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Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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Zooming In: To get a closer look at life

#101: Two structures of human life, and how they obstruct relationality (India Diaries)

My recent India visit was my longest since I left home 20 years ago. While I had a long list of tasks, there was space to spend agenda-less time with whoever and whatever showed up in my days. As if plucked from responsibilities and daily priorities, I was suspended from life, hovering above everyone else while they went about their routines, commutes and deadlines.

I saw the universal rhythms, transitions and evolutions embedded in life. Meal times, menus, get-togethers and health exams; caregiving and care taking; oscillations of attachment and detachment; happy and sad life transitions; the evolution of people and their relationships; hope and grief. I observed both the mundane and the moving. But I wasn’t a distant observer, I engaged with my full emotional repertoire without even trying. Because I was surrounded by people I had lifelong histories and memories with―a high concentration of those I loved―I had moments of deep emotional resonance pretty much daily if not several times a day. There was a lot of love and some frustration. I soaked it all in.

But here’s my main point: all of the above played inside two main structures, the practical and the emotional. 

  • The practical structures: These are the things we do everyday, whether paid or unpaid, whether at home or outside. These are the spaces we show up in and contribute to in tangible ways. These are often the more visible parts of our days. We can think of the practical as the “hardware” or the “what” of our lives. The practical gives scaffolding, purpose and busyness to our days.
  • The emotional structures: These are the things we feel, which are of course driven by our circumstances but more than that by the people that populate our lives, including ourselves. They are our family, friends, neighbors, coworkers, acquaintances, those we run into periodically (like the pharmacist), and even complete strangers (like co-commuters on the metro). Our emotional structures are a source of our most beautiful and terrible moments, offering both love and pain, hope and despair. They’re like oxygen―invisible and absolutely critical. This is the intangible “software” that runs the practical hardware of our lives. Think of the emotional as the “how” to the practical “what”.

Now let me thread one final thought to bring this home:

Our lives are fundamentally relational (this is backed by social scientists, leaders and humans of all stripes). That is, we become who we are and do everything we do with and through other people. We’re happier when we tap into relationality regardless of context. So what gets in the way?

  • Our main relational obstacle when we feel secure is busyness. When all of life’s practical needs are going well and we are generally feeling good about things, what gets in the way of relationships are the practical things (time, distance, schedules). We feel comfortable showing more of ourselves, if we only had the time.
  • Our main relational obstacle when we feel insecure is vulnerability. When life’s practical scaffolding starts crumbling, when things aren’t going so well and when we are more likely to be in the emotional dumps, we don’t fixate on the practical as much. We seek people out or they seek us. Then what gets in the way is the ability to show more of ourselves, to be vulnerable.

Regardless of the obstacle, tapping into impermanence has the power to bring us back to relationality. This may be counterintuitive but remembering that we, and everything we see and experience is fleeting can re-tune us back into our shared humanity. For proof: see the point on benevolence (chapter 2) in the 2023 World Happiness Report.

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Sidenote: I’d love to hear your thoughts. I’ve been playing with these ideas for a couple of years and they are core to my work. Ping me directly to let me know if they resonate or if I’m missing anything.

“Start close in,
don’t take the second step
or the third,
start with the first
thing
close in,
the step
you don’t want to take.

Start with
the ground
you know,
the pale ground
beneath your feet,
your own
way to begin
the conversation.”
― “Start Close In” by David Whyte, Poet

#100: Yoda on demand

On a particularly busy day, I wanted to exercise my body so quickly jotted a calendar reminder for yoga. I added the words “on demand” to remind myself to follow a pre-recoded class vs. a livestreamed one from my studio. When I opened my calendar later in the day though, I saw that I had typed “Yoda” instead of Yoga.

For those unfamiliar: Yoda is a fictional character from Star Wars. He represents intelligence, wisdom, courage and is known for his deep connection to the Force (life’s energy field), which he deftly channels against evil of all sorts. Yoda-isms are embedded everywhere, the most memorable being  “Do. Or do not. There is no try.”. The creators of Star Wars seem to have put the wisest parts of humanity in this tiny and ancient creature.

