The Switch

Choosing where we want our attention to be

Our lost being

Three women are sitting side-by-side on a coral stone step; one is making chapati on a portable stove, whilst the other two keep her company with light chatter. A group of young men are taking shelter under a tree as they break from soccer; the only thing in their hands is a water bottle that is passed around between them. Four children are kicking a disposable water bottle through imaginary goals; they are still doing this two hours later.

The refreshing slowness and simplicity of local life in Zanzibar stood out to me as soon as we had arrived on the island. However, it took a little while longer before I noticed one of the most striking differences from home - most people’s heads are looking up. Not down. That is, there are very few people sitting around staring down at their phones.

When this realisation hit me, I felt stunned. Not at what I was seeing, but by comparing these behaviours to the more familiar habits we have in other parts of the world. Images from home bounced through my mind – people on public transport, in waiting rooms, walking down the street, waiting in queues, sitting at cafes - the rare exception for us to be still (particularly when on our own) without picking up our phone.

I thought about my own behaviour around devices, including what had caught me by surprise when we first moved to Zanzibar. The first few weeks were full of travel and transition, and adjusting to a new abode that was very different to our home in Melbourne. Before I knew it, our kids were using our iPad a lot more than usual. It was as though we had accidentally left our standard screen-time boundaries on a lonesome seat in the departure lounge of Tullamarine airport. And I noticed how easily I had justified this behaviour - Well, we live in a small space here, and the kids have very few of their toys, no outdoor area, no TV and we are all jetlagged (and I need sleep!) so they can have more screen time.

I was applying less limits in Zanzibar – a community where there is less ‘screening’ and more ‘being’. We had come here to experience a different way of life, and I had been justifying our children using the device more? Thank goodness I finally caught myself – What am I doing?! They have pencils, paper and paint. They have the board games we brought over. They have a soccer ball and so many locals in the street are eager to kick with them. We can all jolly well find something else to do! After this stern lecture I gave to myself, I stashed my iPad back in my suitcase, zipped it up tightly and tucked it under the bed. And it was as though as soon as I had turned the iPad off, the lights to the issue came on.

Thoughts about modern society’s escalating addiction to devices have subsequently taken an uncomfortable seat in the front row of my mind.

Our addiction to devices

I wanted to explore this more. I picked up Johann Hari’s latest book called ‘Stolen Focus’ - an examination of the attention crisis that is worryingly creeping across the globe. Among other causes, Hari explores how current technology is designed to be addictive - manipulating us to keep scrolling and clicking – by playing on the reward system in our brain. Whether it’s a text message, a ‘like’ on Instagram, or a Facebook alert, each notification satisfies our evolutionary need to feel acknowledged and needed, and generates a pleasurable feeling. This typically releases dopamine – the feel-good chemical - which then motivates the behaviour, perpetuating the habit. The dopamine reward pathway is the very same one that is activated by addictive substances.

We now have access to endless information -  news updates, social media feeds, the weather forecast, the live football ladder - at our fingertips. At all times. The more information we consume, the more we want it. We are generally uncomfortable with boredom and regularly experience a huge difficulty with being alone with ourself and our mind. It appears that the more options we have for ‘connecting’ within our device, the more disconnected we become with the world outside of our device.

Many of the moments that we spend on our devices may seem inconsequential in that very moment. I have often heard the voice in my head say, I will just quickly check this notification first or this text message will only take a few moments. And a few moments are all it may take. But similarly, a few moments are all it takes for my child to look up to see if I saw his basketball go through the hoop. A few moments is all it takes for my partner to see that I am too distracted and therefore stop himself from sharing an exciting achievement in his day. A few moments are all it takes to miss eye contact with a stranger who offered a morning smile on my sunset walk. A few moments are all it takes for a striking cloud formation to change in the sky. A few moments are all it takes for these important moments to be come and go whilst our attention is glued to a screen.

One of my biggest concerns is how my screen use may be impacting my children. This issue is being referred to as ‘second-hand screen time’ - by us adults not being flexible with our own phone use, we are unknowingly setting kids up to be addicted to screens. My kids are yet to have their own devices, but I know I am running out of time to become more conscious of my own phone behaviour, if I want to have greater creditability and success in helping them to become more aware of their own usage, when the time comes.

What can we do?

The problem is huge. We can feel overwhelmed, and even hopeless, by the enormity of the issue. Particularly given the powerful forces that are continuing to create the addictive content, gradually grooming us to be a species that experiences so much of the world through a screen. As Johann Hari emphasises, systemic changes are required to address systemic issues.

However, when it comes to making individual changes, I believe that there is one roadblock that can be resolved. I realised that when I started trying to be on my phone less, the problem was that I was trying to be on it less. Simply trying to use it less, was not working.

