How to Better Face What Needs to Be Faced: When We Feel More at Home in Ourselves, We’re Better Able to Act in Ways That Help Heal Our Nation

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to face challenges more freely, happily? Or at least feel less fear?

 

What can we do when we know we must face something difficult? Or we wish some event, situation, or person wasn’t beating on the doors of our mind? Or when we wish we had a magic wand to make whatever frightens or disturbs us disappear, but we can’t find any such magic for sale in any local store or the internet? Or when a memory or nightmare from a trauma is so hurtful or disturbing, we have no way to even begin facing it?

 

Our body, mind, and perception systems follow a natural process to provide direction on how to respond to a situation. When we experience a stimulus, an “orienting response” arises, and we come awake. We get a message to “pay attention now.” This is followed by appraisals of the stimulus, whether it’s bad or good, wonderful or painful, a threat or a problem. Bodily sensations and feelings are created with an almost unconscious impulse to go either toward, away, or ignore the situation.

 

Then our mind gets even more involved, bringing in memories and judgments. Likes and dislikes and mental labels are created for the situation, or a story to tell ourselves to make sense of what we perceive. And then how we respond, what actions we choose to take depend on how we’ve interpreted the situation we face.

 

We always have such choices about how we interpret a situation and respond. But the behavior modeled by the people we see around us and how we’ve faced such situations in the past greatly reverberates in the present, in the form of the emotional responses this process creates. We can feel fear if we normally turn away, or anger at the mere fact of having to make such a choice. We can feel excitement and run towards it, maybe because we like adrenalin surges, or adrenalin helps us feel alive or helps mitigate the fear. Or maybe we feel engaged and we welcome a challenge. Or maybe the fright tries to wrap the situation in layers of forgetfulness.

 

In Buddhism, there’s a teaching on what’s called the 84th problem: we all face difficulties, problems. Let’s say there are 83 of them. The 84th is thinking we shouldn’t have problems. Steve Hagen, a Zen Priest, in his book Buddhism Plain and Simple: The Practice of Being Awake, Right Now, Every Day explains this exceedingly well. We might want reality to be different from what it is. There’s so much hurt in the world right now. Too many of us face so much pain and confusion every day.  But just telling ourselves it should be different doesn’t make it happen. Instead, it can make the sense of something lacking or missing in our lives hurt more and be more difficult to face.

 

A negativity bias can arise from this emotional construction process. This is an inclination or natural push to see the negative first and foremost. This bias, if understood, can help us avoid or lessen any threat to us. But it can also lead us to interpret a situation that could be merely a challenge as a danger.

 

When we push away or retreat from a situation, we might also push away an understanding of ourselves that could assist us in perceiving how to best face it. In the same way, we might think of ourselves as something separate from a situation we live, separate from others and our world. We might wish we were different from who we are. We might get hooked on wanting what we thought we lacked or thought others had; or we might wish we didn’t have what we had. We then feel separate from ourselves, from our body and mind. Our home becomes some distant place we can’t easily get to. It’s difficult to feel at home in our skin if our very skin feels wrong….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

 

Why Do We So Easily Put Ourselves Down? When We Feel Tenderness for Ourselves and Others It Gives Us The Ability to be Fully Present in Our Lives

Too often, I judge myself negatively or put myself down. So many of us seem to feel this nowadays. I read a statistic from The Cybersmile Foundation saying that 9 out of 10 young people view themselves negatively. I’m not of the GenZ or Cyber generations, yet I still can do this. Why is that? Usually, I become aware of it when it happens and know to not let myself get kidnapped by such thoughts and hopefully let it go. But why does it arise so easily?

 

I’ve also been very aware lately how we get something, or enjoy something, live something, like a vacation, a compliment, an achievement, a fright, or a kiss, and then it’s gone. Something we’ve looked forward to is there and then it’s passed, merely a memory. We can try to hang on to or prolong a moment, but a moment is too quick to grasp. I imagine this is something we all share.

 

And I think these two experiences are related, although I didn’t realize it at first.

 

When I was a child, I had the unusual thought that I might be the Messiah– or maybe that I should be. Not a Divine figure, as in the New Testament; not an Ideal King from the lineage of King David who would establish justice and universal peace on earth, as in the Old Testament. But someone anointed to stand up for a just and good God, or for what is just and good; or someone ready to suffer to bring about a better world. This was partly from parental expectations, but even more from hearing about the holocaust. I couldn’t understand how a purportedly good, just, all knowing and powerful God could allow such a thing. To my young mind, He clearly needed a champion.