My error sent me on a thought experiment…what if we all had a Yoda on demand? And almost immediately I saw my Yoda on demand.

For years I’ve had this mental model of being inside an arena or a boxing ring; I likely created it from Teddy Roosevelt’s The Man in the Arena speech where he applauds the brave striver fighting in life’s arena and daring greatly for a worthy cause regardless of victory or defeat. In my mental model, I see my face marred with blood and sweat like Teddy did, but I don’t see myself alone. I see the brave me being coached by a Yoda-esque figure, like a ringside coach in a modern boxing game. My coach Yoda is me, not someone else.

When we operate in the arena, it’s often uncomfortable and lonely. When it feels like we’re getting punched in the face by life, our first and most frequent source of wisdom is the self. And in those moments, our wise Yoda-self draws from the wisdom we have exposed it to ― from the wise thinkers, brave doers, timeless sages, to our own everyday practices that regenerate and strengthen us. What we feed our brains in our downtime is what we call upon when we step into the arena.

We’re always fed by a legion of other Yodas but when we enter the ring, we are our own Yoda.

“…and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world…”
― “The Journey” by Mary Oliver, Poet

#94: Body as an instrument

I was recently unwell in a way where a concoction of things, chronic and acute, had me in bed for a few days. Eight punishing issues were cropping up at once. I tried not to add value judgments, which helped reduce mental chatter and made it easier for me to go with the flow. I alternated work-in-bed, Netflix-in-bed, reading and rest based on what my body could handle. By the second day, the observer in me starting seeing each issue as a thread of human experience: gastric distress, back spasms, inflamed adductor, twisted pelvis and grief just to name a few. I thought of people who had dealt with these threads at one point or another. I examined the threads that were new to me.

For example: When people had back problems, I understood theoretically but not until this experience did I really “get it”. I felt from inside how completely debilitating a back spasm could be. How all bodily movements, not some, are silently supported by our core. I knew that our core includes our back and not just the abdomen, and that true abdominal strength comes from deeper muscles and not just the surface-level 6-pack muscle. Yet, not until this event did I patiently isolate and feel the firing of different layers of core muscles. I finally played with the exquisitely designed jigsaw puzzle made of bones, muscles and tendons from inside my animal.

There is sometimes a struggle in spiritual practice about whether it’s more important for us to nurture the spirit or the body. The body is seen as temporary while the spirit more lasting. And I absolutely get this wisdom; I’ve personally benefitted from feeding my spiritual wellbeing in dark moments. But…we are clothed in this earthly bodysuit till our dying breath. If we don’t have a body, we are literally not alive. Like all animals, we have sophisticated abilities for functional activity, growth, reproduction, and continual change before eventual death, and we also face periodic glitches. I have come to see that this glitch-ridden experience inside our frequently painful bodysuit is how we unlock our spiritual practices. Body is where the nuggets of insight, wisdom and empathy live.

We can’t each go through the countless human experiences to be had. But we can go through some. Some of us will face cancers, heart attacks, severe burns, while others will face chronic migraines, irritable bowels and weak bones. Some will have the ache of untimely loss, addiction, and postpartum depression, while others will have to care for a parent with Alzheimer’s or a schizophrenic sibling. Between all of us, we cover the entirety of human experience.

Modern tech would have you believe that intelligent life can operate without a body, while simply simulating the predictive capacity of the brain. What we completely miss is that true intelligence isn’t just prediction, it’s also compassion and resilience birthed from painful surprises. This is the valuable journey that a human body allows. Over time, we can become instruments of all that is tender and powerful at the same time. Like a tree that filters environmental toxins and releases oxygen.

“It is not our job to remain whole.
We came to lose our leaves
Like the trees, and be born again,
Drawing up from the great roots.”― Robert Bly, poet

#91: Dressing for the weather

I recently went for a walk with a friend. We live about 2 miles apart and planned to meet midway and continue together. It was a bit cold and windy so I wore a full-sleeved top and grabbed an extra layer. When I bumped into my friend though, she was in shorts and a sleeveless tank top. She said it felt warm and windless in her neighborhood. Even though we’re geographically close, it sometimes seems we live in different microclimates. I’ve noticed on prior walks how spring and summer flowers in her less-shaded neighborhood seem to open ahead of the ones in our shaded backyard. She also lives in a south-facing home that traps heat and keeps her warm.