And this is because one of biggest barriers to behaviour change occurs we focus too much on what we want to remove from of our lives. Rather than focusing on what we want to add in. This focus on ‘less’ or ‘stopping’ something in our lives, can potentially disempower us. If instead, we reframe this to I want to be more…. the experience can transform to one that is empowering.

Therefore, to make a change we need to become aware of our values - our personal WHY. 

Some examples of our personal WHY may include the following:

• I want to be more present / engaged in the physical & natural world around me.

• I want to be more present and engaged when I’m with my family / kids / partner / friends.

• I want to have more focus and be more productive.

• I want to be more active and do more of the other things I enjoy in my life.

• I want to experience more in-person interactions (spontaneous and planned).

• I want to have more control around social media, with particular apps, or with my device as a whole.

• I want to be the change that I want to see in the world.

• I want to be a good role model for my kids.

• I want to take care of my mental health.

• I want to take care of my sleep.

Once we have clarified our WHY, we then need to identify HOW. And I decided to create a practice that brings together both.

The practice is called The Switch[1] It is a process that allows us to ‘switch on’ the lights of our awareness, to give us back our capacity to choose where we want our attention to be.

In addition to behavioural boundaries (which are very important for allocating time to be physically separate from our devices), The Switch is a practice for the very moment.

The Switch

The Switch involves asking ourselves three questions:

1.     Is it helpful, right now?

2.     Is it urgent, right now?

3.     Is it allowing me to be the person I want to be, right now?

Question 1: Is it helpful, right now?

How is being on my device (and its content) making me feel right now? Is it making me feel better or worse about myself?

Is it serving me (and others) or is it depleting me?

 Question 2: Is it urgent, right now?

Our minds do a very good job at telling us that we have to attend to that notification, immediately! But how often is that really true? Can it wait 5 seconds, 5 minutes or even 5 hours, if it means that my attention can be somewhere more important in this moment?

Which takes us to Q3…

Question 3: Is it allowing me to be the person I want to be, right now?

What is my device taking me away from in this moment?

It is allowing me to be the person / friend / parent / professional / partner, I want to be in this moment?

With this third question, we tap into our values - our personal WHY. It is the foundation question that underpins the first two. It allows us to choose the most important place for our attention to be, in that very moment.

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When asking ourselves these three questions, we may choose to switch our attention back to what is happening in front of us in the physical world. Or we may switch to being in our thoughts. Or we may even choose to be on our device. The difference here though is that by using this process, we are choosing to be on our device, rather than the device choosing us.

Think of this difference as a bit like walking a dog. When we are walking an untrained new puppy, it is often pulling on the lead; the puppy is largely controlling the pace and direction it takes us in. We feel out of control and our attention is very distracted by it. However, when the dog is matured and trained, the walk is instead guided by us. We choose the direction to move in and our attention opens up to what else is happening around us in the moment.

When we consciously choose the device, based on our WHY, we are able to be flexible with our behaviour and hold the device more ‘lightly’ (both literally and figuratively). We become less likely to be so absorbed and to go down the rabbit warren of never-ending content. We are also more likely to put the device down and look back up to the physical world, when our values are calling us to.

Reminding & Reflecting

Two add-ons to practice around these three questions are Reminding and Reflecting

Reminding: When we have become unintentionally switched off and distracted, it is very important to not judge ourselves for this. We cannot expect ourselves to stay switched on; it’s impossible to stay aware when our humanness (e.g., thinking) and the world around us (e.g., the addictive content in our phone) will take our attention away. Instead, it’s about ‘noticing’ when we have become switched off. I like to see noticing this as a wonderful reminder of what matters to us. Simply observe it that way, and then see the moment in front of you as a fresh new moment to switch your attention back to where you want it to be.

Reflecting: After we make a switch, we need to reflect. It is very important to acknowledge that we have switched ourselves back to being the person we want to be and living the moments we want to live. This reflection empowers us. It motivates us and reinforces the practice – making us more likely to hold our WHY in our minds as much as we can, to make the switch again.

Familiarise yourself with the process - read it out aloud a few times and perhaps even write it down. The Switch then becomes accessible in the moment. All I need to do is picture the three questions as soon as one of my son’s calls my name, and I emphatically toss that phone aside and bring my gaze up to this curious little person that forms my WHY. To show him my WHY.

These small moments count. All together, they make up our life. Each moment of switching our attention, when our values are calling us to, therefore matters.

[1] The Switch’ practice is based on Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) principles, including various metaphors that have been developed by ACT practitioners (e.g., Harris, 2007; Bailey, Ciarrochi, Harris 2013)

Pole Pole: Living life more gently.

“Pole Pole!” exclaimed the local gentleman as we cycled past. He was sitting peacefully, in a band of companions, on a long stone bench at the edge of what is known as Jaws Corner – a space where local Zanzibaris gather to drink black coffee, socialise and talk politics, whilst watching passers-by. Including, evidently, watching out for the safety of ourselves! There were five of us on bicycles that were trying to, somewhat unsuccessfully, navigate one of the many narrow alleyways that are characteristic to historical Stone Town.

