loss, growth and stagnation, adventure and return, creation and destruction, hope and despair. And above all, the triumph of the human spirit and the importance of building relationships with ourselves, others and the world as a whole.

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I heard a wonderful interview on NPR the other day with the noted storyteller Mama Koku. The show’s host asked her if it was difficult to craft a story for children that touched on difficult topics. “Not at all,” Mama Koku responded. She explained that most stories use allegory to tiptoe up on more challenging topics and that children are experts (even better than adults) at reading the subtext and pulling out the deeper meaning. She discussed the stories of Br’er Rabbit, which are based upon slavery and used to pass along the message that even those that appear powerless often have more power than they realize.

And stories often have more power than we realize.

We have evolved to remember through stories. Scientists have found that people can remember many more facts when they are woven into a story than when they are delivered in isolation. The best teachers know this, telling tales about their subject matter. Creating characters, action, crisis and resolution.

But our brains don’t only yearn for stories to help us remember.

Stories also help us understand.

Our brains hate isolated pieces of information as much as someone with OCD despises an unfinished puzzle. Our minds demand that the new information be placed within an existing narrative framework. We want to understand.

air traffic thoughts

And the narrative we choose changes our understanding.

You can see this play out every day if you’re observant. Listen to a segment on MSNBC about some recent event. And then watch the complimentary segment on Fox News. The event is the same, but the narratives create very different meanings as causes are assigned, language is chosen and the story is fleshed out. You can see it in your friends and acquaintances and how they view similar life events through very different lenses. Maybe you can see it in yourself and your siblings, the narratives you crafted above yourselves as children following you into adulthood.

Stories provide clarity.

It’s difficult (if not impossible) to see ourselves or a situation we are involved in with complete clarity. We are simply too close to gain perspective. Sometimes it’s easier to see yourself in a reflection.

Much like Mama Koku uses her voice to tell children how powerful they are, use your story to tell yourself how powerful you are.

Your story matters.

First and foremost, it matters for you. Do you continue to weave tales from the threads of past traumas? It’s easy to do. Whenever I sense a distance in my husband, the first yarn my brain spins is one of abandonment. It fits the current information into an old template. An incorrect template. And simply by choosing a different narrative, I can change my entire viewpoint and settle my panicking brain.

Do your narratives place you in a victim role? Do they speak of bad events pummeling your helpless body like meteors falling to earth? Or, do the stories you build around life events view struggles as obstacles that build strength even as they build tension?

obstacles

Your story matters.

You cannot choose what happens to you. But you can chose how you view it and, in turn, how you respond. Zoom out from the bad event. How do you want that to fit into the bigger picture? What purpose will it serve? What lessons will it impart? If it was a children’s tale being delivered by Mama Koku, what core truth would it reveal?

Your brain will choose a narrative regardless of what you do. But don’t you want to have influence over the choice? After all, it’s your life you’re talking about.

Your story matters.

Perhaps more than you even realize. Because even without intending to, we pass down our stories to our friends, our families. Our children.

And much like the small version of myself learning about the nature of the world and my place (and power) in it from the hard pew of my childhood church, your story is teaching those around you.

Yes, your story matters.

Make it a good one.

Happily Ever After

Edit Your Personal Narrative

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Did you ever have one of your English papers passed back filled with red marks; edits and deletions shaping your original script into something more cohesive and descriptive? If you’re at all like me, you first reacted with a bit of defensiveness tinged with embarrassment – “I thought the paper was good.” But then, upon reading the revised essay, you begrudging admit that the revised version is better. Maybe even much better.

The external hand wielding the marking pen gives you the gift of perspective, allowing you to see the patterns in your writing and the fall-back phrases that are too often used.  The editing process removes what doesn’t better the whole and selects the best choice of similar words to express an idea.

 

Have you ever paid attention to your internal narrative, the story you tell to and about yourself? Have you ever noticed a pattern in the words you select and the phrases you repeat?

Often we unwittingly craft a negative internal narrative, repeating past injuries and berating ourselves. Spinning yarns into straightjackets that keep us bound and gagged, prisoners of ours pasts and our beliefs. We excuse others while we abuse ourselves, framing our choices as worse than they are.

 

The words we choose to say to others have influence.

The words we choose to say to ourselves have power.

 

When we repeatedly hear the same words about ourselves, we begin to believe them. Even if they aren’t true.

Pay attention to the words you use to describe yourself. Are you selecting the best term? For example, feel the difference between “depressed” and “sad.” Sure, they are technically synonyms but the connotation is vastly different. Depressed is heavy, permanent. A condition. Whereas sad says, “I feel badly right now.” It’s a mood. Ephemeral. Even if you are depressed, try renaming it as sadness in your script. Keep repeating it and you’ll start to believe it.