 

When in my late twenties or thirties, I remembered I had had this notion and wrote a story about it called The Boy Who Thought He Was the Messiah. The writing helped me see and understand a powerful and impossible expectation lingering in my psyche.

 

Of course, when I was young, I had a very childish notion of God. I thought of Him, Them, or It in a very spatial way. He was The Man or the Being Upstairs looking down on us all. And even though I had never met Him, at least not face to face, or not clearly, I was very curious. And I wondered what it could be like to be so different from everyone and everything else, so above us all, and to know so much. I felt that He must be so lonely.

 

I had also watched all these movies and read heroic novels, and I wanted to be heroic, or to live at least one moment, one moment where I was a hero, for God or justice. I wanted a moment of perfect clarity about who I was. Wouldn’t that be something? To live a moment that was so full, so real and profound? It took years to realize that was quite an expectation to live up to. I was set up early for disappointment and for judging myself negatively.

 

We expect ourselves to be something that’s definitive, delineated from others; that stands out in some way. And that persists. Something beyond not only our body, but beyond our sensations, emotions, memories, maybe beyond our mind. A soul, maybe. Yet, all these change; they can’t be the “who” that we look for. Clearly the sensations we feel, the emotions, the thoughts and other content streaming through our mind is always changing. They’re there, right there, and then gone. We can’t find something other than consciousness, maybe, that has or that experiences all of these. But the nature of consciousness is perpetual change. Looking for a self beyond the moment-by-moment reality can hide what’s true.

 

Our culture pushes this distorted expectation, emphasizing the material, what we accumulate, what separates us from others over what unites us. And with social media, and the constant comparisons with others, how they look, what they’ve done, how many friends they have, this just makes it difficult to notice and value what’s true in ourselves.

 

So, by expecting that we ourselves are a thing that can be defined and delineated, that persists, we expect something impossible. It creates an unreal expectation of who we should be. And this leads us to feel, in the words of Buddhist philosopher David Loy, lacking in some way. Wrong. Unattractive. Unlovable. No one can always be good, knowing, or courageous.

 

So, what do we do?…

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

Outrage Directed by Compassion Can Save Us: How Do We Recognize and Call Out the Hate and Blindness that Others Carry Without Letting It Turn Us to Blindly Hate?

Sometimes lately, I worry I’m losing empathy, losing an ability to see myself in others. And this scares me. It can lead me to feel I’m losing the heart of who I am.

 

I was listening to a program on NPR hosted by Tonya Mosley. She was interviewing Jia Tolentino, a staff writer for the New Yorker, on an article she wrote called Our Plastic Surgery Nightmare. The program went into totally unanticipated topics that I previously thought had little to do with plastic surgery.

 

Or maybe I should say plastic surgery has had unanticipated consequences. The technology has become so precise as to be practically undetectable. So, what’s the problem? With such advances, it’s easy to feel even more pressure to work to maximize our appearance and make it conform to what we think other people consider beautiful. And when every face can be “optimized,” it becomes less a window into character and emotion, and more another field of artificiality. It becomes something to buy, not to live our way into. No longer will we see smile and tension lines, or other signs of character and the realities of a lived experience. A dimension of the face as a vehicle of communication will be lost. Instead, another vehicle to hide ourselves from others and from ourselves will be born.

 

What Tolentino found is that the images people are using to model their appearance on are AI generated. And these images are predominantly of people who are white, young, and based on one idea of what’s beautiful. They are also very much alike one another. The face is being separated from the person, the person from their humanity or soul.

 

The program then went on to talk about “Looks Maxxers,” a purported self-improvement or men’s rights movement I never heard of before and had trouble understanding. It largely began around 2010, during the “Me-too” movement and the Presidency of Barack Obama. It was a reaction against a perceived rise in prominence of feminism and maybe of African Americans, and diminution of strong white men. A large segment of this group blames women for their problems building romantic relationships. This perception tipped these young men into a reactive, hateful belief that women are less than men, more superficial, who do not deserve equal rights.

 

According to Tolentino, it’s also an attempt to discover and classify the bodily characteristics of successful men to imitate those characteristics. In the “manosphere,” an influencer named Braden Peters became famous for striking his jaw with a hammer, as well as using softer methods like work outs, peptides, supplements, etc. to make his body and face more rugged, more “masculine,” and in his eyes more attractive.