‘Pole Pole’ is a popular Swahilli saying. It means to go slowly, and gently. It didn’t take us long to notice that the phrase is often voiced from locals to foreigners, with what appears to be a concerned and protective tone. And I wonder whether this is because they are startled by the fast, often frazzled, tempo that we foreigners - from Western society – move in.

This different pace of life shaped a conversation I had with a local man in a queue at the ATM a few weeks ago. The queue was only four people deep. But it was incredibly slow moving. Or rather, it was not moving for quite some time. When the person who was occupying the ATM finally exited the tiny booth that housed it, her walking tour guide joked about how many millions she must have withdrawn to have taken so long! 

The local man, who was queuing directly in front of me, then commented “Well this is Africa. Everything is slow in Africa!” He turned to me and proceeded to compare it to other parts of the world, with a hint of deprecation in his voice. He explained that although he was a local Zanzibari himself, he had recently spent time studying in Kuala Lumpa, and therefore had become accustomed to a life of advanced systems and technology. And generally, a much speedier pace of living. He further proposed, “we have a lot to learn here to catch up to the rest of the world.” 

He was referring to what is commonly described as ‘Africa Time’ - the perceived cultural tendency toward a more relaxed attitude to time. There is much discussion and debate around the side effects of this tendency. The term can be used in a pejorative sense – ascribing the nonchalant attitude towards time and punctuality as a major barrier to efficiency and progress. Or it can be used with admiration - to illustrate the more relaxed, and less rigorously scheduled, lifestyle found in African countries. There are two very obvious sides to this Africa Time ‘coin’.

I think about the beating heart of Stone Town – Zanzibaris spending the day sitting out the front of their home and shops, companionly beside their fellow villagers, with a deep presence and patience filling their state of being. Most will turn their heads and eyes towards you as you walk by. Most will offer a friendly ‘Jambo’, which seems to be a stark contrast to the increasing avoidant behaviour in Western culture of averting our gazes when passing strangers; we’re too busy, too awkward, and too in our heads. 

In a culture where actions speak louder than words, the qualities of presence and patience - two very close cousins of slowness - appear to be an integral part of the African way of being. These alluring qualities are nicely described by Blanc (2013) in his essay - ‘Keeping Time in Africa- the Concept of Time’:

“Walk, drive around Africa and you will see people sitting, chatting, waiting. You come by a few hours later and they have not moved. Are they not bored? No, the African enjoys and savors the time before them. There is not the anxiousness to do this or that, to meet this deadline or that one. It is not the clock that rules the day... but the relationship.”

For many of us in Western society, this state of presence is experienced via a yoga mat, with eyes closed, at time that is booked in our calendar. We may ‘carve-out’ time for presence. Yet we typically find it much harder to embody it throughout our day. 

This was highlighted in the observation I made only days after arriving on the island. I noticed the curious, and slightly puzzled, looks I was getting from locals when I started carrying my keep cup (filled with the delicious instant ‘Africafe’ coffee I make at home) scurrying through the Stone Town laneways on my way to work. It did not take long to realise that there are no other keep cups in sight. But most notably, there aren’t any disposable coffee cups either. Because there is no take-away coffee. People drink their coffee at home, at the coffee shop or whilst gathering in the streets. Either way, they are stationary. They will move on only after they have patiently enjoyed their hot beverage - completely doable given the lack of sense of the time pressure that is so familiar to Western culture.

This time pressure is one of the main features of the unfavourable side of the Western culture ‘coin’ – the downside to technological progression. The more we invent our life to move fast, the faster we demand it to be. We are glued to our screens, rather than connected to the happenings in our streets. The idea of having slowness and stillness in our our day can seem more uncomfortable than the exhaustion we feel from running through it. And not only are we running towards, and consumed by, what’s ahead, but we are soaring away from the presence and patience that captures the essence of the ‘being’ in human.

There is no question that we, developed nations, need more ‘pole pole’ sprinkled into our day. But perhaps the most pertinent part of this phrase is the second part – to ‘go gently’. To go gently, is to go with care. To care, we need to pay attention. To pay attention, with purpose, is… mindfulness. In this way, to go gently is to be mindful.

Consistently with the essence of mindfulness, perhaps our need for more ‘pole pole’ is not so much about changing what is, but bringing awareness to what already is. Including to that which we cannot change. And given the speed of technological progression is something that we can’t change, it’s not necessarily about slowing this down, but perhaps bringing more awareness to HOW we are living this faster pace of life. To pay attention to when we are ‘running’ by noticing our expectations, our reactions, and the general energy and attitude we bring to our way of moving through this technologically dependent modern-day world.

