Inclusion practicalities - One Hard Thing

July 12, 2022July 13, 2022

Human-sized challenges I (talking about possibilities)

It’s incredibly hard to choose a just right challenge. Have you noticed this? Even if you manage to come up with something that is exactly in the sweet spot between too easy and terrifying, as soon as you begin, something is sure to screw up. This will either make your chosen adventure suddenly way more adventurous, or else kinda moot.

Rating the size of the challenge in advance is also full of unplanned surprises. We can research, but we rarely have access to enough information to know for sure. Ever taken a new job? How often do your preconceptions truly match what you find is the day to day reality, six weeks in? We have to make our best guess. There is a fair amount of what comes perilously close to outright gambling in many of our most mundane choices.

The world is literally full of challenges, too. Just waiting to be conquered. Or avoided, depending on your particular temperament. There is no shortage of frontiers to explore, even if you are following millions or billions of other humans in that exploration. It’s new to you. It’s a short lifespan we have to work with, and an awful lot of possibilities to thread through.

This means that many of us spend our days doing lots and lots of stuff that is too easy, or too hard, or completely uninteresting to us. We have to do some of it. Some of it we do because, let’s face it, everyone else is doing it (it’s hard to resist peer pressure, even as cool, independent-thinking adults). Lots of what we do falls into the category of “what was I thinking?” Then there are the challenges we take on because we know we should stretch ourselves, move out of that darn comfort zone, expand our horizons. These are either intoxicatingly exciting, or downright traumatic. Either way, they take some energy.

My point is, figuring out a ballpark scale of challenge does require some trial and error, some humility when we get it wrong, and some celebration when we accidentally get it right. It’s not automatic that our lives match our resources, mentally, physically, financially, emotionally. It takes a lot of calibration, and puzzling out what’s gone wrong, and effort to figure out what could be changed to make the match more “right.” For us. In this moment.

In this very human endeavour, looking around at others in order to see what challenges they are attempting, surmounting, or failing at, is tempting. It is natural to want to follow a pattern set by someone else, rather than to start from scratch and, well, write our own book. The problem is that our defaults are so often set to “negative” in this sort of comparison. We either use this comparative exercise to put ourselves down, or to pull ourselves up, but at the expense of the other. It’s zero sum thinking when we have no shortages (of possible challenges) to worry about! In other words, what someone else finds interesting or achievable is almost completely irrelevant to my own life. If you think about it, why would their choices have anything to do with the scope of what I am looking at for available next hard things?

Unfortunately, most of us are still working off of the mindset that a classroom group of same-aged, same neighbourhood children is somehow supposed to be a group with sameness. That is patently untrue, and the diversity in today’s classrooms supports the range of human possibility and experience rather than the alikeness of any particular demographic. Furthermore, we still talk as if the diversity itself is the problem. As if it is unexpected that a group of 30+ children would have more than three or four learning rates or styles, and that the achievements of such a group would be all over the map. Looking at the adult experience, it seems there are almost limitless ways to find meaning in occupation (my particular area of professional interest), or to express one’s thoughts or feelings, or to create a joyful, welcoming home. Why would children be a homogenous group when adults are so much more unlike than like?

The size of the challenge is infinitely variable, crossed as it is with what field of inquiry, exploration, skill-development, or mental or physical frontier one is working within. The level of detail one chooses as interesting – mapping the human genome, mapping the solar system, mapping a house’s electrical wiring – this is also infinitely complex. And then there is the intensity of the pursuit – is it a single-minded obsession, or part of a suite of interests? Is it a life long dream, or a four year political cycle we’re talking about?

I guess my point is that there is almost no conceivable limit to a human-sized challenge, except for the limits of each individual. What is interesting, to me? What is already achievable and easy, to me? What is the thing I want most to master next, myself? Understanding where I am situated, what is around me, what draws my attention, and what I value most, next, and least; these are the important questions to answer. Not what my friend/neighbour/colleague/sibling is doing. Not what I see a celebrity I admire accomplishing. Certainly not what others tell me I should be able to do. Or not do.

