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Observations on Human Connection & Contribution

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#113: Psychological trash

I just got back from a trip, with a stomach issue that has lingered. In my fatigue, I watched the house slowly fill up with messiness. An open box here, a glass of water there, unprocessed laundry and unpacked bags there and there. The kitchen also filled up with recycling, compost and dishes; squashing any desire to go there and cook. 

When I got a bit of energy, I slowly started cleaning. The first thing I addressed during cleanup was the trash that was piling up. I took it out of the house and deposited it in the bins sitting outside so it could be hauled away and processed. I feel responsible for the trash I create and yet I create it daily. I reduce my use, reuse what I can and recycle what’s possible but I still create mountains of it week after week.

I also create mental and emotional trash daily. What creates this trash, and where does it go?

My interactions—with myself or another—create new physical sensations, thoughts and emotions or embellish pre-existing ones. I may process these with joy or with pain, with ease or with difficulty; by myself, with another or both. Regardless, every interaction creates an experiential residue that lingers and forms a psychological imprint that primes me for future experiences. How I processed this one interaction often sets my template for how I process future interactions. This internalized imprint is what can potentially become my psychological trash if I’m not watchful.

How do I know if a psychological imprint is trash? I try holding on to it long enough and see if it creates a low-grade feeling of dis-ease inside. Does it make me contract emotionally, leak on me in the form of shame or on others in the form of blame? If yes, then it’s psychological trash that needs to be processed further.

Just like physical trash, the first step is to notice it with unattached and blameless awareness. The second step is to process it into compartments: is it outright trash that has served its purpose, a recyclable that can be used anew, or shapeshifting compost with potential to make something else thrive? The final step is to pick it up and let it go, often repeatedly. So life can flow without the burden of yesterday’s trash. 

She ran after the garbage truck, yelling, “Am I too late for the garbage?” “No, jump in!”— Henny Youngman, Comedian and musician

#108: The emotional dust of creation

We don’t create things all at once, fully formed. Whether it’s an organization, a community, a tiny human or ourselves, creation takes time and the build is always unexpected. That’s a big reason why we subconsciously hold back from creating anything new: it feels risky to invest emotion and effort and not even have the guarantee that this thing we want will actually happen, or happen the way we want it to.

If we make a plan before starting (which is always a good idea), it’ll orient us in the right direction and help take suitable steps, but it likely won’t reflect the nuanced terrain we’ll actually walk. That’s because neither the terrain nor our creation remains static. Both respond to our actions and the events in our larger environment. Similarly, we ourselves respond and change; what we thought last week or last month will shift a bit when we engage in the work. Finally, we never build anything alone. Ever. There are others right next to us co-creating and going through the same push and pull of change and creation. So we’re changing, our creation is changing, our co-creators are changing and the environment is changing. This happens simultaneously and repeatedly. This dynamic is called emergence, and it asks for emotional flexibility. 

The work of creating something new is less like driving a self-driving Tesla on a traffic-free highway, and more like walking a dusty backroad full of brambles alongside others. It’s never a cool and collected experience of just sitting back and arriving. We all get scratched, stumble, bump into each other and kick up dust as we walk.

To make matters harder, we regularly pass through invisible gates that change the scenery and the terrain. What we did before needs to be adjusted in unexpected ways. If we were too absorbed in the work of creating, we may not even realize that we passed a gate. That’s when the emotional dust peaks―we all scramble to make sense of the new terrain, run furiously into the brambles and each other, kick up more dust, and make it harder to see things clearly. 

Knowing this, what if:

  • In addition to drawing maps, we prepare for that dusty and brambly trail with unseen gates.
  • Instead of a heroic solo journey, we note others who walk besides us.
  • Our commitment isn’t to one specific outcome but to staying on the dusty path. We develop resilience, integrity, and might I add―joy, so none of us opt-out in favor of the cushy Tesla path.
  • We invest time in creating trust: holding a hand, mending a wound, or offering a sip of water on this twisty path.
  • Most importantly, we create the capacity to be ok with emotional dust as we blind each other with it.