This appeared to ring true at the closing of my interaction with the local man at the ATM. When it was finally his turn to use the teller, he turned around and invited me to go before him. I hesitated. And when I began to resist his unnecessarily kind gesture, feeling uncomfortable about making him wait even longer, he stopped me. In contrast to his initial reaction to the long wait, he now seemed relaxed. He had softened. He smiled and said, “That is the African way”.

And so, I have still been pouring my Africafe coffee in my keep cup ‘to go’. And I am still, quite often, walking with some haste in order to make my 8am client. But I don’t drink the coffee whilst I walk. And, even in my quickened step, I simultaneously lift my gaze to the myriad of window shutters being pushed open, like arms stretching wide to wake up to the day. And I remind myself to soak up the wonderfully predictable chorus of ‘Jambos’ from the early rises who have already found their ‘spot on the mat’ for another day of being. And it is only once I arrive at my desk, that I then take my first sip. And I sip gently.  

The beauty in the grey

The flight had departed on time. The mid-air voyage had been turbulent free. And the plane hit the ground 15 minutes ahead of schedule. The whole journey had been calm, straightforward and appealingly uneventful. And yet as soon as the flight attendant announced the recent change in protocol - we would need to catch a bus to take us from the tarmac to the terminal (typically unusual at a Melbourne airport) – the atmosphere in the aircraft shifted.

We all disembarked the plane and boarded the crowded bus. At this stage, there was still relative calm. The bus crawled along the quiet tarmac – a concrete desert occupied by lonely planes who were kept idle by border closures. And then our bus suddenly stopped – at least 50m away from the terminal door. The bus driver hurried out of the bus, leaving us alone without a spoken word. He stopped in the middle of the tarmac to talk on his phone. And it was the look of uncertainty splashed across his face that gave life to an impatient energy; steadily infusing the air inside the bus.

“Awesome” shouted one of the passengers – a tall middle-aged man standing towards the front of the bus – his sarcasm as clear as daylight. A few people snickered in response. Seconds turned into minutes, and the driver was still outside the bus. Frustration began to build. “This is a bloody joke”, the same passenger remarked. “If they are going to change things, at least get it bloody right.” Some fellow passengers nodded in agreement. Others kept their eyes awkwardly fixed to the floor.

Minutes passed by and irritation amongst the passengers escalated. The aforementioned man’s daughter then publicly announced that that she needed to go the toilet. It seemed that this disclosure was music to her father’s ears – as though it was the motive he needed to launch an attack. He managed to push open the double-sided doors at the front of the bus whilst righteously announcing to the driver that his daughter needed to be let out… immediately. I was towards the back of the bus, so I could not hear the bus driver’s response. Instead, I heard the more dominant reply; “That’s it. Once I get inside this terminal, they would want to have ten police to hold me back!”

Less than a minute later the man and his daughter were let out. And possibly another minute or so after that, the doors were open to the whole busload. “It makes you proud to be Australian, doesn’t it?” muttered the man standing next to me, his sarcasm also as clear as daylight. We filed into the terminal – eerily empty aside from the COVID-19 border staff who were all ready to check our permits that were required to enter the state of Victoria. The situation was over. The man and his teenage daughter were now nowhere to be seen. I kept walking towards the baggage claim area and walked past a couple of fellow passengers, in tense conversation. ”You think I’m intolerant”, the man sneered at the woman, “Well I’m clearly not the only one who feels this way. And I don’t tolerate stupidity.” The situation was over, but many of us were still carrying it.

And I continued to carry it on my drive home from the airport – my mind hooked on what I had just witnessed. We had been kept waiting less than 15 minutes - which was the same amount of time we had actually gained by the flight arriving early. In the big scheme of things, this was such a tiny inconvenience. And yet, this relatively minor event had highlighted some very typical involuntary qualities of the human condition – to judge, to make assumptions and to react. And to very often overreact. 

Most of passengers on the bus had remained quiet and did not present with an overt behavioural reaction. Yet, every single person on that bus would have experienced an internal reaction – automatic thoughts and feelings about the situation evolving around us - whether it be uncomfortable and reactive, or not. Including myself.

For me, my internal reaction was one of sadness. I felt empathy for the bus driver - he doing what he was instructed to do, yet became the involuntary recipient of the father’s wrath. And then came uncomfortable feelings and thoughts that I experienced about the father. My mind drew conclusions about the man – prophesying that he likely has a very low frustration tolerance, driven by a cognitive narrative that possibly centred around other people being incompetent, and a probable automatic belief that people regularly do wrong by him. My mind went further to make predictions from these assumed narratives – picturing how he might typically behave in day-to-day situations. 

And then, whilst I was still entangled in the trance of these rolling thoughts, I suddenly caught myself in my ‘thinking’ tracks! Just like the father’s reaction had likely been driven by unhelpful assumptions and judgments about the situation we were in, I had noticed that my mind was doing exactly the same thing - my automatic and reactive thoughts about the father had been just as assumptive!

