Really: Who Are You?
Introduction
I have a new friend who lives far, far away. She is so distant, in fact, that it’s entirely possible we may never meet in person. She knows me through Twitter, this blog, frequent emails, and the occasional IM session. She has a lot of information about me available to her, of course, as I’ve laid out the good, bad, and ugly details of my life on the internet for three and a half years now. Reportedly, she’s read a lot of this material; and I know she reads my long and intimate emails as carefully as I read hers.
I feel as if I’ve recently been significantly challenged by her, though. It’s as if she’s digested everything about me, including the two “This I Believe” essays (“On Being Present” and “Listening and Leadership”) and is saying to me, “yeah, yeah, yeah, Jim ... I know that’s what you believe.” And that she’s read the other stories, rants & raves – ridden the emotional waves – and is still waiting on me for more: “yeah, yeah, yeah, Jim ... I know that’s what’s happened to you.”
And, now, she’s asking me, “tell me more, Jim ... what do you really believe? Who are you, really?”
And, so, this essay is the result of the attempt to organize a few thoughts along those lines. I’m not sure that what you’ll find here are actually answers, though ... you’ll have to decide that for yourself. For even after you read this, in all probability you’ll still be left wondering ...
By providing this analysis of “who I am,” of course, I’m anticipating that the portrait I paint is consistent with the information you’ve already seen ... and, in fact, that an inductive analysis of the mass of qualitative data provided in these pages would lead to the broad themes I outline below. Please! ... do not think, however, that this is a “scientific approach” to talking about my life’s mission; it decidedly is not. In fact, what I’m doing here is reaching down into the bowels of my being and attempting to convey some ideas about what I believe about life, and how I go about living this life.
I’ve had a little bit of practice writing in this area. When I began studies for my counseling master’s degree, one of the essays I was required to produce was entitled “The Nature of People.” This was an assignment that required all of the newbie aspiring counselors to outline, as explicitly as we could, how we believed people “worked” (i.e., if you’re going to help people with their problems, you must have some underlying philosophy about their basic “nature”). I toiled and toiled away on my assignment for a few weeks, then had one of the doctoral students critique my draft.
“Well, Jim, this looks like a good start,” he said. (As, head down, I returned to the typewriter.)
So, perhaps, what I’ve outlined for you here is merely another good start. Let’s see, shall we? Of course, I’m aware of the risks of self-disclosure on this level: you may end up thinking that my entire belief system is wholly superficial, no more profound than “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” (I confess: I offer no new ideas here.) Even more on point, though, might be the observation that everything I have ever needed to know about living, life, and the spiritual path, just might have been gleaned from an old bootlegged Ram Dass audiotape (“The Seasons of Our Lives,” from the late 1970s) – a recording that I’ve listened to over and over again throughout the years. [Much of that material is also to be found in Dass’ book Grist for the Mill (Unity Press, 1977).] Then, you’ll discover below that I’ve pulled some quotes from Angles Arrien’s Four-Fold Way: a worldview that has been influential in my thinking about what a life’s work entails.
Therefore: here I go with some ideas about “who I am” by examining “why am I here?” For the purposes of this essay, I’m going to treat the questions as equivalent; that is, by examining why I am here, I’m suggesting that this is who I am. I’ll let the philosopher in you, the reader, argue (or not) with that premise. It will be obvious that I’m not speaking from any “religious” orientation ... in fact, this a highly eclectic spiritual (and/or philosophical) model I espouse. And, of course, since this is an essay for a blog, the points I outline here are mostly short and to the point. (Who likes book-length blog entries, anyway?!)
Why Am I Here?
I believe that we humans are spiritual beings who take form on this earth for a purpose: that we are incarnated and take on bodies to “do our work.” And that everyone’s work is different. I am certain of my purpose, and simply put:
I am here to learn and grow.
Of course, you may ask, isn’t everyone on earth here to learn and grow? In my opinion, it’s just a matter of where those items fall among life’s priorities from person to person. For me, the emphasis on “learning and growing” should be readily apparent, for if you know anything about me, you realize that I’ve been in school a lot of my life and collected four college degrees along the way. You might say I have an obsession, or lust, for learning, in all its forms: from classrooms, books, life experiences, career changes, relationships, emotional risk-taking, physical pain, and heartbreak & depression (to name a few) ... I take my learning wherever I can find it. My learning is not only for the purpose of intellectual development, but for the other dimensions of my life as well: growth in the domains of the physical, emotional and spiritual.
Now, to be slightly more specific, I briefly outline below some of the areas of learning that I think about all the time, and tend to be near the top of my consciousness-level as I go about my daily routines.
I am here to learn how to be present, open my heart, and offer my love.