“The mighty oak was once an acorn that stood its ground.”― English Proverb, Author Unknown 

It may not happen.
If it happens, it wont happen the way you imagined.
If it happens, it’ll be its own thing: emergent and separate from you, uncontrollable by anyone.
Bringing it to life will dent you and others in unseen places.

So, why do it?
Because you came with these fertile seeds.
And if you hold back, first the seeds will wither…then you.
― A little ditty, by Suparna

#107: Solid jumping-off points and soft landings

I have a window above my bed that my cat, Fern, likes to sit at. This window is designed for privacy so it sits high; half of it is above my bed and the rest above my nightstand. Fern uses the nightstand to climb up and my bed to come down. If I’m sitting on my bed and in her way, she’ll meow to get me to move over so she can land on the bed. Only recently did I really pay attention to this dynamic where she uses the solid nightstand to jump up several feet and the soft bed to land.

I think all living organisms instinctively prefer this approach, both physically and emotionally. We don’t take risks or make big moves until we have a source of stability to support us. After we’ve taken the leap and done this big or uncomfortable thing we wanted to do―the hard job, the birth, the exam, the race, or something else―we hope to land back in a place of softness, ease, comfort and nurturing.

I’m also just starting to realize that soft landings are what transform into solid jumping off points for subsequent leaps. That ease and stability (known as sukha and sthira in yogic philosophy) are not two separate things but an infinity loop where one transforms into another in an endless cycle. Wisdom traditions also point us to these opposing, interdependent and inseparable qualities that help us create: rest and activity, yin and yang, feminine and masculine, receiving and giving.

Well-being occurs when there is a balance between these opposing forces because we can have too much of one thing. Weirdly, by over indexing on one side we deplete our capacity to do more of it. Too much action and not enough rest means burnout which leads to stunted future action. Too much rest and not enough action means lethargy, and resting more just depletes us further. Our goal is a dynamic balance that we constantly adjust to remain roughly at our center.

Historically, I put a lot of effort on the “jumping off”, or masculine side of this equation; hoping that more action would create stability for my next action. I created very few soft landings and often felt compelled to jump harder, only hurting myself in the process.

“Among the half dozen or so things for which a man of honor should be prepared, if necessary, to die, the right to play, the right to frivolity, is not the least.”― W. H. Auden, British-American Poet

#105: Lucky, and we don’t even know it (India Diaries)

I was at SXSW* a few years ago and a corporate partner gave my team electric scooters to navigate the spread out events. Everyone hopped on and happily explored together, except me. The team bonding I had imagined never happened for me; while people rode, chatted, bonded and made plans, I walked and explored alone. No one I asked me why I didn’t join, and I didn’t feel comfortable saying that I didn’t know how to ride a bike.

It’s not just biking, I didn’t grow up running, swimming, rollerblading, playing any sports or musical instruments, with computers, or with access to endless books as one might find in a public library. The list goes on and it’s not meant to be a pity party. I’m simply pointing out that there are everyday things that we take for granted, and assume that everyone has them. If we note the disparity, we often attribute it to financial lack. Even if my family could afford bikes, running shoes and rollerblades (which we couldn’t), our city wasn’t safe for little girls running or biking around. Only the wealthy had access to swimming pools and computers, and there is still no concept of free public libraries in India. So the reasons for lack of access weren’t only financial, they were also social and structural.

The structures we grow up with massively influence our well-being throughout our life. Public infrastructure like parks, clean and uninterrupted water supply, public libraries, safe streets and friendly neighborhoods, and even clean air. And the valuable private infrastructure of our families: the financial resources for a well-rounded upbringing, the support of extended family or the guidance from parents’ professional networks.