 

But all these efforts to be attractive are not for sex or even happiness. These men are purportedly heterosexual but show little or no desire to get closer to women. Their purpose is to attract women to display power and dominance over them, and to be seen by a virtual, disembodied audience. She called this “eroticized attention;” it’s also attention that could be used to make money from internet forums.

 

Tolentino’s article and my emotional response to it alerted me to how much I feel the human world is severely straining my ability to understand it and is close to spinning out of control. We might be facing an array of threats way beyond what was faced by any other generation I can think of. The philosopher Noam Chomsky warned that humanity is approaching [or is now in] the most dangerous and critical moment in history. We have a climate emergency, an economy that doesn’t serve most of the people, as well as too many unjustifiable, unbelievably destructive wars. We even have a fairly new technology, AI, that some reputable experts warn has at least a 10% chance of causing the extinction of all humans in the next decade.

 

And we have a president specializing in undermining every aspect of our lives as part of a human community. I hope I’m not pushing an analogy too far, but I think this administration is causing many of us to feel what’s been called moral injury. I first heard the term used in describing, along with PTSD, part of what many soldiers experience from serving in a war. According to the Moral Injury Project at Syracuse, University, the injury entails damage to one’s conscience from perpetuating, witnessing, or failing to prevent acts that violate one’s conscience. Many feel harmed by a betrayal of core values, of justice, fairness, and loyalty, by our leaders, by other members of our community, or by our own actions or inaction. We know that many of our leaders have failed not only to protect us but even care about us. We feel our very humanity is being threatened.

 

Even more than ever, and as much as we individually can, we can ask ourselves several questions. Maybe the most important is how can we hold compassion in the face of hate? Instead of sacrificing our empathy, as the “Looks Maxxers” seem to be doing, how do we instead protect and act in accord with it?

 

Does every generation of people feel an inability to understand or feel empathy for those born in different decades? It certainly seems true here, in the US. When I was a teenager, I felt my parent’s generation didn’t understand me. They couldn’t understand the reality of life for my cohorts and myself and kept wanting me to conform to their images of success and reality, not mine. Is my trouble feeling empathy for or understanding the “Looks Maxxers” anything like what my parents experienced with me?

 

And for those of us older people, what might it be like to be part of a generation that grew up with social media and the increasing climate and other previously mentioned threats dominating their world?…

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

Changing the Climate in this Country and World: Stopping the Malignant Madness

It’s raining this morning, but it doesn’t feel like a “normal” rain. The sky is so dark and ominous, and the rain hits the roof and windows like stones, like pellets. It grabs my attention so deeply it doesn’t feel like any other rain. It can’t be ignored. It falls like fear, like power. Like life itself.

 

The thunder and lightning shake my home. They shake the earth and seem to split open the sky. I hope it won’t split open my roof.

 

And the rain and thunder are not over there someplace; they’re not at any distance. They’re right here, speaking in words the size of the universe.

 

It’s raining as I think of Nepal. The flood that we now know killed over 1,114 people, that sent over 4,000 missing; and the pets, animals, all killed, homes, gardens destroyed, washed away, except for memories, except for the grief of loved ones. That flood was right out of my nightmares. Did you see the videos of it? When I was younger, I used to have nightmares of floods and of being totally overwhelmed. Of forces way beyond me.

 

And then there’s the flood in the Grand Canyon that killed 2, 1 still missing. 80 needing evacuation. Nothing like Nepal but so much closer to home. Floods all over the world this year. And to think we had a part in it? That climate change, human caused climate change played a big part in it? And that our present government and leader are actively pursuing policies that make the situation worse, that make such floods more likely and intense, deadly? That hurts.

 

And the rain and thunder send images of other sorts of rain and thunder to my mind. Like the thunder and lightning of the wars in Iran, Ukraine, Sudan, Gaza, Israel, etc., etc. According to the Peace Research Institute Oslo, over the last ten years interstate conflicts have increased sharply. They show the world right now is facing more violent conflicts than any time since World War II. And although no one nation or leader is responsible, but rather a whole shift in international relations, our president is greatly contributing to the violence and undermining efforts to reduce it.

 

He’s ended what some have called the “Pax Americana,” undermined our diplomatic and “soft power,” which used to be one of our primary ways to exercise influence in the world. He’s done this by drastically cutting our diplomatic corps, our foreign aid, Voice of America, etc.