I have written here previously about my belief in the importance of “being present.” It is a primary mission for me to live in the present: to be aware of myself and my surroundings, and, at all times, strive to know what I am thinking and feeling. Concurrently, it is my goal to tune in and be there for others on the most basic of levels: one soul to another. I open my heart, accept others as they are, and aim to love them unconditionally.
Ram Dass implores us thusly: “I say to you very simply, and very directly, what happens to another human being in your presence is a function of who you are, not what you know. And who you are is everything that you’ve every done and all the evolution that has occurred thus far. Your being is right on the line every time you meet another human being. And what they get from you through all the words of love or kindness or giving is very simply a function of your own level of evolution ... What we do for each other is we create a space ... that allows each other to do what we need to do ... we each have our own work to do in this incarnation.”
My beliefs and Dass’ words appear to be consistent with Angeles Arrien’s Way of the Warrior or Leader. This is described as “showing up, or choosing to be present. Being present allows ... access to the human resources of power, presence, and communication ... the way of the Leader [is expressed] through appropriate action, good timing, and clear communication.”
I am here to learn to live honestly, openly, authentically, and with integrity. I am here to learn how to lead, and more importantly, to provide a model for moral leadership.
I am not here to keep secrets about who I am. I am here to be open and let the world in: to tell you what’s going on with me, honestly, and in the moment. It is critical for me to live consistently within the framework of my dearly-held and inner-most beliefs and values (which is what I am trying to express here). I do not compromise my principles for the sake of expediency or personal gain. When I’m in a leadership role, which is my typical situation, it’s with a high sense of moral responsibility and obligation: to provide the most evolved model of leadership of which I am capable.
Arrien’s Way of the Visionary or Creative Problem Solver suggests that we aim “to tell the truth without blame or judgment. Truthfulness, authenticity, and integrity are keys to developing ... vision and intuition ... expressing the way of the Visionary through personal creativity, goals, plans, and the ability to bring life dreams and visions into the world.”
I am here to learn how to heal myself and others. I am here to learn how to be the best possible version of myself.
I have lived a huge portion of this lifetime learning and living with an inadequate model for giving and receiving love. And I’ve learned other dysfunctional ways of being that have led to profound experiences of physical and psychic pain. It’s my mission in this lifetime to learn about these unhealthy paths, to overcome them, and learn about living “right” and “healthy.” I believe it to be my obligation to teach others about my struggles and the “solutions” I’ve discovered. I know that when I am living in pain, I am not displaying the best possible version of myself. I am here to learn how to live with a minimum of pain and to share that person, my best possible self, with the universe.
Ram Dass reminds us: “And the injunction given to the physician ‘heal thyself,’ is right at the mark because we are here to talk about our own work on ourselves, because that is our gift to each other and it’s also what we’re doing here on earth in the first place.”
Arrien’s Way of the Healer or Caretaker is to “pay attention to what has heart and meaning. Paying attention opens ... to the human resources of love, gratitude, acknowledgment, and validation ... [and] the way of the Healer is expressed through ... attitudes and actions that maintain personal health and support the welfare of our environment.”
I am here to learn how to let go.
I have had a tendency toward over-control in my life: believing and acting as if I could actually change another person, determine the outcome of a situation, and/or just generally “be in charge.” I am still learning, often painfully, to accept that there is really nothing I am able to control: not another person, not their perception of or feelings about me, not any situation, nor life crisis. Nothing. Learning to invest myself completely in another person or in a situation, and then letting go of outcome, is one of the most significant of my life’s lessons; it’s perhaps the one I’ve struggled with the most. My tendency toward perfectionism, and my desire for “justice” and “rightness,” have led me down a path where it’s been difficult for me to let go of outcome. I am here to learn to be not perfect, and to let go.
Ram Dass advises: “The implication of “perfect,” if you want to deal with the concept of God ... if I say ... ‘God, what are you doing, why are you screwing up?’ ... I, who have this little teeny limited vision, mainly controlled by my rational mind, which is a little subsystem of a little subsystem, it isn’t even a very interesting way of knowing the universe, I sit there like this little ant on an elephant and say to him ‘you really blew it that time.’ I say ‘you really blew it that time’ – you know where I say that from? – I’m saying it from my own fear of death ... If I’m attached to you being other than the way you are now, I’m saying to God, ‘if I had made him, I would have made him different than he is now,’ and I [then I hear] my guru saying ‘don’t you see that it’s all perfect?’”
And Angeles describes that the Way of the Teacher or Counselor is to “be open to outcome, not attached to outcome. Openness and non-attachment help ... recover the human resources of wisdom and objectivity. The way of the Teacher is expressed through ... constructive communication ....”
Summary & Conclusion
So, to summarize, I know that I am here to learn to: be present, open my heart, live authentically, model integrity and moral leadership, heal myself, let go, and to love. It’s my way of approaching the universe, a lifetime’s worth of busy-ness. These are the lessons I have to learn, the tasks I need to perform. It’s the “who I am.”
