HOW TO BE IN THE MOMENT – 101 Tips

 TIP #3
Give yourself the benefit of the doubt.

Who are all these people whose voices we hear inside—controlling, judging, berating? Who do they think they are?

Remember, those voices are not yours. While perhaps well-intentioned, they have their own baggage. Trust you own voice.

MY DARK CLOUD – Clearing My Dread

I had a fairly normal childhood. I went to school. I played with my friends. I fought with my brother. My parents, while far from doting, were always there for me. They expected the best from me and I think, for the most part, I met those expectations.

Illustration: Katy Farina

But sometime during my adolescence, that carefree little boy developed a dark side. Nothing sinister, just some negative thoughts, self doubts, perhaps a tinge of fatalism. Part of the problem was simply being a teenager. I was experiencing feelings typical of this difficult stage: worries about fitting in, embarrassment over everything my parents did, or didn’t do, frustration that I was neither a child any more nor quite yet an adult. But somewhere in the mix there was also something a bit more sinister, an element of dread—of what, I wasn't sure.

               It seemed everyone I knew 
               was perfectly sure of what they 
               wanted and how they felt.

Those vague, menacing thoughts lurked in a corner of my disposition well into my adult life. I was troubled by a sense of not knowing myself and, whenever I felt I might have an inkling, not trusting even that. It seemed everyone I knew was perfectly sure of what they wanted and how they felt. And, because I wasn’t, I often ended up letting others make decisions that deeply affected my life, and then wondered, “Why's this happening to me?” Sometimes I felt imprisoned by my situation, shackled by a gloomy defeatism.

I wasn’t really even conscious of most of these feelings at a level I could have described, much less that I felt anyone else could possibly have noticed. Still, I knew that, somehow, it stood between me and the full happiness I imagined was possible.

AN ENLIGHTENING QUESTION
In 1979 I and three of my friends formed a men’s group. We met every other week at a different member’s home to share our feelings, brainstorm personal problems, support each other and encourage one another’s personal, professional and spiritual growth.

    I realized that, despite my efforts to minimize 
    it, everyone else could see my affliction.

Over the next few years membership grew to six. We were lucky to have members who not only were unusually sensitive, articulate men, but also had professional experience with group dynamics. A few had gone through personal or relationship counseling. As a result, there was no shortage of activities we could call on to help us better understand and support each other. We even took the iconic Myers Briggs Personality Inventory together.

One exercise we tried was simply called “feedback.” Each of us got a handful of three-by-five cards. We were to write down, for each of the other men, an observation we’d made about him. No judgments, no criticisms, just an observation. We could either sign our cards or remain anonymous.
One of the cards handed to me—signed by Peter, a man I admired very much for his courage and insight—said, “Jeff, why do you always have that dark cloud over your head?”

   I’d managed to keep it stuffed into that uneasy 
   little corner of my psyche, rationalizing 
   that that’s just the way life is.

FINDING, TRUSTING MY LIGHT
The consequences of that question have proven life-changing for me. The immediate impact was a sense of relief, perhaps like that felt by a patient finally getting clarity after suffering for years with an undiagnosed illness. Finding out that it has a name, that it’s not all in your head, finally lets you address the problem and begin treating it. The difference here, though, was that I hadn’t even known I was “sick.” All this time, I’d managed to keep it stuffed into that uneasy little corner of my psyche, rationalizing that that’s just the way life is.

Even more significant than my relief was the realization that, despite my efforts to minimize it, everyone else could see my affliction.

Our men’s group continues to this day (now 33 years old). Peter left the group many years ago, but I see him now and then. I always thank him for having been a mirror to me, for that telling reflection of a burden I’d not fully realized I was bearing. Knowing it was real has allowed me to all but vanquish that self-victimization, that heaviness of heart. Every so often, the dark cloud tries to revisit me, but I’m eventually able to clear the skies by summoning and shining the inner light I’ve come to trust as my one true spirit.

"The task we must set for ourselves is not to feel secure, but to be able to tolerate insecurity." – ERICH FROMM

SHOW & TELL – The Lost Art of Conversation

Remember Show & Tell from grade school? What a great way to give a kid the chance to be an expert at something. Apparently some people enjoyed it so much that it forever shaped their notion of social intercourse.

With all the get-togethers of the holiday season, you won't have to look far to find them. They're the ones still showing and telling, to the exclusion of looking and listening. It's easy to spot their "conversations;" just look for the asymmetrical body language: the talker fully engaged, perhaps leaning slightly into the effort; the "listener" turned slightly away, avoiding eye contact, inching ever-so-slightly backward. Notice the furtive glances, the barely believable excuses to get away.

Want to say something? Fine, as long as it's about me!

My wife and I refer to this as the "And You?" caper. Its perpetrators, many of whom, for their education and upbringing, should know better, seem to assume they're so interesting that no one else could possibly have anything to say. If not for curiosity, at least out of common courtesy, is it so hard to summon those two simple, gracious words of transition: "And you?"

Apparently it is, since, as we've found, this condition is extremely widespread. As long as you keep showing an interest in them, they'll keep showing and telling. And, though a few might occasionally let you interject an experience or opinion of your own, most are deft at swinging the focus right back around to where they
want it.

     I like to see if it might dawn on them that 
     I know all about them and they don't even 
     know where I'm from.

I feel sorry for the show-and-tellers of this world. The whole time they're wracking their brains for more of themselves to bestow on me, they're unable to take anything in. They miss what's going on around them. They miss the possibility that they might learn something from me, that we might share an interest or even become friends.

Some might say these folks are just being honest, that they're indeed simply not interested in me or anything I do. They don't have to be. But come on, don't take me prisoner! Maybe I'm not that interested in them either, but at least I'm giving them the chance to engage me. If they can't reciprocate, I wish they'd come up with their own lame excuse not to talk, instead of forcing me to do so.

      Oh, I'm sorry; I've been going on and on.

I'll admit it's condescending, but I've devised a couple of defenses against the more aggressive show-and-tellers. The first—surely the more compassionate—is to turn from enabler to observer. If they insist on showing and telling, by God I insist on looking and listening. I keep responding curtly, but I study their face, looking for those little cracks that reveal their insecurity.

I note the way they take a quick breath at the end of a sentence so I won't have time to interrupt their train of self-promoting thought. Then, after they've gotten used to the rhythm of my asking and their telling, I'll just stop priming the pump.

I just stand there in silence, sometimes for ten or fifteen seconds. I like to see if it might dawn on them that I know all about them and they don't even know where I'm from. It rarely does.

My other tactic is far more direct—perhaps more honest. I resort to it only when all else fails and I have nothing to lose. I feel bad afterward, but the satisfaction far outweighs the guilt. I wait for the slightest sign of interest in me. Nothing. I execute the pregnant pause technique; still they're unfazed. I try every dialect of body language.

If they're still pontificating I simply break in and say, "You don't have the slightest interest in me, do you?" Usually—and I take this as the ultimate confirmation of my assessment— the person walks away indignantly. After all, the only other option for a polite, caring person would be to ask me what I mean. And that, apparently, is not allowed in Show & Tell.

Oh, gosh, look at me; here I've been going on and on. What do you think?

"But enough about me. Let’s talk about you; what do you think about me?"~  FROM THE 1988 FILM, BEACHES – ADAPTED FROM THE NOVEL OF THE SAME NAME BY IRIS RAINER DART