Even metaphorically, we dress for the weather outside our front door. Our day-to-day circumstances being the weather we plan for and our thoughts, emotions and actions being the metaphorical dress. How we “dress” is also based on the data points we’ve lived through. We assess our current circumstances but then call upon our personal histories while making decisions on how to behave. The unseen assumption is that our data points are complete and accurate, and our responses are based on the full picture. It’s easy to forget that our history determines what data we collect, and that our current reality is often different from another’s. 

Going back to the metaphor of clothing—we clothe ourselves based on context and when the context changes, we alter our outfit. It gets hot on a hike, we take off that extra jacket. It gets cold, we pull out our gloves and scarves. We don’t waste energy or get attached to the way we were dressed 30 minutes ago. We don’t question our actions or berate ourselves incessantly. We respond to the changing weather without attaching our identity to the artifacts of clothing. The response feels seamless.

Obviously it’s hard to be so detached from the trifecta of our thoughts, emotions and actions. But understanding the current and historical “weather” we or another human has lived through creates an awareness about the context within which they have had to operate. It creates flexibility, and is the first step towards relational ease and eventually shared sense making. It helps us know why they came to the walk in a tank top while we showed up in long sleeves.

“Perception precedes reality.” — Andy Warhol, artist, film-director

#89: Beginner’s mind (forced)

I randomly tuned-in to the US open tennis tournament while at the gym. Not having followed tennis closely for a few years, these players were new to me so I didn’t know their styles and strengths. I wasn’t connected to the audio so could only see the score and the body language. I had chanced upon the tail end of the match; the final set and match point. The player in the lead was leading by a lot and had to take her match point serve. She kept starting the serve but not taking it. She would toss the ball but then decide to let it drop to the ground instead of hitting it. She did this several times, enough for me to pause and notice. She looked calm, she was ahead, she looked very strong, she could win the match in under 60-seconds. What was hard in that moment? And then I realized: she has the weight of expectations on her. I thought, wouldn’t it be great if she could erase any internal chatter and noisy history and just serve with a beginner’s mind? Shortly thereafter, she served, she won. This match was over and the screen moved to another match. 

While this was happening, a story was unfolding closer to me on my elliptical machine. While I was watching, my run was picking speed. I was starting to break sweat, feeling fluid in my body after having taken a break. I glanced at the speed and distance to see if I was actually building stamina again and then the machine stopped. I was distracted by the match and had pressed the wrong button. I had done about 10 minutes, so not my full planned time. “No problem” I thought and started again with a clean slate. I tuned in to the body, checked for alignment and pain. My body felt good after a long time. Then I tuned-in again to speed and distance. Distractedly, I hit the same button after another 10 minutes or so and the machine stopped. I lost track of my speed and distance once again. This time I noticed…what I wished for that player, I was getting in a very forced way. I was getting unplanned fresh starts. I kept having to let go of my agenda and tune in repeatedly to the here and now, to my beginner’s mind. By the third set, I had stopped monitoring speed or distance as a gauge of my health. I was just feeling the increased stamina in my body compared to the last few times when I felt absolutely sluggish. In the first set, I was having my own micro moment of success and perhaps the pressure to outdo my past self. But the unplanned pauses and erasure forced me into a beginner’s mind repeatedly. I had no clue about my distance or speed, I just got to savor my strength that day.

Practicing beginner’s mind might be the most pragmatic way to experience the full-bodied potential and delight of our endeavors. The measurements and markers, while helpful, then become secondary. When we lead with the markers, we behave like brains on a stick and often exit the visceral experience of being alive. I know beginner’s mind is easier said than done…but it’s easier done after repeated practice.

“But something slowly began to dawn on me — I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but I was still in love. And so I decided to start over.

I didn’t see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me.

The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.” ― Steve Jobs, 2005 Stanford commencement address