Lose Your Illusion

(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.

 

 

Pardon Me, Ego. I Need to Get Through.

The Thinking Man sculpture at Musée Rodin in Paris

Ego:

the “I” or self of any person; a person as thinking, feeling, and willing, and distinguishing itself from the selves of others and from objects of its thought. (from dictionary.com)
Ever since we first begin to see ourselves as separate, sentient beings in childhood, our egos define how we interpret the world around us.  That sense of self may actually be holding you back from healing from your divorce.  Do you see yourself in any of the following patterns?
It’s All About Me
When I first realized the extent of my husband’s betrayals, I kept asking, “How could he do this to me? To the one he was supposed to love?”  I saw his actions directed towards me as an arrow towards a target.  I assumed he was thinking about me as he made these decisions.  He lied to me.  He cheated on me.  He stole from me. That pattern kept me fully anchored in a victim state, the recipient of all the pain and deceptions.
Slowly, I realized that it wasn’t all about me.  He lied and cheated and stole, yes.  But he did those things because of whatever demons had him in their grasp.  He didn’t do those things because of me.  He most likely wasn’t even thinking of me while they occurred.  He did them and I was in the way.
I shifted my thinking. When he hurt me, he was acting to protect his own sense of self rather than trying to wound mine.  I began to let the anger go.
It is not easy to remove the ego from interpreting the actions of one so intimate to you. Try looking at the situation with an open mind, letting go of your own ego, and see how your perspective shifts.
The Reflective Ego Shield
Our egos are vulnerable beings; they often cover themselves in highly reflective shields, deflecting any criticism and shining it back at its source.  I used to get very defensive when anyone suggested that I had a hand in my husband’s actions.  I would retaliate, lashing out at them as I tightened the stays on the armor protecting my ego.  It was a very scary proposition to let some of that armor go and to examine what was shielded underneath.  I learned the role that my own insecurities and anxieties played in the end of my marriage.  Instead of reflecting all of the responsibility on him, I took my share.
There is a difference between taking responsibility for your own actions and taking the blame for another’s actions.  If you are carrying your own reflective shield, try lowering it and examining what lies beneath.
The Hidden Wounds
The ego doesn’t like to show its vulnerabilities.  When asked, “How are you doing?,” the ego always answers, “Fine.”
I remember how many times I falsely spoke that word in those early months.  Much of that time, I wasn’t “fine,” I was angry, sad, bitter, anxious, sick, and disconnected.  But I also didn’t want to reveal those wounds.  To let the world see the depth of my pain. I kept it covered with a band-aid of “fine.”
Your wounds cannot heal unless they are exposed to the air.  The bandage can remain on to protect your injuries from the world at large, but you remove them when are in a safe place to let the healing begin.
Ego as Strongman
Our egos are a bit like young meatheads in a gym.  Flexing in the mirror, wanting to appear strong and capable amongst the others.  This means that sometimes we will try to lift more than we can without asking for assistance.  And, just like in the weight room, this can only lead to disaster.
Prior to my husband’s David Copperfield act, I was horrible at asking for and receiving assistance.  In fact, that was actually one of the points of contentions in my marriage; I always made it clear that I could do it alone.  I guess he wanted to prove me right.  Regardless, I made things so much more difficult than they ever needed to be by denying offered help and refusing to ask for help when it was needed.
Are you acting like the young man in the gym?  Ask for a spotter and you’ll not only gain the respect of those around you, but you will also be able to lift more than you ever thought possible.
Our egos tend to operate below our conscious thought.  After all, they are us.  And they are often the biggest barriers in our way.
Pardon me, ego.  I need to get through.

Vanilla, Please

“Vanilla, please.”

That was all I had to say, accompanied with a dollar bill in an outstretched hand. Two words. A simple exchange. Yet I could not do it.

I wasn’t always shy. I remember riding on my dad’s shoulders as a toddler, waving and saying, “Hi” to everyone I passed. I remember visiting the cockpit in the airplane and flirting with the pilot in that way that little kids have. I was three.

But soon after, shyness washed over me and cloaked me in fear. I would hide behind my mom’s leg even while in the company of known people. I would protest about talking to my grandparents on the phone as though I was delivering some great speech to thousands of followers. Instead of making conversation, I would simply recite the alphabet since it calmed my nerves.