 

He’s done this by his clueless negotiation strategies. His “art of the deal,” or his “calculated unpredictability,” his public appearance as a “Mad King” crazy or greedy enough to do anything, might have worked at some point in his personal business operations to get what he wanted. But it’s not working now with international relations. As Andrew Roth wrote for the Guardian, his vague and contradictory comments, claims, and actions have failed to bring peace. His foreign policy has “fully passed through the looking glass.” He’s risked undermining the world economy and the lives of millions on a whim.

 

And he’s totally clueless about how to end what he’s begun. According to Congressman Adam Smith, his rhetoric has strengthened the hardliners in Iran and is designed to drive our allies away. What he’s succeeded in doing is increasingly isolating us and undermining our credibility in the world.

 

According to columnist and former Labor Secretary Robert Reich, “[DT]’s mind has gone.” Maybe his “Mad King Strategy” is not a strategy at all but a description of the reality of his mind….

 

*To read the whole post, please go to The Good Men Project:

Finding Our Power in How We See, Hear, and Speak: Hearing Both the Speech of Other People as Well as Trees as the Way the World Speaks in Us

I was recently walking down my rural road. It was a quiet afternoon, mostly sunny and in the 80s. About a half mile from home, on the edge of a forest, the road turned sharply. When I reached the turn, it was suddenly windy. The tree leaves were shaking. The energy was the same as what precedes a rainstorm. But there were no clouds. And as soon as I walked 5 or 10 feet past this group of trees, the leaves were quiet.

 

I realized I had noticed the wind that inhabits this space many times before. And this was, as I said, especially true minutes or maybe hours before a rainstorm, when the leaves and trees in this curve in the road vibrated. It served as a semaphore or audiphore, a warning system, to turn back before the rains came. Why did the wind speak like this? Did it have to do with a change in air pressure caused by the road turning and butting against the forest? Or something else? It felt like the spot had a life of its own and could speak on its own. But somehow, before now, I hadn’t grasped anything of what was being said.

 

Life can give us so much, but we miss a great deal of it. In a way, our senses exist both to notice and ignore, to sense as well as filter what we perceive. The research psychologist and professor Dr. Robert Ornstein talks about the senses as “data-reduction systems.” He points out if we took in everything, if we became conscious of everything going on around us at any point in time, we’d be overwhelmed. It would be too much stimulation.

 

Ornstein quotes the 19th century philosopher and physician, often called the “father of American psychology,” William James as saying the mind acts like a sculptor. Out of the raw and swarming chaos around us we, through cumulative choices and with the help of our ancestors, our culture, and linguistic systems, we select this and reject that. We create the world we live in and feel. We’re also taught or conditioned to accept this and deny that. What we consciously perceive greatly depends on what we’re taught to see, what we expect and pay attention to, and what we value. Other minds create other worlds.

 

We also depend, of course, on what nature gives us. For example, our eyes can perceive only a tiny fraction of available light. The possibly visible light in the electromagnetic spectrum is so wide, ranging in wavelength from “less than one billionth of a meter to more than a thousand meters,” says Ornstein. But the human eye can detect only a tiny part of that, only 400-700 billionths of a meter.

 

For humans, ultraviolet light is barely perceptible. Ed Yong, in his wonderful book An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us, says ultraviolet is “an invisible hue just on the edge of our vision—a perceptual void that our imaginations are keen to fill.” But to bees, some fish as well as reindeer, dogs, cats, etc. UV signals are common.

 

So, thinking of our eyes as only windows to the world is a limited metaphor. We’re not merely windows; we’re not, as some would say, merely mechanical processes. And we’re not separate from the world we sculpt. How we think about reality strongly influences our ability to act in it. How we think about our ability to make choices influences how well and what we choose. This is so crucial to recognize. If we think we have no role, we create a world in which we’re powerless. Getting us to think we’re powerless in shaping what we see is a belief propagated by autocrats to enable them to control us….

 

*To read the whole article, please click on this link to The Good Men Project.

Creating a Model of How to Live in Friendship with Life Itself: Celebrating An Educator and Education that Freed and Sang to Us

In this time where teachers are being overburdened and education itself is under attack, where propaganda and lies are being elevated and facts, science, and diverse examples of literature are being suppressed, it’s more important than ever to speak of schools where something very different occurs. Where not only critical thinking but compassion and the wisdom and freedom of young people is fostered.