Our reactive thoughts and judgments about others and events around us can frequently be characterised by a black-and-white or splitting phenomenon that our minds instinctively engage in. This distortion in our thinking is the tendency to think in extremes – the simplistic view of right versus wrong, and good versus bad. It draws upon historical schemas that our minds have developed over time, in an attempt to make sense of a situation (as it loves to do) in the most efficient, quick and energy conserving way possible. And it attempts to achieve this in a way that makes us feel more secure, and likely even superior to other. This has process has a survival function – after all, if I am secure, safe and superior in the wild, I am more likely to survive. 

However, when we are able to step back and notice the dangerous simplicity (and often inaccuracy) in this assumptive and generalised thinking, we are able to see that, particularly where humans are concerned, things are very rarely as they seem. We are able to recognise that there are many shades of grey in the context of a person’s behaviour and/or a situation.

The father had no idea what was going on inside the airport terminal and why we had been kept waiting. And there were many possible and rational explanations for this inconvenience. For instance, perhaps there had been some imminent danger, and this delay was necessary to keep us safe? 

I too, had no idea what was going on for the father to influence his aggressive and intolerant behaviour. Perhaps he was experiencing (or had experienced) something very difficult and traumatic in his life, or maybe there was an urgent situation waiting for him at home, driving his impatience to get off that bus?

On most occasions, we will never know what is going on for somebody in their lives beyond what we see. And we will often not know all the factors that underpin a situation. What is important though, is not assuming that we do know.

Recognising that there is an unknown context behind a person’s behaviour, or an event, does not mean excusing inappropriate behaviour. We can still deem a person’s behaviour as ‘wrong’ and take a firm (but respectful) stance against this where necessary. But instead, it’s choosing not to see the whole person, or situation, as wrong. And to bring together the dichotomy of both positive and negative qualities of the self, others and the world, into a cohesive and realistic whole.  

This allows us to then experience greater tolerance, acceptance and even compassion for other people and situations, that may otherwise create a lot of unnecessary distress and conflict. It allows us to have less rigidity in our thinking and instead gives space to recognise the ‘grey’. Because it is in the grey that we can experience a lot more beauty and peace - both in our fellow humans and in our wondrous world. 

* The identifying characteristics in the above story have been modified to maintain anonymity.

Turning ‘have to’ into choice

“Does this mean I now have to go back to the way things were?”

It had been six months of being told to stay at home. Six months of being told to follow a restricted way of living, with significant economical and psychological impact, that we would previously have never dreamed possible. And now, Melbourne was finally opening up. Yet in those first days following the big announcement, there seemed to be a common feeling of trepidation amongst the community . Despite restrictions loosening, many were not necessarily feeling ‘free’. And instead, were feeling somewhat apprehensive about ‘having to’ go out into the world again.

There are many factors that have contributed to people’s initial hesitancy to coming out of lockdown. One reason is due to human beings’ incredible ability to adapt. It took us much less than a year to become acquainted with a life narrower and more restricted. We became used to the predictable and safe haven provide by our homes. Suddenly, the normal way of living – venturing out to social events, in- person meet-ups, potentially crowded spaces - was less familiar to us. And we humans do not deal well with the unfamiliar. Anxiety, being the ‘spokesperson’ for unfamiliarity, pushed through and appeared to contest the excitement of being (almost) free.

Secondly, the pandemic peeled away so many layers of busyness – the pressures, demands and societal expectations that have too long overcrowded our daily lives. Lockdown exfoliated our lives;, removing much of this busyness. This forced us to really look at what matters to us. And more importantly, it begged the question of how do we really want to be spending our time? And therefore, what are not wanting to go back to in our pre-covid past?

Thirdly, our fear of returning to ‘normal’ carried with it one of the most common and subjugating statements in human language. A statement that we use so automatically without any awareness of its disempowering impact. Two simple words that carry momentous weight – ‘have to’.

We very often verbally preface our daily actions with ‘have to’…

I have to go to that meeting

I have to clean the house

I have to eat better

I have to call my family

I have to exercise

I have to go to that function

I have to stay home

And now… I have to go out in the world again.

We move throughout our day unconsciously operating through an automated rhetoric of have to’s. When these two words come together, they become one of the many faulty thinking styles that psychologists refer to as “prison words.” The have to statement imprisons us because when used, either in thought or vocalisation, it creates a sense that there is absolutely no choice or control over the situation we’re in. Prison words therefore dictate how we further think. Which commands how we then feel. (e.g. anger, resentment etc.) And this often directs how we then behave (e.g. disconnected, hostile, irritable etc.) 

Not only is the experience of have to potentially destructive to our psychology and behaviour, but it is also very often inaccurate. This is because there are few situations in our general day-to-day lives, where we literally have no choice over how we act or what we do – how we move our arms and legs and mouth. Therefore, there are very few situations where there is not more than one option (or at least a degree of choice over how we approach it). Even in the scenario where one option seems like the completely obvious choice – because the consequences of the alternative option are too unfavourable to consider – it is still a choice over our body that we, and nobody else, makes. 