The shyness slowly grew until it reached an apex in my eighth year. It was bad. One afternoon, I asked my mom to call my best friend to see if she could spend the night.

Lisa and Friend

She said no. Not my friend, but my mom. It was the best thing she could have done. She knew that if she enabled the behavior, I would be paralyzed through life; hamstringed by my fears. It was a tough lesson for me to learn. That afternoon, my eight-year-old body was on the floor, crying and screaming in protest. I was way too old for a temper tantrum, but that didn’t halt my attempts at creating a record-breaking fit.

The fears were imagined. All I had to do was pick up the phone, dial a number I had memorized, and say to my friend’s parents or brother, “Hi. this is Lisa. May I speak to  – .” So simple. I knew the family. It was only a few words. It was such an easy request and one that could only receive a positive response. It was so simple, yet I made it into something insurmountable.

I don’t remember if I ever summoned the courage to call that day. But I eventually did. I learned how to work through that irrational shyness and speak up for myself. I realized that I could choose to let the fear overwhelm me or I could turn the tables and overwhelm the fear instead.

As adults, we don’t have mom following behind us, forcing us to face those difficult lessons. We have to be our own parent, holding ourselves accountable and refraining from enabling dysfunctional thoughts and behaviors. Your issue may not be shyness. Perhaps you allow yourself to be lazy or engage in excessive procrastination. Maybe you make excuses that prevent you from growing. Or, possibly you permit anger to drive you. Regardless of your personal struggle, think of how you would respond if you were your own parent. Would you allow the behavior to continue? Or, would you stop enabling the actions, thus encouraging a new way of being?

As for the vanilla exchange? It had a happy ending. I decided I wanted some ice cream from a booth at the Kerrville Folk Festival where I had my choice of two flavors pre-served in plastic cups: vanilla or chocolate. When I asked my mom to buy me the ice cream, she responded by giving me the money but she required that I complete the transaction alone. After an entire day sweltering in the intense Texas sun, I finally approached the booth, quietly uttered my two words, held out my sweaty dollar bill and walked away with a cup of creamy and delicious ice cream.

The booths at Kerrville. Scary, aren't they? :)
The booths at Kerrville. Scary, aren’t they? 🙂

I gained more than just a cold treat that day. I learned that I couldn’t expect others to come to my rescue. I learned that I needed to practice being assertive in order to have my needs (okay, wants in this case) met. I realized that my shyness was irrational and that others were not even aware of it. I gained confidence in my ability to face my fears. I am thankful for those lessons every time I face a classroom full of kids, speak in front of adults, engage in conversations with strangers and make media appearances. If it wasn’t for a mom who refused to buy the vanilla ice cream, I might still be hiding behind her leg.

Life’s Waves

Life's Waves

I’ve Fallen – But I Can Get Up!

The latest in designer ski ware. Or not:)
The latest in designer ski wear. Or not:)

I’ve just returned from my first ever – Gulp! – ski trip.

Experienced skiers – prepare to chuckle.

I was nervous yet excited for the trip. I was looking forward to time in the mountains (always a favorite of mine) and some quality time with my man. The nerves? Those were because I knew that I would have to face my nemesis – downhills.

Sugar Mountain on a clear day.
Sugar Mountain on a clear day.

As we drove the last few miles to Sugar Mountain in Banner Elk, North Carolina, winter suddenly appeared. The temperature plummeted as our elevation climbed and clear skies were replaced by a steady snowfall. The slopes were obscured by the snow and haze. This was probably a good thing since I was unable to see the full extent of the hills!

View from the top. Brock took this one!
View from the top. Brock took this one!

Loaded down with gear, I made my way over to the ski school while my fiance went off on his own to tackle the blue slopes. There were 15 of us in the lesson, lined up like dominoes along the gentle slopes of the school area. After learning the basics of the equipment, we were instructed to slide down the hill, one at a time, to practice the “pizza” pose (they’re used to teaching kids!) used to slow down your descent. I was the fifth one in line. Each time the instructor skied back up to the top of the line, I clarified a piece of his directions. I wanted to make sure that I understood what to do. Of course, knowledge is only the beginning – I then had to apply it. When it was my turn, I scooted out of the line and pointed my skis down the hill. With a slight push of the poles, I was off and moving. I was so focused on the placement of my feet, I neglected to be aware of my center of gravity. I overcompensated and started to fall backwards as my feet kept moving forwards. The instructor grabbed my hands and I slid between his legs. If this was a swing dancing lesson, I would have earned a gold star!

