Read an Excerpt
Free Thinking
On Happiness Emotional Intelligence Relationships Power Spirit
By Stephanie Dowrick, Jo Jarrah Allen & Unwin
Copyright © 2004 Wise Angels Pty Ltd
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-74115-578-5
CHAPTER 1
happiness
WHAT HAPPINESS IS
RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW
NO REGRETS
FULLY ALIVE
INSTANT CURES
FLYING SOLO
A KINDER STATE OF MIND
NO JOY NO MORE
INNER HOUSEWORK
RESILIENCE
RESPECT
WOODY'S WORRIES
RESTING
WALKING
AGEING
What happiness is
If someone offered you the chance to be happy for the rest of your life, would you take it? If you were told that you already have the power to bring happiness to others, would you believe it?
One of the most bizarre quirks of human existence is that we long for happiness, yet have such difficulty identifying what would make us happy or content in any lasting way. What's more, we often view the search for happiness as fruitless, even while we consciously long for the partner, or job, or bigger income that ought to make us a little happier than we are.
Spiritual teachings are clear: we are unlikely to find lasting happiness through people or things outside ourselves. There will, of course, be rewards when we are finally driving a smart new car, or marrying someone we genuinely love. But those delights are never permanent. The car wears out, or the marriage may be marvellous but we have problems at work. Or we may have problems with our children, or our partner dies, or loses their love for us.
A more stable experience of happiness, say those teachings, can come only through recognising how inevitably our lives overlap with and reflect the lives of other people – seeing ourselves in others and others in ourselves. From that vantage point, it makes absolute sense to contribute what we can to the wellbeing of all. In fact, we recognise that our personal wellbeing could not exist in isolation.
What an assault this is on the egocentricity and selfishness that we believe is not just 'natural' but inevitable. After all, isn't it the most normal thing in the world to put yourself or your interests first? Yet that normality, and the 'them and us' situations that spin out from it, are precisely what cause, as well as justify, the worst of human sufferings: when people become obsessed by differences, which they then believe they have a right to attack.
A Taoist verse invites us to reflect on life:
The fragrance of blossoms soon passes
The ripeness of fruit is gone almost at once
Our time in this world is so short
Better to avoid regret.
An inability to recognise that 'our time in this world is so short' drives much of our collective madness. If we grasped the truth of our own mortality, surely we would more fiercely treasure the gift of life? Surely we would more gently cultivate self-love, distinguishing it from self-absorption, and reach out to others from a full rather than an empty place?
Contemporary psychological research backs up those ancient teachings. The happiest people among us are also the most altruistic. These are the people who value their own existence and can give to others without strain. They are the lucky people, but not necessarily in financial terms. Perception is everything here. Those who are confident they have plenty to share may have nothing in the bank. Equally, those who feel too poor to share may have money to burn.
Someone lagging badly in the happiness stakes may find it hard to take an interest in other people when they feel lost or distressed. And it's true: that is an agonising way to feel. But it is worth noting that in Morita therapy, the psychotherapy perhaps most explicitly influenced by Buddhism, part of the effort of gaining self-love will involve observing and unobtrusively meeting others' needs.
When a lack of happiness arises from a sense of distance from others or from the boredom of thinking about no-one but yourself, then opening your eyes to others' reality almost invariably brings at least a glimpse of what you are seeking. And a promise of more joy to come.
Right here, right now
Too many years ago, in a sunny kitchen over several cups of tea, I sat talking with a good friend, the late American writer Sally Belfrage, about the different ways that people deal with stress and its close companion, anxiety. Sally was a woman of marvellous self-possession and good humour who nevertheless had survived her share of setbacks. There was not much about the human condition that could surprise her, yet she retained a high regard for the way in which most people genuinely seek to do their best with what life brings them.
Sally said two things on that day that stood out for me. First, she described her growing awareness of how many events that seemed deadly serious as they were happening had virtually disappeared from memory. 'I often come across old bits of diary,' she said, 'where I have written, "The bottom's falling out ... I am plummeting through a void ... and he has done this to me or that ..." and at this point I can barely remember who the hell he was or what the hell was happening, and that really is devastating when you realise how absurd some of these things have been.'
Our own lives are likely to offer much the same lesson. The tasks that seemed so urgent, the job we 'had to get', the perfect item that had to be sought and bought, the event that could not be missed, the lover we yearned for: where are they now?
This doesn't mean that we should take our lives less seriously, or value our lives less. In fact, the opposite is true. But it really is possible to look at all of our judgements with a pinch of detachment. Then, when those anguished moments threaten to overwhelm us, it becomes easier to step back a little, searching for the bigger picture – of which any event or relationship is only one single part.