Consciously recognising our choices, rather than our have to’s in life has monumental impact on how we are experiencing our moments. It does not mean that we feel like or necessarily ‘want' to take the option we choose. It may not be our preferred option. But in the particular situation we are presented with, that consist of factors beyond our control, it is the option that we are choosing to take because we, whether conscious of it or not, are deciding that it’s the best option for us. A decision, that is always underpinned by what ultimately matters to us. 

When I introduce this realism of choice with clients, the conversation will often go something like this:

Client: “I have to go to that social function because I have to go for my partner.”

Me: “And why do you have to go for your partner?”

Client: “Well, because I don’t want to let him down.”

Me: “So you don’t want to be someone who lets people down?”

Client: “Well no, of course not.”

Me: “So you want to be a supportive and reliable partner?”

Client: “Yes that’s right”.

Me: “You want to be a supportive partner, or you have to be?”

Client: “I want to be”

Me: “So do you have to go to the party? Or are you going to the party because it’s important to you to be a supportive partner? Perhaps you are then choosing to go, not because you necessarily want to, but because of what’s important to you – the person you want to be?”

The recognition of choice, rather than have to, allows us to experience a very different approach and attitude towards our experiences. As in the words of Victor Frankl, “to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, is to choose one’s own way.” This takes us from a place of disempowerment and struggle to one of empowerment and lightness. 

So, the answer is ‘no’ - we don’t have to return to the way things were. We can make conscious choices over how we decide to reengage with a more active life again. This firstly involves giving ourselves permission to create boundaries and saying ‘no’ to outings and activities that we decide are no longer meeting our needs or priorities. We can do this confidently and comfortably by being conscious of how we say no, in order to continue to reflect our values.

And secondly, it is important to become more aware of our have to narratives. To notice our mind’s innate resistance to what feels uncomfortable – that is, noticing its preference to take the path of least resistance and its consequential negative ‘have to’ chat. And by noticing this tendency we can instead identify what we choose to do in terms of our values, rather than our emotions. We can then empower ourselves in these choices by a simple recognition of…

“I may not feel like or want to take this action right now. But I choose to do this because of what matters to me. And I choose my attitude towards this based on the person I want to be.”

We can then make room for any anxiety, apathy or other uncomfortable emotion that we may be feeling. And recognise that our sense of power comes from recognising the choice we usually have regarding the action we take with our body, and/or the attitude we choose to bring to the situation. This is where our freedom always lies.

We all just want to feel safe

It was not even 10am and I had already recited two proverbial sayings for the day. They came flying out of my mouth in reaction to my sons having a dispute about their pysslar creations (those tiny Ikea beads that end up all over the floor!). One of them had knocked the other’s, sending these pesky beads soaring. The other retaliated by knocking his brother’s over too. Some child-like name calling was exchanged. I then quickly intervened with a sermon around “two wrongs don’t make a right.” Which was shortly followed by “treat others how you want to be treated”. I then silently chuckled to myself about how unoriginal this all sounded. Such clichés! But at the same time knowing that clichés are clichés because they usually speak the truth. 

Just ten minutes later I was watching the news - the morning’s daily update about the COVID pandemic and Melbourne’s latest restrictions. And this news bulletin predictably featured the daily spotlight on the ‘newsworthy’ person reacting to these restrictions. And then there was the ‘newsworthy’ person reacting to the person who was reacting to these restrictions. I was seeing a version of my son’s pysslar bead ‘fight’ playing out on the TV - attack, and then defence by attack. Two wrongs definitely not making a right.

And I felt a strong urge to examine and discuss this ‘fight’ behaviour that we experience as human beings…

The meaning of why we ‘fight’

A Bombardier beetle sprays hot liquid ink. A snake will bite and release venom. A rhinoceros charges with its lethal horns. And a human being defends with its arms, legs or words. All of these instinctive ‘fight’ behaviours are designed purely to help a species survive. The fight is solely about staying alive. 

The human ‘fight’ reaction is well understood as one of the three different responses (i.e. in addition to ‘flight’ and ‘freeze’) for survival. These defence responses are triggered by fear - an adaptive behaviour that helps us to identify potential threats.

Stemming from this fear of danger to our physical self is a fear of threat to our psychological self.  That is, we also have a deep-rooted fear of not feeling psychologically safe. And this shows up as an innate fear of not being ‘good enough’ or feeling worthy. 

So, just like our physical self needs food, water and sleep to survive, our psychological self needs to feel acknowledged and accepted, in order to feel secure and safe. This need to feel good enough is part of needing to be accepted by others. To belong to a ‘pack’. Because in evolutionary terms, when we are regarded and accepted into a group, we have a much better chance at survival in the world.  

