Twixt Optimist and Pessimist

Leo Tolstoy once wrote, "Happiness does not depend on outward things, but on the way we see them." And I have found this to be so true. I am an optimist, married to a pessimist (although he would call himself a realist...)

It reminded me of the old rhyme, "Twixt optimist and pessimist, the difference is droll: the optimist sees the doughnut, the pessimist sees the hole."

(Aside: don't those look fabulous? One of the many losses of being coeliac is that I can no longer eat doughnuts. Which is a pessimistic way of looking at things, because there are so many nice things I *can* still eat. Interesting!)

So it depends on your point of view. I honestly believe I am happier when I "lean into joy" as Brené Brown puts it. It is a more vulnerable way of living, because (perhaps) optimists are more prone to disappointment. But I would many times rather be disappointed sometimes than to expect the worst all the time.

Tolstoy has a more serious point to make. Because if we pin our happiness on outward things, we become dependent on those other things *for* our happiness. And if something external to ourselves, which we don't have any control over, goes wrong, it can ruin our whole day.

Whereas, if our outlook is determinedly positive, we might be able to find some grain of goodness, happiness, in most things. Like he said, it's all about "how we see them."

Let me give you an example. It so happens that I'm re-reading C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia, and have just started Book 6, The Silver Chair. In which one of the main characters is that arch-pessimist, Puddleglum the Marsh-wiggle. Who says things like, "The bright side of it is, that if we break our necks getting down the cliff, then we're safe from being drowned in the river." Reading the children's conversations with him always makes me laugh.

But the realist side of his pessimism sometimes comes in useful, as his cautious approach to life saves Jill and Eustace from falling into scrapes, and keeps them grounded. For example, "Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one."

And they come to value his wisdom and bravery. As Jill says towards the end of the book, "You're a regular old humbug. You sound as doleful as a funeral and I believe you're perfectly happy. And you talk as if you were afraid of everything, when you're really as brave as - as a lion."

So I guess it does depend on your point of view - we optimists need pessimists to keep us grounded and the pessimists need optimists to cheer them up, or to walk compassionately alongside them. There is room for both kinds of people in the world and in truth, most of us are a mixture.

Living Consciously

 The French-born American novelist and short story writer, Anaïs Nin, once wrote, "One's own life, lived consciously, carries one beyond the personal."

Which is an interesting way of looking at it. I have recently (a couple of weeks ago) started the practice known as Morning Pages, outlined by Julia Margaret Cameron in her brilliant book, The Artist's Way. I had tried to do it years ago, but the habit didn't stick. What prompted me to try again was an interview with Cameron in this month's Writing Magazine. She explained that "they are written through the heart and hand - as the pages are written by hand. Because when we do that, we are much more connected to our authentic selves. ... The morning pages are done first thing in the morning and are done longhand.... So they're an effective form of prayer and meditation."

I have realised that they are also a good tool to help us live consciously, authentically. These days we are so used to writing everything (except shopping lists and to-do lists in my case) on the computer rather than longhand. Using pen and paper is a far more meditative practice (or so I have found). I write very much more quickly on a computer and writing by hand forces me to slow down, to be with the process in a more conscious way. 

And I'm so glad I started when I did, so I have been able to record the wonderful experience of being at this year's Unitarian General Assembly meetings - our first meeting in person since 2019. It was fabulous to be back in the company of so many Unitarians - listening together, learning together, worshipping together, making decisions together. After so many months of comparative isolation, it was marvellous to be back in community.

And in my morning pages, I have a permanent record of my impressions, thoughts and feelings, which will help to ground me in the days and months ahead, as I step up to the role of GA President - such a huge honour.

Finding True Rest and Peace

 In this frantic century of ours, it can be difficult to find true rest and peace. Ferdinando Galliani, the 18th century Italian economist, who was also a leading figure of the Enlightenment, once wrote, "True peace can only lie in the truth."

Perhaps he means that we can only be at peace when we allow ourselves to be our truest, most authentic selves. When we are not trying to put on a show, put our "best face forward" and hide what we are really feeling. As though it is not allowed for us to feel tired, edgy, out-of-sorts.

Brené Brown has this to say about perfectionism: "Perfectionism is not about healthy achievement and growth. Perfectionism is the belief that if we live perfect, look perfect, and act perfect, we can minimise or avoid the pain of blame, judgement and shame. It's a shield.... Perfectionism is, at its core, about trying to earn approval and acceptance. Most perfectionists were raised being praised for achievement and performance... Somewhere along the way, we adopt this dangerous and debilitating belief system: I am what I accomplish and how well I accomplish it. Please. Perform. Perfect."