Sally's second nugget of wisdom reinforces that. At the end of her forties she was able to say how much more fully she was enjoying her life. 'I am living so much more in the present,' was how she described it. 'I am not looking at what is happening. I am just doing it. It's a trick of focus, and I had to remember it consciously for quite a long time. Be here now. Saying that to myself is a way of clicking into the present.'
Be here now is a phrase redolent of the 1960s, yet its message is much older than that. To be 'present' in the present moment is the goal of mindfulness training and it's true that when it comes to mindfulness – to being 'present' – most of us have rather a lot to learn. Monitoring our attention for just a few minutes will show us how absent we often are from the present moment (devouring a plate of food while not tasting a single bite; walking somewhere without the slightest attention to what we are passing; talking on and on at someone without observing their reaction or state of mind). We move through much of our lives as if in a dream: our body in one place, our thoughts and attention in another.
'How am I right now?' is a question another friend routinely asks herself when she catches herself unravelling backwards, or hovering obsessively over a situation that may never happen. Asking this simple question, and pulling herself into the present moment by doing so, she almost always discovers that what is making her stomach churn or her thoughts race is not happening in the present moment.
Re-running painful events from the past, worrying about future horrors or hurts, tormenting ourselves with negative possibilities: all of these habits of mind pull us far away from engaging fully with what we are experiencing right now, whether it's a simple task like watering the garden, a pleasure like eating a meal, a complex task demanded by our work, or the moment in which we could be soaking in the incomparable beauty of our physical world – if only we could shift our focus and see it.
No regrets
Every day death is a stark reality for many people. Someone they love is dying or has just died. Or an anniversary occurs and the pain of loss rises up all over again. But despite the fact that death and dying are inevitable and all around us, we can still be remarkably obtuse about what is important in our lives and what is not.
Curiously enough we often use the phrase 'I'll die if ...' to indicate a level of passion around remarkably trivial events. 'I'll die if he doesn't call me/I don't get promoted/my children fail to do well.' What we mean, I think, is that a particular set of hopes will die if we don't get what we want. Meanwhile, what could sustain us is often ignored or overlooked, sometimes beyond the moment when it's possible to make amends. Speaking of regrets, writer Joseph Campbell warned that these are 'illuminations come too late'. His powerful phrase rings true. We postpone knowing what matters most to us – and acting on it – at our peril.
During my years of listening, I have observed the deep emotions that many people unconsciously express when they speak of what they will do when they eventually have time 'for themselves'. Meanwhile, other people's agendas drive their lives. I have also observed how fiercely some people can hold on to a grudge, letting it blight their lives over decades while great moments get forgotten. I have seen people sacrifice genuine talent for careers that look good in others' eyes, and have witnessed with incredulity how people in their late years of life can launch into litigation, suing old friends or relatives, running costly cases against a former spouse, fuelled by self-righteousness and perhaps believing they will live forever. I have also seen people stay on and on in damaging relationships. Or stay in jobs or professions that are soul-destroying, way beyond the point of financial need.
Less dramatically – but still with room for regret – I have seen people let years go by without calling old friends or family members they do actually care about. Or letting important but difficult conversations get indefinitely postponed. I have observed well-intentioned couples who have time for everything except each other. (How many hours do you spend 'in meetings'? How many with the people you profess to love?)
It does take time to discover what is important in the deeper reaches of our lives, and whether we are living out our values. Not much in our whirlwind contemporary living supports that kind of inquiry. Yet, without it, our feet barely touch the ground and the life we are living may be everyone's but our own.
Knowing that they are soon to die, many people get their emotional act together in a way that astounds those who have loved them despite their human failings. But, as wonderful as that is, too often it isn't soon enough. Writing my book The Universal Heart, I included a story that illustrates how different our responses can be when we just give ourselves a chance to remember what matters most. A mother comes home at the end of a long day feeling irritated by everyone around her but is able to cut off her tirade before it begins by looking at her son rather than past him, allowing herself to remember that she deeply loves him. Love is her primary value. Love is what she feels for her son. By some miracle of grace, she brings that to life – rather than her more usual irritation and complaint. That simple act of awareness changed everything.
Picking out that story in particular, one reviewer scoffed publicly. And I can see why. Yet if we are ruled by our most superficial concerns and habits, then really, we risk everything. We risk living without loving and we certainly risk dying without having lived.
Fully alive
What would it mean to you to be 'fully alive'? Do you easily remember times when you were fully alive: open to what was happening in the present moment, acting and reacting freely, passionately and without self-consciousness?