Our fear of not being acknowledged can therefore direct us to engage in behaviours to defend against this - one being the fight reaction. And this fight defence can be in the form of words. We attack through language when we automatically judge, make assumptions about and criticise others. Such verbal fight behaviours can lead to a momentary sense of feeling ‘strong’, and even superior. Which can impersonate feeling worthy and secure. And this gives us a misguided sense of safety.

Fear driving unkind behaviour 

The Bomardier beetle is not releasing its hot ink because it ‘enjoys’ being unkind! And for humans it’s the same. Our primary intention underneath unkind or attacking behaviour is not necessarily to hurt another person. Rather, hurting another is the collateral damage for our subconcious, hard-wired attempt to achieve a stronger sense of self. To defend against our fear[1].  

The fight defence response seems to be particularly pertinent to what we are experiencing in the world right now. There is currently a lot of disparity in the way people are feeling about the COVID-19 pandemic - the virus, the restrictions, and its implications. Opinions seem to be polarised. And the conversations around it can be particularly heated. Mostly because our emotions are so heightened. We are naturally experiencing more anger and hopelessness, and we are increasingly anxious about the uncertainty ahead. 

And we are seeing these disparate opinions play out in the way that we are automatically judging and attacking the person (or group) with a different point of view. And the exchange becomes futile because the attacking and defending - the needing to be right and making the other person wrong - stops us from ‘hearing’ each other. Ironically, the very thing that we are trying to attain for ourselves is lost. That is, acknowledgment.

The power in acknowledgment 

The most helpful thing we can do, for ourselves and others, is to acknowledge another person. That is, to acknowledge that each person’s choices, opinions and behaviours are underpinned by our common humanity – the deep-rooted need to feel secure and safe.

Choosing to acknowledge and respect another person’s humanness does not mean agreeing with or condoning behaviour that we deem as wrong or unkind. And it certainly does not mean feeling ok about it. Rather, acknowledging means staying mindful and respectful in HOW we are speaking and showing up to another. And recognising that underpinning another’s behaviour is their own hidden story - their own complex relationship to our shared subconscious need to feel secure and safe.

We empower ourselves when choose not to react from fear. And when we choose not to react with judgment or attack. When instead, we choose to lower our instinctive verbal ‘weapons’ and see the humanness in others. If there is no attack, there is no need for defence. We can stay respectful and listen to what others have to say. And be listened to in return. We can remain firm, but peaceful. And stay passionate, but openminded. We can therefore experience healthy conversations and debates, even between groups that may never agree. 

We all just want to be acknowledged. We all just want to feel psychologically secure. Because ultimately, we all just want to feel safe. Therefore, even in our differences, we are actually all the same.

[1]The fear of not feeling secure is also what drives humans to be unkind to themselves, in the form of self-criticism. This can instead lead to the flight response (i.e. avoidance).

Talking to Strangers

Experiencing the ‘big’ in our ‘small’ connections

It was the third week in isolation and it had been another quiet Tuesday: an early morning bike ride with the kids; an hour of draping piles of blankets for cubby houses. And now I had a stolen a moment to leave the house, alone, for an essential item – coffee. On my way to the local cafe, it felt like the whole community was out, eager for their daily dose of fresh air: a young couple walking their dog together; a small boy wobbling on his bike whilst his mother clung to him tightly for balance; an abundance of joggers pounding the pavement at 11am in the morning. 

After ordering my coffee I found a vacant taped green cross on the pavement. There were three other people waiting, all silent and obeying the 1.5 metre rule. I felt an energy connecting us –  a silent acknowledgment of the strangeness of this shared experience. There was comfort in this ‘shared-ness’ even though the social distancing had somehow progressed into eye contact avoidance and an awkward silence that felt akin to being in a packed elevator feeling uncertain about where to look. 

My attention turned towards the fury four-legged being who was doing laps of the queue. The dog’s interesting dappled grey fur had caught my eye. I had been noticing dogs a lot in recent weeks, given my children’s relentless pleas for a puppy that had only exponentiated since the beginning of the pandemic.

My eyes then moved towards his owner, who appeared comfortable in the distraction of robotically scrolling through his phone. I was curious about the breed of his dog but as soon as I contemplated the act of speaking to him, I noticed the familiar team of ‘guards’ that governed my introversion: tightness in my chest; mind-reading thoughts such as this will be too awkward and he doesn’t want to be bothered; the powerful urge to get out my own phone and lose myself into the abyss of emails and Facebook.

However, the memory of a podcast I had listened to last week came to mind. It a was Sam Harris’ Making Sense podcast where he interviewed Laurie Santos on the Science of Happiness. Prof. Santos talked about the significance of micro-connections – those short and temporary interactions we have with strangers and acquaintances - and how research shows that these smaller connections with others can be just as influential on our mood as the deeper interactions we have with our friends and relatives. 