But is this all that I am? All that I do, all that I have to learn? Well, no, but it’s what comes to mind right now. (And it’s a start.) I’m tempted to add some additional thoughts about how the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism play into my philosophy of life, and their relationship to the learning areas described above ... but this monologue has gone on long enough. And I have touched on the Four Noble Truths in at least one previous discussion (see “Freedom and Release,” for example, from January, 2006).
In conclusion, I am compelled to observe that I feel extremely unfinished as a human. There’s so much to learn, so little time. For, as Jimmy Buffett suggests “... still twenty four hours maybe sixty good years, it’s not that long a stay.”
Soundtrack Suggestion
Well, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
Tell me, who are you? (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
’Cause I really wanna know (Who are you? Who, who, who, who?)
(“Who Are You” – The Who)
On Being Present
Inspired by NPR’s This I Believe series...
I’ve always prided myself on my openness, my honesty, and my emotional availability. Over the course of my lifetime, I’ve frequently received favorable comments regarding these qualities. This despite the fact that I’m a guy and I know lots of men (maybe most) who have absolutely no clue what the term “emotional availability” might mean. Or how to invoke it.
These particular traits are consistent with the guiding philosophy of my life, namely: I believe in being present. In expressing this belief, I’m talking about something a lot deeper than Woody Allen’s quip of “showing up is 80 percent of life.” No: I intend something decidedly more profound — of much greater difficulty level — than simply being physically located in a particular place at a particular time.
In truth, I believe that being present is the secret of life: that without the ability to be present, I’d really be missing out on what the total human experience has to offer. Being present takes energy, though, so it’s likely the reason that most people avoid it, don’t practice it, and just generally find some other way to go about their business.
The way I see it, being present is manifested both in my relationship to self and my relationship to others.
In my relationship to self, being present means that I’m aware in the moment. I’m tuned in to my emotions. I know that I’m breathing in and out. I have a keen sense of my surroundings. I sense all that’s going on around me and what kind of meaning I’m making of these events: realizing that my experience is not necessarily “reality.” Being present means that I’ve left all previous moments behind...and that I’m not wasting energy anticipating future ones. It’s living in the here and now. It’s making the most of the time I have been given. It’s a paradigm that guides me to take advantage of every single instant of this preciousness called life.
I also believe, however, that the highest level of being present takes the form of being available for someone else. Being present for another may take the form of simply silently sitting. It surely involves total focus and really listening when they speak. It means not interrupting. It’s immediacy: it means seeking deep understanding of the other person’s experience in the moment. It’s being curious about them and setting aside all judgments. It’s eye contact and empathy and softness. And maybe the occasional touch. It means being available for another person to share themselves. Totally. With complete safety. In my presence.
Being present is not “the truth,” though I believe it is “the way.” I believe that being present, for yourself or another, is the greatest gift you can give. Or receive.
Soundtrack Suggestion
Mornings in April
Sharing our secrets
We’d walk until the morning was gone.
We were like children
Laughing for hours
The joy you gave me lives on and on.
’Cause I know you by heart.
(“I Know You By Heart” – Eva Cassidy)
The Mystery of Communication
I went in to get my every-four-weeks haircut yesterday. I have a rather-delightful young woman who does a great job for me every time (and for what she charges, it’s only fair). Of course, during the haircut, it’s not really typical to “just sit there.” Talking to each other is normal and expected.
This time, I started out the conversation by asking whether or not she’d watched the vice-presidential debate. And I offered up some of my own strongly-worded observations about the entire Palin debacle. Additionally, I included a description of the interactive manner in which I’d participated in the event (“Hack the Debate”), remarking that one of my comments (“tweets”) had appeared onscreen (on the Current television network).
During our chat, I discovered that she’s one of those rare “undecided” voters we keep hearing about. (Which was amazing news to me. I didn’t even know I knew anyone like that.)
It was only when we were just about finished up with the haircut that she asked me about work…to which, I sighed. And said that things were about the same.
She then made a remark that I found quite curious: namely her observation and question that “work really consumes you, doesn’t it?”
I found that so strange! I had just spent over a half-hour talking about national politics, my health issues and progress, the weather, and so on…never once mentioning work. And she still came up with the opinion that work consumes me.
I have no idea how I had transmitted that message. For over a year now, I have talked with her at length about my relationships, photography, blogging, health ups and downs, chronic pain, travel, cell-phone users, the state of Oregon, my impressions of Marin County and its bicyclists…well, you get the picture. I even remember one appointment when she asked about work and I suggested we talk about something else.