 

Yesterday, I attended the celebration of life of Dr. Dave Lehman, who died recently. He, with his wife, Judy Lehman founded the Lehman Alternative Community School (LACS), a public secondary school where I was lucky enough to teach for 27 years. Dr. Dave was the principal from 1974-2004. I attended the event as a grieving colleague not as a reporter or chronicler. I didn’t get permission from all the wonderful organizers and speakers, so I can’t mention their names or quote exactly what they said. All I can attempt is to somehow discover and reveal, to you and myself, my feelings about Dr. Dave and the school.

 

The speakers evoked in me so many memories. I was reminded how Dr. Dave sang to us, or more characteristically, led us in song and joy. In fact, all during the afternoon, whenever I looked around me, I was surprised by memories. Time itself took on new meaning. A former colleague shared with me their own experience of this. We might recognize how then influenced now. But what about the “reverse?” How is now influencing then?

 

Here we were, people spanning over 50 years of history at LACS. For me, right over there was a student from my first year of teaching and another from when I retired. There was one who went with me to Toronto to study theatre and one who went whale watching near Boston. There was one who helped create a replica of a Paleolithic art cave or read John Paul Sartre. They were 15, 16, 17 then, are 50 now. 50! They have their own children now in the school. How does who they are now illuminate who they were then? Or who I was? Or am?

 

I was reminded how successfully the school served as a place where everyone concerned, young people and adults, students and teachers, administrators, counselors, and janitors, secretaries and nurses, were allowed and supported in taking responsibility for educating and being themselves. We were learning how to be compassionately aware of our role in creating a community in which we and others could thrive together.

 

I was reminded that Dr. Dave often spoke about relationships and community as being the heart of a school and education itself, so our school was structured accordingly. Some examples: Each student and staff member had a family that met twice a week to plan and support their education. There was a weekly all-school meeting (ASM) where democracy was taught by actually making decisions about the school. There were committees to help plan the ASMs, clean and beautify the school, give support to diverse groups, take ecological action, and mentor new students. Students had choices in what courses they took and input into what was taught. The course material often grew out of student questions and concerns. Students themselves voted to require, as part of their education, 60 hours of community service.

 

I got to the school after having left teaching for a while and drifting from one job or area of interest to another. Then a friend told me about an opening at LACS, and I went to an interview. It turned out all the diverse experiences that I had had, all the courses I had taken and subjects that I loved were exactly what the school needed. Before teaching at LACS, I didn’t understand the underlying themes in my story. I did not know the feeling of being both centered and capable of helping others on a daily basis. But then I did.

 

During the event I kept thinking: how does anyone start such a school? How did Dr. Dave do it? Where did the vision and dedication come from? The persistence? Confidence? He didn’t do it alone, of course. I mentioned his wife, Judy, who ran the office and was like a mother to so many of us. Once started, he recruited an amazing core of educators, ready to give their hearts and enormous amounts of time to the job and with little financial renumeration. Most were so committed to helping young people that, for many years, they gave up part of their salaries in order to increase the number of staff and variety of courses.

 

And through the first 20 years or so, the school was frequently questioned, doubted, and even attacked by administrators and sometimes residents of the area, for being too different, not fitting into their ideas of what a secondary school should be or what young people were supposed to be. But not often by students and parents. For many years, there was a long waiting list to get into the school; potential students had to choose to attend. Dr. Dave was a great protector. He so capably worked to protect the school and all of us while our education continued.

 

And he taught us about change. That it was life itself. As one speaker pointed out at the event, he didn’t let us ever get too attached to seeing or doing things one way. For example, he tried to change the 45-minute class structure to 90 minutes, to allow for longer teaching periods and increased involvement in learning. However, after a yearlong trial period, the students voted down the change. And Dr. Dave, instead of getting upset, honored the wisdom and choice of students. Now, some 90-minute classes remain but most are 45.

 

And maybe most of all, Dr. Dave cared about us and for us. He taught us a language of caring. One example: after I had a difficult surgery, he came to my house to help with my recovery. We talked philosophy, and he helped me think about something other than pain, something uplifting. He did such things for all the staff, as well as students. When doors of such deep honesty and heart are opened, they don’t close so easily. A model for how to better live in friendship with life itself is created.

 

That’s what this school did for so many of us. Uplifted us. This is what education is about. This is what leaders could and I think should be. I was lucky enough to have known him, to have worked with him. And to have worked and shared with so many people, so many young people and older ones. Such an amazing group of colleagues; such an amazing assortment of students. What a gift.