Those moments might include the months of elation after you finally fell in love. Or when you went climbing in the Himalayas, or saw Uluru or a Cézanne original for the first time. It might have been when your children were little and every day was an adventure. It might have been when you yourself were very young. It might have been when you finally landed the job of your dreams, or learned to swim at the age of forty.
Such moments may not always have been joyful. Sometimes people feel fully alive in the wake of a tragedy or a crisis, not because they are enjoying it but because they are totally involved with whatever the situation demands of them.
Contrast that with the feeling of being reluctant, listless, or simply overcome by the demands of your own existence. Or what it feels like to be spending big chunks of time living mechanically, getting up and following a program that to a great extent other people have decided for you. You are 'fitting in'. You are doing 'the right thing'. But you are only half alive.
It's odd that we pay so little conscious attention to whatever it is that brings us to life (and life to us). Do we unconsciously believe that such intense living might be dangerous? Or that we must settle for less in the interests of 'getting real', getting along, making a living and maturing?
I've been teaching some journal writing workshops over this last year. Many of the students are already accomplished journal writers but what I have observed is that at least some of them have come to these workshops because they are hungry for a greater sense of aliveness. They might call this a search for increased creativity. Certainly they want to write more freely. Most of all, though, they want to wake up their senses. They want to feel that they are living at the centre of their lives rather than running along behind.
Sometimes I have asked them to consider how much actual space and time they are giving to what they most enjoy. If they value 'creativity', where does it come in their priorities? If they value 'knowledge', how are they seeking it? If they value 'community', how are they building it? If they value 'family, food, love', is this squeezed into the end of the week or are other decisions made around it? If they value 'report writing' but not 'attending meetings', or 'field work' but not 'administration', how have they organised their working lives to reflect their priorities and feed their aliveness?
These are uncomfortable questions. I'm aware of that. They nag at our difficulties with self-responsibility. But I know from experience how useful they are.
There are significant areas in all our lives where we must and should compromise. As social beings, our happiness will always depend on how well we can juggle our needs with those of the people around us. However, it is just as true that there will be countless ways in which the only person undermining our sense of engagement with life is our own self.
Feeling fully alive should not be a rare treat. Feeling alive can and perhaps should be a way of living. Even in the most demanding circumstances, it's possible to stand up for what we believe feeds our lives rather than drains them. What's crucial here is recognising that our lives are in our own hands, and that we are not slaves to them.
Bringing an awareness of choice and engagement to whatever we do, we will always live more vitally. It will then become much easier to see how to trade off some of what we must do for more of what we love to do. This will transform how we perceive and fulfil even mundane obligations. It demands a sense of real responsibility for our own wellbeing, of course. Even that, though, is a gesture of aliveness.
Instant cures
There can be few adjectives that have more power than the word 'instant'. The promise of almost anything happening immediately (and without effort) is utterly alluring. You might be longing for an instant cure for a chronic illness. Someone else may be just as keen instantly to reduce a mysteriously expanded waistline. I am certainly hanging out for the moment when I can become instantly fit while lying on my comfortable sofa eating and reading.
In relationships, instant cures are just as hard to come by. Nevertheless, a twin pair of behaviours does exist that even in the face of emotional despair can bring fairly immediate relief:
• Give the benefit of the doubt to others.
• Take responsibility for your own attitudes and actions.
How simple is that? And this doesn't benefit other people only. When you are more conscious of your own behaviour and less suspicious of what other people say and do you also get a more truthful grip on reality and a greater sense of ease.
Giving the benefit of the doubt most obviously means interpreting other people's attitudes and behaviours positively rather than negatively. At least until guilt is proven. It means assuming the best, looking for the best. And, in the face of a tricky situation, soothing yourself down rather than working yourself up.
Would you conclude, for example, that if someone is late or doesn't turn up for an appointment that they don't care about it? Or that they don't care about you? That may indeed be so. Just as possibly, they might have been caught in traffic or delayed by an urgent call. Perhaps they had a migraine. Or won the lottery. Or perhaps they did forget. Even then, however, they may have done so not out of disrespect or deliberately to hurt you, but because they were caught up in dramas that have nothing to do with you.
A lack of self-love trips us up here. So does our egocentricity. New injuries stir up old ones. When we don't know how to give someone else the benefit of the doubt, we are more likely to respond to virtually any disappointment or setback as an insult – even when that insult exists only in our own mind.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Free Thinking by Stephanie Dowrick, Jo Jarrah. Copyright © 2004 Wise Angels Pty Ltd. Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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