The size of the challenge, as it relates to me, is a very good calibration exercise to fine tune. I can look at the various projects I am doing, or have done, and it would be far more useful for me to rate my own subjective experience of their interest and ease than to ask others how I did. I can, for example, think about the fear factor. Was it scary? Is it less scary now that I’m in it, or have completed it? Or is it an activity that is ramping my fear up each time I “go back in” because I’m only doing this really to try to prove to others that I’m not scared, when I really am? Other factors could be: energy expenditure (very individual, and very temperamentally based), balance with other aspects of my life, interest overall, agreement with my particular values hierarchy…and so on. This obviously takes some thinking, and I believe that time thinking is well spent, if it helps with the ability to gradually get better at finding just right challenges, for me.

Being human is great. It is enough that we are human together, and can’t seem to stop challenging ourselves. That’s the great unifying characteristic, I think. We resist gravity. We express our thoughts. We imagine, and create, and innovate. More specific definers than that as to how to be human, and it gets tricky to care for ourselves and still show up in the world.

Let’s enjoy our uniqueness in what inspires, excites, comforts, contents, or plain gladdens us. Let’s not do so much judging of our own or others’ chosen level of “challenge.” Let’s invite and offer, but not expect and compare. Some days, a just right challenge is just getting up and stretching. Other days, we actually fly.

The challenge is human-sized if a human is choosing it. That’s it.

May 18, 2022May 18, 2022

Just “try your best”

I have to really stop myself from cringing whenever I hear myself saying this. There’s nothing wrong with this advice. Except the tremendous harm it can do. The fact is, we will keep on saying it to kids, to ourselves, to each other. Earnestly. Like we actually mean it.

What on earth does it mean – to “try my best?”

Let’s stop and think about this. Because it actually matters, when we are talking to a group of children, or any group of humans for that matter, what it is we are trying to communicate or direct them to do. “Trying your best” is, after all, a phrase that employs a superlative. Never a good idea. And there’s another phrase with a superlative. Okay, it’s sometimes not a good idea.

Every try costs. That’s why it’s a try, and not a do or do not, as Yoda has cautioned, so wisely. When we try, we are not sure of the outcome, and we are gambling, and we are paying for this up front with courage, and with uncertainty, and with the vulnerability that comes from an inability to do, rather than try. The try can get more expensive yet. We can try and fail, and we often do, if what we are trying is in the real world, where everything is much more difficult than in most video games. To try is to put oneself out there, in the land of vulnerability. I think that just trying is somewhat worthy of congratulations, without the need for us to go on and try “our best.”

Because, what on earth would constitute “my best?” When I try in one area, I am not at the same time trying in another. If I work on yoga, I am not cleaning my house. If I go to work, I am not at the same time looking after my kids (at least not directly). If I try to learn something, I am not at the same time able to carry out other tasks that I have already learned. While I am trying at one thing, I am not participating in others. And furthermore, sometimes that try means I have less time and energy to devote to other tasks which are waiting for me, and which are not negotiable, and which must be done no matter what the “try” took from me, emotionally, physically, mentally.

So if I try my best, does that mean that I keep trying until I master something, to the detriment of all the other parts of my day? Or does it mean that I must use every morsel of concentration and reserve energy while I am trying, even if that leaves nothing for the list of tasks I must still attend to? Does it mean that I must use willpower to cover off coordination deficits? Should I trade physical force for lack of emotional control? Or emotional manipulation for lack of mental ability? How far should I go to succeed in the “try” in order to truly be able to say, I did my best? How far should I travel into the “end justifies the means” territory in order to meet this rather impossible-to-measure demand?

Of course this is all ridiculous. Except…what do young people hear when we tell them to ignore pain, hunger, or other warning signals in their bodies in the interests of “health” or conditioning, or task completion, or sport? What do any of us hear when we have deadlines looming at work that suggest spending more time in the present would allow us to succeed, even when our families at home pay for this now and in so many future ways? What about sports competitions where not only participants, but even spectators or supportive parents feel able to engage in “trash talking” that would be acceptable nowhere else, in the service of encouraging a win? Why is it that the concept of trying seems to bring out such a snake-filled basket of pressure that is at once vague, a bit menacing, and yet crushing all at the same time?

