On Connection

Growing up, I was a very shy person. I preferred my own company vastly more than that of other people, and unbeknownst to me, had a constant scowl on my face. In my teenage, some kind girls advised me to iron out the furrow on my forehead and smile more. So I did. And soon I had more friends (not that I missed having them before), and suddenly a whole world of social conventions opened up to me. Over the almost two decades since, I have continuously been amazed at some basic ways that fail to observe social conventions: being too invasive, or too stand-offish, sometimes too dominant, and other times too direct. All this despite what my true intentions were: to put people at ease, to understand and be understood, and for all everyone to get along.


Through these years I nevertheless maintained some of my earlier mechanisms to keep people at bay. I barely ever made eye contact with strangers; I categorised and judged people, so that I did not have to engage with those who were too different from me; I cultivated a tough and no-nonsense exterior; among other things. And it worked very well. One of the things that was often said about me was “she is really a nice person once you get to know her” – but not many people got past the thorny exterior. My issue was always that once they got to know (and maybe like) me, then they would discover that I was not perfect, that I was sometimes moody or irrational for instance, or that I supported gay rights, or that I bit my nails and sometimes picked my nose, and then they would really know me for who I was, and that was just scary. If not that, then I dreaded having to tell them no if they asked for more than I was willing to give, for fear that they would feel bad or rejected. In short I just was not willing to do the work required to manage relationships, so I chose safe relationships. Those that I could manage. Those with people similar to myself. Those with people who accepted me unconditionally.

Recently I decided to listen to some Buddhist teachings that a friend of mine gave me; at first I listened idly as I packed for a weekend away, but without realising it I begun to really listen and reflect on what was being said. Some of the ideas that the teacher was trying to communicate had to do with our perceptions of reality (well, naturally; that is the crux of Buddhist teaching), and he made references to what I assume are common ways of exploring reality. He spoke of the fact that we humans view things as separate, such as thinking of a mountain as a "mountain", as if it is separate from the ground around it, or a river as a "river", when in fact water is flowing through it all the time going someplace else, and it's character is ever changing. In addition, we think of this "mountain" or "river" as separate from us, or of other humans as separate from us, when in reality we are all part of one continuous, ever changing whole. Even people who think of themselves as "I", as if this is some permanent thing that continually exists have a wrong view of themselves, because in fact we are continually "becoming", changing, growing, ageing; getting wiser, having new insights, breathing in this air and breathing out that air. Swallowing things. Excreting things. And so on.

The other idea that he shared that captured my attention was the idea of time, and how our culture has led us to believe that time is a linear entity; that there is a past, a present and a future. Never mind that Einstein showed that time was in fact relative, and that if you were moving fast enough, it stood still, and that as such, the only "time" that exists at any one time is the present moment. Nevertheless, we are often skipping back and forth between the (imagined) future and the (remembered) past, both of which do not exist in reality. On the contrary, the teacher gave an illustration of time being less like a linear progression from past to present to future, and more like a flower that is constantly unfolding, so that one is only ever experiencing the present moment.

These ideas gave me pause. I realised that I never really focus on the present. That I am usually simultaneously thinking of the past, of things far and near, or all sorts of things except the present. Me typing now. The cars whooshing past outside. Even when I am speaking to a person, I am often having an underlying conversation about the conversation - wondering what the expected answer is; what they think of my previous answer; where this conversation is going; how it relates to our last conversation; if my office looks untidy; what is on my computer screen; I wonder if so-and so has replied my e-mail; and on, and on. So I had to ask myself: is there value in experiencing the present? In really looking at a person? In really hearing what they are saying? In really responding to it as it is presented in the moment, without projecting all sorts of things from the past and future on it? In really focussing on the now?

This clamour of thoughts and projections and impressions and hopes and fears, and the desire to please, to be liked, to impress, to be understood (rather than to understand), surely impedes our ability to truly connect. To hear what is really said. To understand. And therefore to enable us to accept things as they are without passing judgement. And not only do we fail to connect with others in that case, but we also fail to connect with ourselves. To hear what our bodies and minds are telling us. To examine our energy, and our response to the other's energy. To make decisions based on what's really going on, rather than what we would like to be going on.

In a follow-on post, I will tell about an experience of connection that brought me new insight into the value of connection. But for now, I need to write an e-mail to a friend of mine, because I have not connected authentically with him in the past.

Rudderless

SIIIIIGHHHH

I feel at quite a loss. I have been struggling to get some work done on my PhD research for the last month but I find myself totally without motivation on most days. I am beginning to be anxious about all the time I am wasting and being afraid that I may end up paying a very heavy price for this procrastination! I thought I was more self driven than this but alas! A friend of mine told me once that one of the most valuable lessons she picked up during her own PhD study was the ability to drive herself, and I am must say she is one of the most self driven people I know.