 

*Photo by Rebecca Costello.

Getting A Better Understanding of Our Lives: What Do We Do When the Unknown Takes Shape and Emerges from the Darkness of the Woods?

Last Sunday, around 2 pm, just as I was beginning an afternoon meditation, a black bear emerged from the woods behind my home. At first, I didn’t realize what it was. It was hidden by bushes and flowers, and all I could see was its massive side. Then it walked right by the door of the den where I was sitting. I went to the door, thinking my presence there would scare it away. It ignored me. It just continued on its way toward the front of the house, where my wife had earlier put out bird food.

 

I’ve seen bears before, several times. Four years ago, in the early morning, one came right to our front door and raised its paws as if to frame the window and look inside at the bird food stored there. I then went to the door, clanging 2 metal rods together; it immediately ran off. Not this bear. I shouted at him and he just leisurely walked on its way. Its presence was almost overwhelming; so, of course, I got my phone and, from inside the house, I followed him around taking pictures.

 

But at that moment when I first saw but couldn’t identify what it was, it seemed like a black cloud was walking through the yard and into my life. It felt like the unknown was taking shape and emerging from the darkness of the trees, a force both beautiful and fearful. All else was forgotten.

 

Maybe what was taking shape was the silence that resides before speech and memory can be born, and it shook me with its immense size. Maybe all such large, wild animals can seem almost mythological to us. Our Paleolithic ancestors, when not consumed by fear or the drive to hunt for food, were likewise overwhelmed when such animals appeared. And instead of taking photos, they drew bears, bison, or elephants, etc. on the walls of a cave. And then they could more deeply appreciate, remember, study, or spiritually enter the awareness of the animal. Such wild animals even today can allow us to touch the ancient lives of our ancestors.

 

When the bear came out of the woods, what message was my life perceiving in it?  Clearly, it took me out of the realm of the usual. And, yes, it was also a great story to share with my friends and family, and you.

 

When it came to the front of the house, I once again got out the metal rods. But it didn’t run off until I walked out the front door shouting and clanging the rods together. It then disappeared—for the moment. Later, I heard a noise, like a window shaking. It was the bear ripping from a window a bird feeder mounted there, and I had forgotten to take down. When I once again clanged the rods together, it grasped the feeder in its arms and ran off.

 

The depth of meaning that any event can hold for us is rarely, if ever, clear. Nor can it be encompassed by words. To truly understand our lives, we need some humility about our ideas. But I did realize one lesson: when we delay doing what needs to be done, we pay a price. And it can come to bite us, or to steal our bird feeders and rattle our windows.

 

One of my favorite books is Joseph Campbell’s A Hero with a Thousand Faces. This book greatly influenced George Lucas in his creation of Star Wars and other movies. The movie follows Campbell’s analysis of a cycle or pattern that heroic characters have possibly followed in their path to enlightenment, redemption, or saving lives. It can be seen in widely divergent works of literature, myth, and religion such as the story of the Buddha and Bilbo Baggins, Edmond Dantes in The Count of Monte Cristo to Gilgamesh, the hero of the first story ever written. It can be seen in The Odyssey and ET….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

The Power of a New Word: Hearing the Silence in Which Now Is Born

I just learned a new word. It’s new not only to me but to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary and possibly many of us. According to the online Word Daily site, it was created by a German writer named John Koenig, as part of their book called “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows,” released in 2021. Before it was a book, it was an online website and YouTube channel. Did you know of this? The book includes a collection of words Koenig coined to express a variety of emotions, not just sorrows, but for which he thought no word existed.

 

The word is ‘sonder.’ It means “the realization and understanding that all other people have lives as complex as one’s own.” Wow; as complex, and let’s add as valuable, as painful, as full of worries and wonder. A realization that just as we ourselves have an inner world filled with contradictions, so does everyone else. We all feel and love and dream.

 

When we’re in a traffic jam, we feel sonder when we see these other people in the cars next to us and feel, wow, they’re as complex as I am. They’re rushing to work or the hospital or a lover, feeling anxiety or fear or anticipation, or all three. The word might’ve been inspired by the French ‘sonder’ meaning “to measure the depth of.” We measure the depth of those we see and hear; we measure our own depth by recognizing that of others. What great power we can unfold with such a word!