In horse training there is a mantra that is worth applying here, which is to “reward the slightest try.” This is because horses generally try a lot, and try very hard, and try in all directions, depending on their temperament. What they want to know is, where is the peace? Where does pressure lessen? What can I do to get back to a state of security and confidence? Horses, being prey animals, do not want more stimulation. They generally like to feel like everything is proceeding as expected and nothing is going to eat them in the next moment.

We as humans are not always predators in our thinking either. Sometimes parts of our brain act as prey, and close up in fear, or lash out, or bolt from a terrifying situation that makes us feel like we are being hunted. In those situations, and even in more peaceful scenarios, trying is the thing that we do that adds to our uncertainty. Trying a little is quite brave. Trying a lot is more so. Trying our best is probably just unrealistic.

It’s funny that we often add “just” to this cheerful piece of advice. “Just” try your best, as if that wouldn’t take all your courage, all your internal resources, and every scrap of ingenuity you may have in scrounging others’ if you feel out of resources on your own. Just try your best, and you’ll be fine. We don’t really mean this. We mean, “just try a little bit, see how it goes, and figure out that you won’t fail as badly as you think, and that you can afford to pick yourself up, and try again, and guess what? It gets easier with every try!” That’s what we mean, but it’s too long of a sentence.

I guess I just want to say that trying is a miraculous thing for some people. It represents so much in the way of heart, hope, and faith. A small try is not really a small thing. The slightest try is, after all, a try. If we reward the slightest try, there is far more chance that someone (maybe even ourselves) will be willing to try again. Trying again is probably far more useful in the long run than trying my best.

I know we won’t stop saying this silly mantra to ourselves, and to each other. But let’s smile when we do. And if we can qualify it, let’s do that, too. I like to tell myself to NOT try my best, but instead go for 10%. 10% of what I think my best is, is far more realistic, and furthermore it leaves energy for dishes, and vacuuming.

And let’s eat when we’re hungry. Rest when we’re tired. Ask for help when we’re sick or in pain. Console ourselves a bit when we’re sad. Let’s not think that trying equals self-abuse. Let’s not model that to our kids, who get confused when we do.

Let’s try, slightly. And then do it again.

May 3, 2022May 10, 2022

Reducing the weight of possibility

Possibility is a very big attractant. I think we magnetically attach to it without even a thought. It’s like we’re a static cling magnet for little dust bunnies of opportunity. We pull them to us and there they are, following us wherever we go, almost impossible to get rid of. Where we go, so do our hopes, dreams, and potentialities. We want so much! For me, for you, for the world.

This is all very lovely, until the possibilities coating us start to take on actual weight. What if we invest in them, as if they were part of us? What if we take, for instance, what we hope will happen on that date with friends tonight, and load it up with detail, emotional investment, and even secondary goals that could become possible if…? We show up, and so does our idea of what is going to happen (but most definitely has not happened yet). It’s not real, because we imagined it, but it is starting to feel very real to us.

We do this so unconsciously, and so often, and so quickly, that we don’t realize how many feelings in our day have to do with completely made-up stories that we told ourselves, forgetting to put them into the future, and conditional, tense. When someone cuts us off in a line up, or in traffic, we are upset because we are already driving or living several minutes ahead of ourselves, and this event has created a small rift in our (not yet realized) timeline. We don’t like when things don’t go even a little bit as planned, and our instant rise in temper (which, hopefully, remains completely private and undetected by others), is evidence of how much we don’t like it.

It has been very helpful to me to try to recognize when I’m angry about something that has actually happened, vs something I wanted to happen, which isn’t going to, because of _______. The first scenario is objectively real and in the past and therefore can be dealt with. The second never happened, wasn’t real, and maybe was only even thought of by me. Totally subjective. Not very easy for anyone else to deal with, and really not fair to make a big issue of, by me, in the world out there, because it’s imaginary and exists in the fairy-tale place all imaginary outcomes exist within.