I am aware that every difficulty in our lives is meant to teach us a valuable lesson and make us stronger, if only we can embrace the lesson. In my particular case, things are made worse by the feeling that I have somehow bungled a very promising relationship. I met this guy through an online dating service, and over a period of four or five days we spent hours and hours writing to one another, building up to our first meeting which we both highly anticipated, if with trepidation and uncertainty. Out of the blue though, he suddenly cut off ALL communication, and it has been almost a week since he was last in touch. Although we were in touch for less than a week, he and I got along so well and seemed so compatible, and both admitted to having developed quite strong feelings over that short period, that his sudden silence really hit me hard! I have since achieved a semblance of calm and resignation, but still experience sudden moments of piercing longing and regret, and over all cannot get back my groove pre-meeting him, a groove that was decidedly precarious to begin with.

Over the weekend though, I watched a documentary on Quantum Mechanics and what it means for our daily life, and one of the most profound messages it had for me was the notion that we are all essentially a mass of energy, and that as such have complete control over the state of our bodies and emotions (I had heard of a similar idea in "The Secret"). The film makers postulated that the very idea of being "helplessly" in love with a specific person was quite preposterous, and was rather only evidence of the addiction to the feeling one comes to associate with the loved one's presence; apparently, at any time one may wean oneself off this person simply by mastering this addiction. Given the emotional attachment that had been engendered through the intensive contact with this guy over the previous few days, this notion certainly gave me hope of a quick recovery; indeed, I felt as if God Himself was speaking directly to me an dmy situation.

Today is Tuesday, and although I have had bursts of productivity since the work week begun, I am yet to fully recover my usual steam. Yesterday I erased all our previous contact and contact information because I was making myself crazy continously scanning it to see where it went well wrong. This made me feel really sad, and today I seem to still be going through withdrawal. Given the intensity of our contact however, a part of me is convinced that he only got cold feet (rather than lost interest) and will get back in touch when he makes up his mind to go for it after all. I wonder if I will have the courage to give it another go; A part of me tells me he is not to be trusted and I shoul dnever speak to him again, another tells me that he really may have genuinely freaked out and decided to take the time to give the whole thing furhter thought. At any rate, all that has nothing to do with me until he actually gets back in touch, so in the meantime, I occupy myself with other suitors, and try to really turn towards them and engage with them. Who knows? I might develop an attachment to one of them in the process, and find decide that I have found "the one" (another apparently ridiculous concept) after all.

Graffiti City

My feet are killing me.

A seasoned tourist like myself will tell you that trying to take in all the sites in a new city is never a good idea, but somehow this knowledge goes out the window every time I enter a new city!!!

BERLIN! :-D

First stop this morning, naturally was the Berlin wall, or what's left of it anyway. Interesting enough but rather underwhelming; to be fair though, most of it was torn down so there's not much left to see. I hear it is such a tourist favourite that parts of the old wall are being rebuilt again... Yeah, I know: crazy! After the token photos on both sides of the wall, I rushed off the catch the last remaining movie of the Berlin Film Festival, but due to having to make so many changes on the underground and over ground public transport I was 15 minutes late and I could not get in. Boy was I disappointed!! Being directed by Ralph Fiennes and featuring him and Butler-what's-his-name, I had hoped to spot, and maybe get an autograph but well... I walked back down the street towards the metro again so dejected my shoulders were actually drooping; the fierce windy cold only added to my misery :-(

I finally managed to pick myself up again and move on to the other attraction on the agenda: The Jewish Museum. More changes of trains and things and out I came of the underground at the specified station, and sure enough there was a sign saying "Jüdische Museum Berlin: 550m". After a few minutes another sign: 450m; then 300m. On I walked. Bitter cold. My cheeks and forehead are burning despite pulling down my hat almost over my eyes. My feet are freezing as well and I feel as if they are literally contracting within the shoes because the shoes begin to feel a little loose. Up ahead I see the distinctive "U" sign indicating another metro station, and with a sinking feeling realise I walked all this way when I could have come out one station further. Ah well. I walk past it and keep looking around. I am thinking that surely I should have arrived by now so I stop and look back down the street I just walked up. I imagine, being such a big attraction, it would surely have been easy to spot; I think of asking a local but they all do not look too inviting... Finally I spy another one of those forked sign posts and walking up to it I find that it says the Jewish Museum was 750m the other way!!! What? Did I read the other sign wrong? Had all that walking been for nothing? Sighing but still determined to press on, I made a half hearted attempt to begin walking back but my painful feet had other ideas: I found myself back in the underground and headed back to the hotel before you could say Yom Kipuur!! The Museum would have to wait.

After resting a little and getting some lunch, I felt revived enough to head out again about three hours later to join a pre-organised tour of the historical section of the city. I have to say that although it was even colder by now (-11° accounting for wind chill), this tour more than made up for my earlier frustrations; I came away with tons of information about the history of the city and saw some magnificent old and new buildings. Nevertheless, my most enduring memory of Berlin, probably because I spent so much time in metro stations and looking out of the train windows, will be the graffiti on practically every available wall space. The inhabitants of this city certainly have a lot to say that they simply cannot put into words, and considering their hard history (from World War I, to Hitler, to the Berlin Wall), I do not wonder.