My visit to India reminded me of my social and structural luck: progressive and loving parents who valued education; growing up in a close knit extended family with cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents, which formed deep bonds of enduring love and care. My maternal aunt and uncle felt like a second set of parents and my cousins became siblings and mentors. Despite the early loss of my father and all the ensuing hardship, the unconditional love by not just one but many became foundational to my life. 

You may have grown up playing sports or musical instruments, or as part of a debate team. You may have been able to hone skills in a way all your peers did. You may have matured in the environment of a stable home and a good university, gaining access to internships and even more skills and confidence. Until one day, you found yourself next to a teammate who seemed capable and yet somehow unexplainably different.

The unique social, structural and cultural combo of our upbringing was likely mirrored by a big chunk of our peer group. They experienced what we experienced and our overlapping spaces became our ecological niches. It was easy to imagine that every niche was like ours. But everyone gets these inflexion points, where worlds meet and we get a view into the lives of others with markedly different histories. A vantage point that can help us see our ecological niche differently and hopefully value the things we take for granted.

Our niches and their associated luck can easily become invisible. It happens to me too. The longer I live in one niche, the more I forget how people live in other niches. I also forget all the ways in which I am uniquely blessed. While I was in India recently, not once did I feel alone, unloved, or that “it was all on me”.

I read somewhere that “if our ecological niche doesn’t change, we don’t change”. Most of us may not get the chance to change our ecological niche but a great way to understand our share of luck is to befriend people from other niches. Or step outside ours for a bit.

“It is every man’s obligation to put back into the world at least the equivalent of what he takes out of it.”― Albert Einstein, Physicist

*South by Southwest, abbreviated as SXSW, is an annual conference with parallel events for film, interactive media, and music. It take place in mid-March in Austin, Texas, United States. 

#104: Touch (India Diaries)

My primary sources of touch when I’m in the States are my husband and cat. I instinctively hug people but there aren’t as many opportunities to hug during workdays. When I see my friends, the main moments of touch are hellos and goodbyes. If someone I know is having a hard time, then I may touch their upper back as a mark of support and, if we are close, linger my hand there so they feel connected and safe. I do this because in my darkest moments, simple and genuine touch helps me metabolize difficult emotion like nothing else.

When I was in India, I touched humans a lot more. There were more loved ones to touch, more ways in which I could touch them, and it was ok to stay in physical contact a bit longer. I touched my mom, brother, sister-in-law, cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends. I could hug and kiss them freely, touch their face with love, massage their scalp, put lotion on my mom’s feet, hold my aunt’s hand as long as we both wanted, and sleep with my mom in the same bed. I felt hydrated and nourished by so much loving touch. 

Touch is our very first sense to develop in utero, with development starting at around 8-weeks, before the senses of smell, taste, sight and hearing. Skin is our largest organ, at 22 square feet for an average adult. We can see, hear and smell from afar but taste and touch are the two senses that invite closeness. And how we touch, like other expressions of care, is personal but also very cultural. For instance, it’s a common sight in India to see men from a specific social strata walking down the street holding hands or with an arm wrapped around another’s shoulder. I didn’t see these behaviors in the more educated or affluent Indian men. It’s also a common sight to see groups of children in their uniforms after school holding hands, doing shenanigans, laughing and joking freely on their way home.

I have not experienced this level of physical closeness in the west. Despite the many well-researched and documented benefits of touch, our general lack of touch makes me wonder if we have oversexualized the act of touching another human? What would happen if we had the freedom to express love in platonic relationships through consensual physical touch? How would it change lives?*

“We know only too well that what we are doing is nothing more than a drop in the ocean. But if the drop were not there, the ocean would be missing something.”― Mother Teresa, Albanian-Indian Catholic nun

*Touch has been shown to have physiological, psychological and social benefits. Supportive touch releases feel good hormones and chemicals in the brain (oxytocin, endorphins, dopamine and serotonin), lowers the stress hormone (cortisol), and increases the production of white blood cells in the body. These biological reactions combined help lower the heart rate and blood pressure, lessen depression and anxiety, boost the immune system and even relieve pain.