I am a recovering perfectionist and a striving good-enougher. I have come to understand that perfectionism is exhausting and debilitating, and that good enough really *is* good enough, 99.99% of the time. If I had not learned this lesson, by trying and failing, and learning to receive feedback without falling apart, I would not have become a published author, for example. I would not have dared to submit anything less than a perfect MS to any publisher. 

Authenticity matters. Being our true selves matters. Letting go of what other people think matters. To quote Brené Brown again, 

"Authenticity is the daily practice of letting go of who we think we are supposed to be and embracing who we are. Choosing authenticity means

    * cultivating the courage to be imperfect, to set boundaries, and to allow ourselves to be vulnerable

    * exercising the compassion that comes from knowing that we are all made of strength and struggle

    * nurturing the connection and sense of belonging that can only happen when we believe that we are enough."

Ever since I discovered her book, The Gifts of Imperfection,  more than a decade ago, I have done my best to live authentically. It ain't easy, but oh my goodness, it has made me feel so much more whole. So much more at home in my skin. As Galliani says, "True peace can only lie in the truth."

Embracing Digital Minimalism

 

I only bought Cal Newport’s book, Digital Minimalism, on a whim, because it was on offer as a Kindle daily deal for 99p. But I have found it to be a fascinating and challenging read, which has caused me to reflect seriously about how much time I spend mindlessly browsing on my smartphone – usually either on Facebook or Pinterest – or playing time-consuming games like Match 3D. In fact, I would guess that the total time I spend on social media or playing games is not far short of the ten hours a week Newport mentioned as a typical time spent feeding a Twitter habit. Which has shocked me. I agree with him that “this cost is almost certainly way too high for the limited benefit it returns.”

Although I am not of the generation which grew up with smartphones (those born in the nineties and later) I, like many people of my age, have embraced the possibilities that a smartphone offers – the ability to stay in contact with Unitarians all over the country on Facebook, for example, or to discover wonderful new crochet patterns on Pinterest. And the ability to text my family and close friends to stay in touch when I am out and about is very useful (it would have been marvellous in the days when my husband was delayed on his evening commute from London and I was at home, wondering when he would get back). And I find the alarm and timer and weather forecast functions very useful. And have three prayer or meditation apps, which I use during my morning sit (not all three!)

 My phone and I are not inseparable… when I am out walking, I only pull it out of my pocket to take a photo of something beautiful, that fills me with wonder. And it spends quite a bit of time sitting silently in my handbag. Unlike some people, who seem to have their phones in their hands all the time and seem to prioritise connecting with the digital world almost more than connecting with the people they are with. It always makes me sad when I see people allegedly out for a meal together, who spend more time texting absent friends or scrolling through news feeds than in talking with their dinner partner. Or someone walking with a child, who is trying to engage their attention, but they are too busy looking at their phone to notice. Yet who am I to judge? If I had grown up with a smartphone, as the younger generation has, I would quite possibly have done the same.

Newport’s book has made me uneasily conscious that my relationship with my smartphone is not an entirely healthy one. It is not simply my servant, enabling me to do things I could not otherwise have done, like letting my husband know I’ve arrived somewhere, or staying in touch with my adult children. Slowly, insidiously, my phone has become my go-to method of filling odd moments of time. I find myself checking Facebook or scrolling through Pinterest in the evenings, when Maz and I are watching something together on TV. Digital Minimalism has made me conscious of this, has made me ask why I’m doing it.

Reading the book has made me understand that I am not living in consonance with my values. I have allowed the ever-present “convenience” of my smartphone to distract me from being fully present to those I am in the same room with. It has made me appreciate that I have been allowing it to invade my life and to hijack time when I should enjoy space and silence and being in community with my loved ones.

So it is time for me to do a re-set. I have deleted some apps from my phone and silenced all notifications except phone calls and texts. I have announced on Facebook that I will only be checking it once a day, for ten minutes, and have asked that anyone who needs to get in touch more urgently to ring me, e-mail me or text me. Because I want to live my life well, to be completely present to my family, my friends and what I am experiencing in the present moment, to make sure that each of my todays is “well lived”. I have decided to relegate my phone to a back seat, and only bring it out when using it adds some real value to my life.

 What might “living today well” look like for you?

Wonder and Faith

 The German philosopher Ludwig Feuerbach wrote, "Wonder is the outer face of faith - faith is the inner soul of wonder."

I had to think about that for a while... because I don't believe they are necessarily so closely related as he seems to think. I believe we can experience wonder without faith, for example. Many non-religious people would say that they can feel a sense of wonder about such matters as the size of infinite space, or the beauties of nature. But they would deny that their wonder had any component of faith in it.

But sometimes, if we are people of faith, it can perhaps make it easier for us to feel a sense of wonder. l don't think I'd make much more of it than that. 

I have blogged before about faith and wonder here, as recently as January. I don't think Feuerbach's quote has added much to my understanding...