This research made sense to me, as I regularly talk to clients about how when it comes to living a value, it doesn’t matter whether the action we take is big or small. The value is lived regardless. And if the value is lived consciously, it has a huge impact on our sense of self and emotional wellbeing,  

So, I decided to resist the pull of avoidance and spoke up to the owner. “Your dog is beautiful”. The good feelings from bravery started to kick in, so I went on to say “You wonder if pets notice any difference in the world right now.” It was a comment that took me all of five seconds to say. Five seconds to shift the energy in the queue dramatically. The owner turned to me with a smile, suddenly re-engaged in the world and seemingly pleased to be acknowledged and spoken to. 

We chatted about dogs, and then the conversation naturally turned to the pandemic and how we were coping. Noticing the COVID-19 ‘elephant’ on the footpath had suddenly dispelled the awkward energy. And in this very simple two minute exchange, I had lived three important values of mine: connecting to others; being kind and friendly; and being courageous. The bonus by-product of living these values was the spontaneous experience of a very enjoyable connection with another person.

Together, this stranger and I experienced the rare diversion from looking at our phones that has become a reflexive move when we find ourselves alone (particularly when we are waiting for something). Instead, we both ‘looked up’, re-engaged with the world, and experienced one of the most purposeful functions of being a social primate - connecting with others.

And the wonderful thing about this is that these micro-connections are readily accessible to us. Even whist we were in isolation and our social contact was restricted in a way that it has never been before, we continued to have these opportunities available to us - interactions with the shop keeper, the barista, the abundance of walkers out on footpaths. And on some days these were our only in-person contact outside our homes. Our purpose as social primates could still be lived even in this disconnecting existence that we found ourselves in.

Of course, there would have been no significant consequence of me not talking to this stranger. And therefore, it would have been very easy for me to choose not to. Particularly when my mind was trying to convince me that I needed the solitude and quiet that I had been craving all morning. 

However, after I had farewelled the friendly stranger, coffee in hand, I was able to get back to the desired solitude on my walk home. But this time, my walk in silence was accompanied by an extra lift in my step. 

A 'Zoom' Perspective For Gratitude

How to be grateful when we aren't necessarily feeling it

We know that gratitude is important for our mental health. It’s a practice that is talked about a lot. We regularly tell ourselves and others, including our family and children, to appreciate what we have. Just last weekend, when one of my sons was complaining that his brother had more Easter eggs than him, I found myself (typically) saying to him “Please be grateful for how many you have. Think of all those children who went without this year!” 

It was only a few moments later when I felt my own internal ball of frustration erupt having been followed into my bedroom by one of my children for the fifth time that day. My mind eagerly jumped in to collude with this felt frustration. Why can’t I get just 5 minutes of peace! My own gratitude - thankful for being loved and needed by my three children and the rare increased time I have with them right now - was in that moment nowhere to be seen.

So what does being grateful actually mean? And how do we helpfully and authentically practice gratitude at a time of all this change and uncertainty. When we may be feeling stressed, unhappy, disconnected and fearful…. When we may be experiencing the loss of jobs, financial hardship, or a restricted sense of freedom…. When we may be feeling anything but grateful.

Given that gratitude is being thankful for what we have in our lives, it all depends on the perspective we have in any given moment. Our perspective is often short and narrow. By default, our focus is zoomed up really close to what is happening in the personal sphere of our own life. Think of it like a camera lens - when our perspective is this narrow, we are focusing on and feeling what is right in front of us. This is a necessary perspective to engage and deal with what’s in front of us and to feel the fullness of our experiences. After all, it would be pretty hard to fully feel the connection with the person I am hugging, or to be immersed in the that task that I am completing, or to avoid colliding with the car slowing down in front of me, if my zoom lens is pulled back and I perceiving all of these occurrences from a distance.

There are however, times when it is helpful for our lens to be zoomed out a little… or even a lot. To open up our perspective to what is happening beyond this moment, day or current situation. And at times to zoom out even further to look beyond the contents of our own lives and to capture the bigger context of the world that we are living in. To look at the ‘bigger picture’. This helps us to see beyond our own difficulties and to notice the situations of others. And it allows us to acknowledge the aspects of our lives that we may be grateful for, but we aren’t seeing at that moment because of our lens being too close. 

This zoomed out and bigger perspective does not mean that we are not still feeling the hardness in what we are dealing with right now. The hardness is still there. After all, we only experience distress about things that matter to us. Therefore, we need to allow those feelings to be there - to acknowledge their presence and be self-compassionate for how big they can feel in the orbit of our own lives.

Rather, the zoomed out perspective and acknowledging what else we can choose to be grateful for helps us to carry the hardness a little more easily. It helps us to see underneath and beyond it, and to look at the goodness in our life that is also there, just waiting to be seen. It is therefore not about minimising our experience, rather it’s about maximising the entirety of our experience. 

The key to gratitude is therefore knowing that we can zoom out when we need to. And when we do, allowing both the hardness and the goodness to be in our picture, together at the same time.