Showing posts with label flow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flow. Show all posts

Uncertainty

We live in constant uncertainty. But yet we convince ourselves that isn't true. And perhaps it's our greatest defence mechanism.

I remember once knowing that someone was going to break up with me. He gave me a pretty good indication by writing a letter… but then I had to wait two days before I saw him to find out for sure (I'm not bitter – I understand there's just no nice way to break up with someone). But having an early indication was torture. It was so much worse than just knowing it was going to be over, because there was still that bit of uncertainty. I remember cleaning the flat frantically thinking: at least if he breaks up with me I'll have a clean flat!

There's a fair bit of commentary out there on the link between uncertainty and unhappiness. This Economist blog post shows how humans don't behave rationally when there's substantial uncertainty in their environments.

But what is it about uncertainty that bothers us?

Daniel Gilbert, who is a professor at Harvard University and author of Stumbling on Happiness, wrote in a blog post for the New York Times about this phenomenon. He cited a few instances of research where knowing about something negative was much better than not knowing.

For example, research at the University of British Columbia showed that people who learned they had a very high likelihood of developing the neurodegenerative disorder known as Huntington's disease were happier a year later than those in the study who did not learn what their risk of developing the disease was.

Gilbert says in his post:

Why would we prefer to know the worst than to suspect it? Because when we get bad news we weep for a while, and then get busy making the best of it. We change our behavior, we change our attitudes. We raise our consciousness and lower our standards. We find our bootstraps and tug. But we can’t come to terms with circumstances whose terms we don’t yet know. An uncertain future leaves us stranded in an unhappy present with nothing to do but wait.

I agree, and my own theory is that it's as if our brains are better geared towards solving definite problems than dealing with unknowns. When we don't exactly know what the problem is, or will actually be, it's as if the brain heads off to work and searches to locate it, spinning round in circles like a tire when a car is up on blocks.

And it's very hard to stop. The brain can often act a little like a runaway train, getting faster and more out-of-control. But I think that the best way to regard terrible uncertainty is the way we deal with the rest of the constant uncertainty in our life, including the ultimate one – death – by just not thinking about it.

Am I crazy for saying this? When you're facing very bad uncertainty: the results of a scary medical test, the possible end of a relationship, potential job loss or a missing person – how do you not think about it? The brain is racing and it wants to solve the problem, but guess what, it can't.

Obviously I'm not telling anyone not to do proactive actions about uncertain situations when they can do something. But there are so many situations where all you can do is wait. And it's really hard not to think about something when you're in distress – but we've all had experiences of doing this successfully. Something funny happens and suddenly the worry is gone for a moment. Where did it go? If we can try to extend these time periods, by focusing on the present moment and realizing that there's nothing we can actually do, we can help ourselves and the others around us.

The problem with not being able to deal well with uncertainty is that it's always with us. Sometimes it's worse than other times, but essentially, having a successful coping mechanism for dealing with uncertainty is something that lasts, frankly, for a lifetime.
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An Un-Masterly Chef

Last Wednesday night I received a call from the Future Hub, clearly on the train home from work perusing the Evening Standard television listings. "You do realize that the first episode of Celebrity MasterChef starts in 15 minutes, don't you?"

I nearly sprung off the floor from where I was doing my back exercises (I didn't though – I'm not supposed to spring while my back is still injured). I couldn't get to the DVR fast enough to make sure I didn't miss a nanosecond of what is currently one of my favorite programs. Celebrity MasterChef, Professional MasterChef, just-plain-old MasterChef. For those people living under a rock, and my US based readers (not sure if BBC America broadcasts such lovely programs), MasterChef is a cooking competition. It's been recently revamped to make it more exciting and it is on nearly every day in the evenings as they whittle through the weepy contestants who say over and over again that this competition could "change their life".