Imagination is really (we think) what sets us apart from most, if not all, other species. We can time travel. We can put ourselves into situations we are not actually in, and think about how it looks, feels, what would happen next, and costs/benefits of various choices of action in that scenario. We tell stories where we inhabit other people’s lives, settings, choices. We can go to the past or the future with equal ease. It’s a breathtaking ability.

Until it starts to mess with our reality.

That’s when imaginary outcomes – hopes, fantasies, ideals, potential effects of such and such a decision or action or cause – start to take on weight. They start to feel real and we start to treat them as if they are either actually happening, have happened, or will happen with certainty.

And this is where things get dangerous. We start to forget what we have told others. We start to assume that this object we are carrying has the same gravity for everyone as it does for us. We are treating an idea as if it is an event, objectively measurable and real. This is one way to “manifest” our dreams, for sure. But it can also put a terrible strain on those around us as they try to manage the weight of an invisible and un-feel-able (to them) factor in our decision making and our interactions.

I am thinking in particular of our children, surely the most vulnerable to our tendency to displace our hopes and dreams onto others. I spoke in my latest podcast about the concept of taking rocks out of our child’s backpack by selecting only one goal for them in any particular challenge. One goal is already quite heavy for some children. It’s heavy for us. Let’s not add rocks to their backpack by layering on three or four or six or eight more hopes, dreams, and plans for their day. Let’s look at our dreams, for sure. Let’s consider them as the beautiful, imaginary, fantastic stories that they are. Some, perhaps, will magically manifest into reality. But some cannot. And that’s okay. That’s not actually a loss if we don’t create a false sense of reality around them that gives us ownership of their lines and colours.

Also, and this is not nothing, let’s be careful as to who is putting a plan into whose backpack.

Really, each of us should carry our own load. We have our own potential, our own possibilities, our own “choose your own adventure.” That is a lot. Let’s let each child, each person, each someone we love and want the best for, figure out who and what and how their future will look. Let’s give them control of their own ideal outcome. Let’s suggest, envision, inspire, and encourage. And step back. And let others choose for themselves.

This is so hard! We all dream big and some of us can see so far into the future with our incredible imaginations! If only he would…if only they could…if only she saw…but that’s them. And you’re you. And I’m me. And we each have a lot to manage, what with the nature of time being so darn relentless.

So think of your goals as pretty rocks. They’re beautiful and precious, but awfully heavy. Don’t carry them with you all day. That’s too hard. Take one at a time, maybe. The one hard thing for the challenge before you. That’s probably going to make that challenge a lot more do-able. And for sure help kids take rocks out of their backpacks, rather than stuffing more in.

Possibility is amazing. Let’s not wreck it by taking its beauty as license to own it and carry it and hoard it and keep it. Let’s let it stay light and unattached to us, and yet…still possible.

March 31, 2022April 27, 2022

Double-binds

Sometimes we want to do more than one hard thing at a time. Anyone who is a parent is familiar with this particular dilemma. We want to be present for our youngsters. Really see and know them and respond as the ideal parents we envision ourselves to be. However, we also very badly need to keep our youngsters’ worlds orderly, stocked with supplies, paid for, and functional from a life preservation sort of perspective. We can’t always play with, when we’re caring for. This is a double-bind. I’m bound to do two things at once, and the two things are at odds with each other.

Trying to fulfill these sorts of mutually exclusive roles is a major reason we burn out, pull out, flake out, or just plain flame out. We can’t win. We may do well at one role, but we know it’s at the expense of the other, and the guilt can rip us up. Frequently has, in my case!

Think about a double bind you were in today. I bet there were several. It may have been an important text that came while you were driving. Or the distress on a co-worker’s or family member’s face about something you knew required support, even as you tried to finish a task on a tight deadline. It could have been knowing you were too hungry to function, but you had promised yourself you were going to be “healthy” and wait for that next meal. It could have been trying to please both your employer and your client at the same time, when neither wanted the same thing. Or it could have been trying to get through the shopping trip to buy the food that your toddler needed to eat in order to stop screaming, but which was not yet available to give her, because you were trying to buy it! It could have been the even more difficult choice between self-care, and care of another who seemed to need it just a bit more than you did.