 

According to Wikipedia, Sonder is also the name of a music album by an American pop-band, and the name of an American neo-soul group. Koenig says that “most of what we feel goes unspoken for lack of a word” to realize, express, or ripen it.

 

As I get older, I feel a newly realized appreciation for words. And I guess I feel sonder towards so many of my fellow agers who, like me, are finding it more difficult to remember words we once spoke readily. Maybe this sounds like a stereotype, but it’s reality for so many of us. Words that once danced easily out of our mouths now hide and we can feel bereft over the loss. We’re left with frustration— and then silence. Yet, it’s how we respond to the silence that most effects who we are and will be.

 

Sometimes, a conversation with my wife becomes an opportunity for pantomime and guessing games. I stand up and mime partially sitting with my arms held out in front of me grasping air and ask her, “What is that word? I know it begins with a ‘b’ and it names something with 2 wheels we can ride.”

 

Each of us has our own memories, connotations that reach beyond common meanings. Likewise, every language is its own world, or embodies a different perspective on the universe, so each has words that others miss.

 

For example, according to philosopher Alan Watts in his book The Way of Zen, there are 4 words espousing a perspective unique to the Japanese language and expressing moods characteristic of Japanese poetry. Some of the words have close English approximations but with unique twists. The moods are, in Japanese, sabi, wabi, aware (a-wa-re), and yugen. Sabi is when we get quiet and feel detached from our usual concerns; we feel a quiet isolation. Poet Lucien Stryck said sabi is the recognition of beauty in asymmetry, imperfection, and the yearning to go beyond a superficial understanding.

 

Wabi is often linked with sabi. It’s a sense of simplicity, purity, and sincerity. Watts said it’s the poignant appreciation of what others call common. We catch a glimpse of the ordinary in its “incredible suchness.” The mood can arise when we feel sad or depressed and we notice the uselessness of many of our concerns. Stryck said wabi is the feeling of something previously ignored now seen as precious….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

When It’s Hot Like This: The Many Layers We Wear, of Fear, Anger, and Hope

The US has never substantively faced the reality of Climate Change. But, since the first Earth Day and Nixon, we at least had a functioning EPA. No longer. And it wasn’t too long ago, certainly before DT first came to haunt the White House, that Climate Change was on the forefront of news headlines. Even in 2019, during his first administration, I remember the excitement created when 16-year-old Swedish climate activist Greta Thunberg told a House committee hearing, “I don’t want you to listen to me. I want you to listen to the scientists… and take real action” on global warming. But then COVID and the attempted coup, wars, and so much craziness.

 

Now, DT is doing everything to wipe climate heating from our minds. For example, he’s scrubbed any references to climate change from the websites of the Department of State, Defense, Agriculture, Transportation, Energy, Environmental Protection, and of course the White House. He chose Lee Zeldin to lead the EPA, who has since then been working to de-fang and unstaff the agency, and degrade environmental protections.

 

I’m not a scientist. I haven’t been involved lately in large scale efforts to safeguard our climate and environment. But I take smaller actions. And I know it’s been extremely hot. I know it’s not just the temperature, but heat wrapped in humidity making our weather so uncomfortable and too often deadly. In Europe, so many heat records are being shattered. In France for example, a top-level Red Alert was issued for most of the country, with one town recording a reading of 110.84 Fahrenheit. Since June 21,1300 deaths across Europe have been attributed to heat stress, which has been called ‘the silent killer.’

 

According to John Kennedy, head of climate information at the World Meteorological Organization, since 1976 Europe has warmed at an alarming rate of 2 degrees, twice as fast as any other continent. Kennedy added that with climate changing as quickly as this, extreme heat and other destructive weather events are expected at increasing frequency.

 

I think most of us know we humans are destroying the ability of our planet to feed, house, and sustain us. And we know such events are happening in the US, too. For the July 4th weekend, much of the central and eastern US will experience temperatures from 90-100 degrees, with it “feeling like” 110. In my rural town in the Finger Lakes of NY, this week we’re getting 4 – 5 very humid days in a row of mid 90s to100 degrees, with a heat index close to 110 degrees. This is our second heatwave this year, and summer has just begun. I’m really wishing the air-conditioning in my car hadn’t broken.

 

And we’re all in this together. Outside, I feel not only the heat and humidity, but another layer on top of that, of fear and grief, of anger over the willful ignorance and greed perpetrated by our culture, and our present leaders. The dismantling of the EPA and environmental protections as mentioned earlier not only increases the risk of extreme weather but endangers our health in many ways, for example by increasing cancer-causing pollution. Yet, as reported by The Hill, DT has delivered hundreds of billions of dollars in tax breaks and subsidies to oil companies in exchange for their political support.