It was comforting to be in the presence of other beginners. We were all (way) out of our comfort zones. We were all scared of the skis on the slick snow. We all tried to control our speed and trajectory, some with more success than others. Some gave up. Others were cautious yet continued. And some threw themselves down the hill with reckless abandon. As for me? I’ll let you guess:)

A nervous smile:)
A nervous smile and a comforting hand:)

I only had three opportunities to slide down the hill under the watchful eye of the instructor. Each time, I required his help. At the conclusion of the one hour lesson, I was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. I kept my fears in check and relaxed into the experience but this took more out of me than I could have imagined. After a brief reunion with Brock, I elected to rest for awhile and then return to the school area to practice some by myself. I was very cautious while I was practicing. There were new skiers and young children everywhere. I didn’t trust my ability to avoid them, so I spent much of my time patiently waiting for a clear path. I did discover a strength of mine during that session – I may stink at going down the hills, but I was the best in the bunch at walking uphill in skis:) New sport, maybe?

At our next meeting, Brock encouraged me to tackle the green slope with him. Now, at this point, I had done maybe ten “runs” down very mild hills that were each about ten yards long. Not exactly a lot of practice! I was hesitant. I am way more cautious than he is and I was concerned that he was trying to push me further than I was ready to go. But I trusted him and it turned out he was right.

Now, this green slope in question is a real run. It takes several minutes on a lift to get the top. Surprisingly, I was okay on that first trip to the top. I was slightly nervous, but okay. Brock was coaching me on the way, telling me what to expect and giving me encouragement. Even with the coaching, I still slid into a crumbled mess as I left the lift.

A newborn giraffe struggling to take its first steps? Nope - me on my first real slope!
A newborn giraffe struggling to take its first steps? Nope – me on my first real slope!

That was my first real fall with no swing dancing moves to keep me off the snow. Much to my surprise, I was overtaken with laughter. It turns out that falling is fun. It’s just the getting up that sucks!

After much shifting and pushing and pulling, I managed to stand upright on the level surface at the top of the slope. I took a deep breath, pointed my skis down the hill, and took off. I made it about twenty feet before I fell again, a pile of Lisa shaking with laughter. That first trip down took forever. Sometimes I fell and sometimes I panicked due to speed or the proximity of others and I bailed by sitting down. But I made it and I never panicked. And, I had LOTS of practice in learning how to stand up again!

"My" slope.
“My” slope.

As I sat in the snow at the base of the run, I realized that I had carried expectations into this trip. I thought I would be in the “classroom” the entire time. I didn’t think I would be able to complete a “real” run. I thought I would freeze in fear. It felt so good to prove myself wrong.

The next day, I tackled that same run three more times. The first one of the day held a surprise. We were on the lift, about halfway to the top, when I started to violently shake, panic moving through my body. Why was this happening? I knew the course now and I knew I could make it. I guess I had enough experience to be scared but not enough to be comfortable yet. Brock helped me refocus and breathe and the moment my skis (okay, butt – I fell immediately again!) hit the snow, I was fine.

The view from "my" slope.
Can’t beat those views!

Each run was better than the last. By the end, I didn’t fall at all and I only bailed twice – once soon after the lift and again midway down the steepest slope. Brock followed behind me shouting, “My baby’s a skier!”

And, I guess I am.

I love those experiences that cause me to revise my view of myself. I always said that I could not go down hills, run a race, cook a meal or write a book. I used to say I could not live without my husband. I like proving myself wrong.

It felt so amazing fully submitting to the experience, letting go and leaning forward into the ride. I found freedom in the downhills which once only held fear. Brock’s support and encouragement added to my trust fund for him. But even more importantly, I learned how to to trust in myself and in my abilities. And, I learned that I when I fall, I can get up again.

A skier!
A skier!

Thanks to my new friend, Paulette, author of The Persecution of Mildred Dunlap, I am up and running (okay, maybe walking:) ) on Goodreads. I’m doing a giveaway to celebrate. If you’re interested in winning a free copy of Lessons From the End of a Marriage, visit my book page!