 

Look to see what other words or phrases you can replace –

“I shouldn’t feel that way” becomes “I feel this way right now and that’s okay.”

“I’m lonely” turns into “I’m feeling separated from others right now.”

“I’m stupid” is replaced with “I made the best decision I could in the moment and I’m learning.”

“I’m rehashing” is exchanged for “I’m processing.”

“I’m broke” is retired and “That doesn’t fit in to my personal wealth goal” is brought in to fill its place.

“I’ll never find love again” is crossed out and “I am open to receiving love again” is written in above.

“My life sucks” is modified with the phrase “right now.”

 

Edit your personal narrative to create a story of compassion. A script of forgiveness and learning and hope.

The words you choose have power.

Use that power to shape the life you want.

You’re worth it.

 

 

 

 

Lose Your Illusion

Posted on by stilllearning2b

(Any Guns ‘n Roses fans smiling at the title?)

Illusion
Illusion (Photo credit: Nikos D.)

Brock and I caught the second half of a show on Discovery last night about how easy it is to fool the brain. The first segment we saw had volunteers sitting at a table with their right arms hidden from sight behind a screen. A fake arm was then placed on the table in front of them. The researcher went through a few steps (I didn’t see the beginning, so I’m not sure what all this entailed) to make the participants connect with the fake arm. Then, the researcher slammed a hammer down on the plastic arm. Most of the volunteers jumped. Makes sense. Slam a hammer down in front of me and I’ll startle too. The interesting part, however, was that the majority of the participants claimed to feel pain in their fake hand. The brain was relying on the visual clues and was fooled into believing that the plastic substitute was indeed the real thing.

The brain’s fallibility goes well beyond parlor tricks. The brain is an expert at filling in the pieces, at seeing or hearing what it expects to see or hear and at creating a narrative to make sense of any input. We are not normally conscious of this effect; it happens quickly and automatically. In the case of the situations presented by the show, the illusions were inconsequential. It doesn’t really matter if your brain interprets wet rags on plywood as the sound of raining hamburgers in Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs. I don’t think that misconception will impact your life one way or another. (I apologize if having this auditory trick revealed causes you any mental distress.)

That’s not always the case, however. When you take the brain’s innate tendencies to misinterpretation and to complete gaps with its own information and you add in all of the messy emotions of the human experience, you have a situation that can lead to trouble. We all live in a land of illusion to some extent. On a biological level, it is impossible to process every single piece of information that our senses are bombarded with every second. Our brain takes shortcuts. It makes sweeping generalizations. It has to. On an emotional level, we can try to be empathetic but we can never truly understand another’s perspective. We see the world through our own fallible filter.

The trouble comes when the illusions go too far. When we stubbornly act as though our fake-arm belief is the truth even when the screen hiding the reality is removed. It’s easy to believe our own narratives even when they are disproved. Manti Te’o held onto the belief that his girlfriend was real even though she never materialized in real life. Lance Armstrong refused to come clean about doping even when evidence to the contrary was produced. My ex husband failed to see his actions as wrong even when he was sitting in a jail cell.

To those of us on the outside, it seems so clear, so obvious. But that’s because it’s not our illusion. We are the bystanders who can see both the real arm behind the screen and the false one in front. It’s so difficult to see our own illusions. The mind puts up such strong defenses. It hates being wrong. Once it has decided on a narrative, it will work tirelessly to find and filter information that supports its conclusions.

My ex husband’s need to maintain the illusions was so strong that he attempted suicide soon after being released from jail. A couple of days later, he reached out to my mother via text. A brush with death had the effect of removing the screen for a brief period. One response of his really stands out:

I tried to create a world where I convinced myself that everything was somehow fine no matter how bad things looked. As crazy as it sounds I believed my own bullshit and just deluded myself into believing that everything could be ok.

Again, from the outside, it seems so clear. How could he believe that everything could be okay when he spent every penny he could find, lied to everyone around him and committed bigamy? It seems crazy. Yet there I was in my own illusion, believing that my husband was honest and loving. My mind also refused to see the truth behind the screen.

So, what do we do? Are we captive to these minds of ours that seem hell-bent on fabrication? Well, yes and no. It’s impossible not to fall sway to any illusions. Even by the end of show last night, I was still fooled by most of the tricks even though I knew they were there. We cannot stop our minds from filtering information selectively and reaching conclusions based on experience. What we can do is let go of the assumption that we are always correct. We can be open to the thought that maybe what we are experiencing isn’t reality. We can strive to see with our eyes rather than with our presumptions. And, we can summon the courage to remove the screen once we become aware of its existence. Just make sure you watch out for any hammers coming your way.