That she would identify me as someone “consumed” with work entirely baffles me. And I told her so. I countered with the belief that my job is one with a high-difficulty level, but that I aimed to have a balanced life – engaging in many interests outside of work. For example, I had just finished describing for her the routines I engage in every day to focus on my physical health.
This has set me to wondering about, again: what I say, how I say it, and how it’s received.
Communication. It’s such a mysterious process. Truly it is.
Update on October 9, 2008:
An anonymous reader, a very close friend, writes in affirmation:
I don't think work consumes you.
I think society consumes you.
And your desire to understand it, cope with your understanding, and help make it right...
The National Discourtesy Epidemic
Within these pages, I continue to visit and revisit the themes of our culture’s relationship to cell phones and the general level of noise pollution we’re all subjected to on a daily basis. There are precious few places to go, it seems, to escape and find some peace and quiet.
I suppose part of my personal issue here is that I am a rather quiet guy myself…a quality that happens to go along with my reputation as a good listener. Everyone says so. For example, when we talk, I look you in the eye. And I pay close attention. I don’t interrupt. I strive to really grasp the meaning of what you’re trying to say to me. I ask questions of you to help deepen my understanding. I try not to insert my opinions where they’re inappropriate or unwanted. I really hope I don’t say anything to discount your ideas and/or feelings. And then: I’m just plain silent and attentive while you’re speaking.
Simply put, I’m a highly-skilled active listener. My training as a counselor, years ago now, has served me well in developing and maintaining a healthy set of communication skills. In fact, I have even been characterized as “scary” in this area. A female friend of mine once told me that I likely frighten other women away…since people are generally not very accustomed to being paid attention to so intensely. “Your ability to be present is very rare and actually a little scary,” she said.
Today, in the Sunday edition of the Marin Independent Journal, I found a reprint of an article from the Vallejo Times-Herald. The headline is “Performers Confront Cell Phone Offenders,” and the piece talks about entertainers’ issues with folks who show up to performances (plays, musical events, stand-up comedians, etc.) without turning off their phones. This is, of course, maddening for all concerned. For example, as an actor, how do you continue in your rhythm if a cell phone rings during a dramatic moment of a live on-stage performance?
My question for the day is: how does this very dynamic play out all the time in our own lives? How are we supposed to keep our personal rhythm when all anyone wants to do is pay attention to those electronic devices hanging from their belt, rattling around in their jacket pocket, or buried in their purse?
If we, as human beings, ever had the ability to really pay attention to each other, it seems to have totally evaporated. The article I read today contains a quote from comic Johnny Steele who characterizes this as a “national discourtesy epidemic.”
I absolutely agree. For all our gadgets that supposedly keep us connected, we are, in reality, totally disconnected. I submit that we just do not know how to be present with others: how to be present with just one other person. I believe we’re always paying attention to something else.
I was having dinner the other night with a long-time friend who I hadn’t seen in a few years. I was trying to explain the stresses related to employment changes, and the physical challenges of my life, in recent times. I was unsuccessful in my communication efforts. During the conversation, I needed to halt at one point as the cell phone on his belt apparently vibrated: he held up his finger and then checked a test message that had just come in. And then, while trying to convey my mood and worries about these challenges, the message I got? My feelings don’t really matter: all I need to do is think of all the poor folks in Bangladesh who have it worse than me…and I should perk right up.
Truly, I believe, we’re a disconnected society, unable to care about or pay attention to each other. And I know it’s probably not the fault of cell phones, or TVs or computers. But regarding keeping us connected? They do just the opposite.
Baby Boomers: Citizens Not Seniors
Turning 60 is not an insignificant milestone. It sure has me thinking a lot lately, given that I’m now about three months into my seventh decade.
And it appears that I’m not the only one with the implications of baby-boomer aging on my mind.
Last month, in an op-ed piece entitled “Second Acts,” Boston Globe columnist Ellen Goodman told a small part of the Al Gore story…in essence arguing that, in the aftermath of his loss to George W. Bush, Gore was able to rediscover his true calling. Goodman believes that he “found himself by losing himself – literally losing – and being liberated from ambition.”
Further, Goodman suggests that Gore is blazing a new trail for the baby-boomer generation. “Consider the new sixtysomethings,” she says…
…Next Friday, Hillary Clinton turns 60 and her second act is running for president. And when the new Harvard president, Drew Gilpin Faust, 60, met with her Bryn Mawr classmates last summer? Many were talking about leaving their “extreme jobs” just as she was installed in hers.
Baby boomers are the first generation that can look forward to such a lengthy and (fingers crossed) healthy stage of later life. They are as likely to be talking about what they want to do next as about where they want to retire. Never mind all those declarations that 60 is the new 40. In fact, 60 is the new 60.
For me, at age 60, it’s certainly not the case that I’m talking about retirement. As always, in my life, it’s about what to do next.