Perhaps that's why I like the celebrity version best. There's no pretence that these people are actually trying to open up their own country pubs for a better life for their families (do they even know anything about the restaurant industry?). In fact, I find the first rounds a bit depressing – it's really sad when these people find their dreams come crashing down when they get eliminated because of a televised cooking disaster.

But I have to confess, I just love reality TV. Not the Big Brother kind where people lie around and talk to each other about nothing much. I like the focused competitive programs, where you get to watch people trying to learn a skill or outsmart other contestants. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I am also a fan of the UK version of the Apprentice with Sir Alan Sugar. It's so interesting to watch people try to perform a business task – so many psychological elements of the process: which products to sell, to whom, and how to work as team together. If it wasn't being televised, I'd definitely sign up.

But back to MasterChef. I really love cooking. It's the one thing I like to do but don't treat with the same level of perfectionism as so many other things in my life. I think it's because no matter how much I mess up a dish, I know I will have many other times to try it out a different way. You've got to eat three meals a day (at least), so there's lots of room for trial and error. I also love the repetitiveness of the tasks involved and how absorbed I get when I'm simply chopping up a cucumber. It's the definition of "flow" to me (see my posting on Monkeys And Meditation for more on flow).

So would I ever sign up to be a contestant on MasterChef? No way. Not even taking into consideration whether I'd be good enough anyway, I don't want to go there. Perhaps that's why I like watching the competition so much – it allows me to live vicariously through others without putting myself through the mental anguish of it all. A skill that you enjoy but don't aren't a perfectionist about? A real gem. Guard those things with all your might.
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Monkeys And Meditation

If I ever mention that I have dabbled in meditation I get a mixed reaction. People are suspicious, but at the same time very curious. What is meditation about, really? Is it about relaxing? And is the person they're talking to really strange?

I actually haven't had much time to meditate recently. We spent the first half of this year buying a flat and moving and are now planning a wedding. Setting aside some time to meditate would probably help with such stress, but never mind. You do what you can.

But what is meditation, really? If I could describe it in the simplest way possible it would be about attention. Have you ever become so absorbed in doing something that you lose all track of time and nothing else seems to matter? For a little while you forget all about your constantly growing 'to do' list, those pictures from 2006 that you never put in an album, the sandwich you left rotting in the work fridge a few weeks ago and also, the sudden thought that maybe all the people in your life have formed a secret club to conspire against you (maybe you believe me now that I'm a paranoid person).

I've done a lot of reading about the idea of mindfulness and meditation, focusing your attention on the task at hand and not listening to all those little thoughts that go shuttling through your brain every minute of every day. But reading about it and doing it are two different things.

So maybe a year or so ago I decided I needed to practice this ability to pay attention – which is what (I believe) meditation is mostly about. I actually bought the book Meditation For Dummies and dealt with the embarrassment of reading it on the London tube. If you're looking for a primer on the topic it's a great broad introduction without any particular spiritual or religious bent.

I started with the first basic type of meditation: to simply sit on the floor (or a cushion), close your eyes and count your breaths. And every time your mind wanders away from focusing on the rise and fall of your belly, you try to bring it back. Apparently our minds are particularly good at wandering. I took a yoga class in San Francisco earlier this year with my friend, and her teacher called this "monkey mind" since your mind is running all over the place like a little monkey. I love this. Sometimes the monkey in my mind also throws fruit at me.

I've experimented with daily 10 minute bouts of meditation over the past year or so, but it's been hard recently. Fortunately, life gives us some great opportunities to start practicing focus and attention without it.

Now I just try to get fully involved in whatever it is I'm doing. Whether it's a conversation with a friend, a meeting, or a task at work that's particularly difficult. When every bone in my body is screaming that I need to be somewhere else doing something else that would make me feel better or happier or calmer, I try to take a deep breath and return to where I am now.

I read once that hell is wanting to be somewhere that you're not (wish I could remember where - I will keep looking for the reference). Maybe we don't have enough time to meditate, but it sure seems like a waste of time in our short lives to be wishing we were somewhere else.
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