Double-binds seem to tear something inside us into two pieces, and that tearing sensation is hard to locate, but very much in evidence when we get a chance to sit still, by ourselves, and evaluate our day. Double-binds make it impossible to feel we got it right, even though we’re so tired, did so much, worked so hard. Gave 110%.

Much like any mindfulness guru will tell you, naming the enemy is half the battle. Maybe more. If we can spot our double-binds, at least we know what it is that is causing us additional stress, over and above the fatigue that normally comes from a hard day’s work.

Double-binds are everywhere. But I don’t believe they are necessary. What they tell us is that we have not yet solidified a values hierarchy. We are experiencing conflict as two deeply held values are competing for the top spot in our brains, and bodies, and minds. We want to hold them up side by side as equals, but they aren’t playing nicely.

It’s great that we have values, but there is no universe where our values can all be the most important. Especially when we are dealing with human (messy) situations. We have to prioritize our values. Some will need to be placed above others. That’s just a fact. It is situation-specific, for sure, but situations require us to know what we believe to be our primary purpose as we navigate through them. Otherwise, we will stall out, or behave in inconsistent and incredibly frustrating (to ourselves, and to others) ways.

Driving while owning a phone is a good example of this. Communicating in a timely manner is a high value for many of us, especially in certain networks such as work, family, or caring for dependents. We want to be responsive, and also know what’s going on as soon as it is possible. However, staying safe and alert on the road may need to trump that very legitimate pressure. Think about it. One will make us popular, or efficient, or productive. The other will keep us, and others, alive.

It comes down to this very cold appraisal once we see a double-bind for what it really is – a clash of two good things for the position of the most important and best thing. It’s possible to believe and hold to many values, but they need a clear and consistent framework (some sort of algorithm? or maybe just a code) for when conflict between them happens. And it does all the time. Think about privacy and confidentiality vs. the need for public safety during a pandemic. Think about fiscal responsibility vs. the homelessness crisis. Think about opioid addiction and the risk of tainted drugs vs. handing out clean supplies to addicts. Nothing is obvious. There’s no “right” hierarchy. But there needs to be a hierarchy. Without one, we wander in circles, getting tired, and not getting anything done. We can even do harm by muddying a decision and thereby succeeding at neither possible outcome.

However, once there is a clear and coherent hierarchy of values in place, double-binds lose their power. They become exercises in actualizing what we believe. Not a guilt trip. Just a way to decide what is most important in this particular scenario, while remaining true to our (pre-decided and thus integral) core beliefs and identity and purpose. And hierarchies do not (despite sad evidence based on abuses of power) have to mean that we are less respectful of the values we place lower on the scale. This is a sorting that can be highly nuanced, responsive to context, and evergreen, while we’re at it. Who do we want to be? Where do we want to go? A sorting of values will help us figure out how we’re doing in getting there. If it’s working, we’ll know. If it’s not, we can change it, because we’re living our life in a reasoned and reasonable manner.

Spotting double-binds can even become kind of fun, once you get the hang of it. Why am I tense and feeling so unable to move forward? What is it (or what are the two or more outcomes – red flag!!) that I’m really trying to accomplish? In other words, are there two paths I’m trying to walk down, at the same time, leading in two different directions?

Do yourself a favour. Stop. Calculate the two good things, the two hard things you want to do at the same time in this moment. Now, just choose the most important, based on your unique perspective, beliefs, and inner compass, right now. That’s it. You don’t have to say the other isn’t good, or valuable, or very important. It just isn’t the most important to you in the place you’re in right now.

Then commit, and let the other choice wait. It’s okay. You will survive. It will survive! And you can do that other thing later, in its own most important space and time, now that you know it’s jockeying for position. By slowing down in this way, you not only save energy, but you will have a shot at congruence with your own beliefs and intentions that you can feel self-respect for as you think it over later. No, it’s not as satisfying as if you could have done both things well. But none of us can. We’re only human. We can only do one hard thing at a time.

In this one moment that is your present, make it your best hard thing.