 

And doing little to stop environmental destruction is also a financial nightmare. The International Chamber of Commerce reports that globally, over the last ten years, extreme weather has cost us over $2 trillion. And it’s getting worse; over the last 2 years alone it’s cost $451 billion, a 19% increase over the previous 8 years. NOAA estimates that between 1980 and 2024 the US sustained 403 extreme weather events where overall damage costs exceeded $1 billion. Lately, wildfires and harsh storms have pushed insurance costs significantly higher. And this does not include the deaths, emotional pain, and disruption of lives.

 

It’s so difficult to wear any of these layers. It freaks me out; it freaks out so many of us. It’s difficult to talk about or even think about. But the only way to slow down the excessive heat is to speed up the willingness to acknowledge the last layer; to say as often as possible in whatever ways we can, that misinformation fueled by greed is undermining all our lives. And then act.

 

There are so many actions we can take, in our homes and personal lives, as a consumer, also as an advocate and a voter….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.

We Have the Power: Maybe We Can’t Just “Let Go.” But Maybe We Can Stop Feeding What’s Eating Us

People tell us, “Just let go!” Or “let it go.” Let go of that thought circling continuously in our mind. Let go of that memory, that pain, that habit. Let go of the attacks we launch against ourselves. But there’s no “just let go.” We usually can’t do that. It would be wonderful if, when a hurtful thought arises, we were aware enough to “just” say “bye bye now,” and we kicked it out. Whoopee! It might be that simple for some of us; but usually, when we kick it, it kicks back.

 

It’s a hypnotic technique; if we want someone to think of something, we say “don’t think of this.” Like the famous example, “Don’t think of an elephant” and we think of an elephant. Or we tell children, don’t touch my computer and there they are at the computer.

 

And what’s worse is the expectation; the thought that it should be “just” that easy is an added weight on a weighted soul. We can carry around these selfies of expectations, of ourselves glaring at our “mistakes,” ourselves with others glaring or staring at us.

 

Instead of pushing a thought away, we can pause, stop whatever we’re doing for a second; take an easy, longer breath. And notice where we’re standing. We can’t easily stop a thought; but we can add another more aware, generous, or compassionate one. In my dreams, when something pursues me and I try to hide or turn away, the dream becomes a nightmare, the pursuer expands exponentially into a monster and chases me in a manner too terrible to see. When I face the pursuer, it shrinks and becomes just another living being to recognize. There’s great power in facing and knowing when to face our monsters.

 

One memorable insight I got from mythologist Joseph Campbell and others was that sometimes what seems threatening can be a “call” to us, to step up, try something new; and by doing so, we find ourselves. What once seemed a fright becomes something like an adventure. Writer C. K. Chesterton agreed with Campbell’s point when he wrote: “an adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered.” And the bible: “For the turning away of the simple shall slay them…” Of course, sometimes, we should just turn away.

 

So, one thing that can turn thoughts into torture is letting them chase us from right now; or chase us from looking into what’s living in and around us. We might think the thought itself, and the object of thought carries the whole package of hurt. However, the loss of a moment, of clear seeing, hurts. The running hurts. The negative verdict on ourselves binds and blinds us. It’s how we respond to events or news that matters most. There’s great power, perspective, and freedom in spending time to clearly consider how we respond. Maybe we can’t just “let go.” But maybe, maybe we can stop feeding what’s eating us.

 

And some things we’re not always ready to face. In that case, being caring of ourselves is perfect. All of us have such times, such traumas or hurts. And noticing as much as we possibly can, in that moment, whatever is there for us, with caring and compassion is such a gift. No expectations, just noticing. Such kindness opens us; being judgmental closes us.

 

Instead of being absorbed by an emotion, we can use our attention to “just” notice it. We can break apart what plagues us by noticing what the sensations are and where they‘re located. We can name the quality of feeling and the volume. We can, of course, also talk with others about them, say what we feel safe to say, or say what’s just a little bit beyond safe; or say what feels right. By noticing what feels right and honest in ourselves, and what is right and honest in relating to others is great power. Instead of trying to be a hero in anyone else’s dream, be honest in ours….

 

*To read the whole article, please go to The Good Men Project.