I understand the argument that kids need socialization with peers, but, as i see it, the school experience will resemble life in Handmaid’s Tale, with teachers functioning as correctional officers (by having to micromanage otherwise normal spontaneous play, which, I am afraid, will be traumatizing for kids).

Paying parents to home-school during the pandemic accomplishes several things – teaching others elevates those who teach, therefore, having parents learn pedagogics and behavior modification and having them refreshen their own academic fund of knowledge is a much-needed form of existential continued education; paying parents to home-school (in conjunction with remote school faculty) creates jobs for unemployed parents and keeps teachers employed … and healthy; and thirdly, as I noted above, doing so minimizes unnecessary exposure to Covid until we get past this hump. #BackToSchool2020

Now, you might say: “Wait a second, buddy!  I don’t have the time to just sit and do nothing.”  If that is really so, then this point doesn’t apply to you.  I get it: you might be tele-commuting and parenting and home-schooling and working hard to co-exist with your chosen significant others.  Now, that is a lot of work, and restlessness might not be your problem.  But if you are one of the lucky (or unlucky) ones who have nothing to do, then you might be suffering from the surplus of time, and from its pesky companion of restlessness (also known as “acedia”).

I hear you again object: “But I don’t want to just waste time doing nothing!”  Ok, see if I can make this one last point on the way out: time is to be wasted.  Time, they say, is money.  But time is a different kind of money.  Money you can save.  Money you can leave behind as inheritance.  Time can’t be saved or bequeathed to your children.  So, time, when in abundance, must be wasted … in whatever restful ways that please you.

So, rest, my fellow minds!

–

resource of possible relevance: The Sixth Battle of Acedia – Meaninglessness as a Mid-Life Opportunity (Somov, 2017)

www.pavelsomov.com

www.drsomov.com

On the drive from work NPR show “Science Friday” was having a segment about the fashion industry and what, if anything, it is doing to become more sustainable. The topic is well chosen: the young generation – that is beating the protest drums today – is a key consumer category of the fashion industry.

A question is posed: “Who is responsible for making sure that the fashion industry is more sustainable?” Several answers were offered but the one that made sense to me, as a psychologist, was “consumer.”

Now, let’s step back for a sec and think about what fashion is. Fashion is a camouflage for our insecurities. Why do we buy clothes? Not because we necessarily need them but because doing so helps us feel better about ourselves. Maybe we gained a few pounds and we feel we need to update our wardrobe with something more flattering. Or, maybe, we are suddenly feeling out of lockstep with the times and we need to join the current trend so as to not stick out like a sore thumb. Or, maybe, we pop into a store to finger through the clearance rack in search of something new that will somehow make us feel a little more confident on a date or a job interview.

This is where the river of consumer behavior flows from. Nobody – in the so-called developed world – needs clothes. We all have them. We all now and then cart them off to Goodwill in trash bags to make room for new ones. Fashion industry is the fast-food of clothing for our recurrent ego-repair cravings.

Back in the day people cared about how long clothes would last and how they would wear. Clothes used to be passed on as hand-me-downs. That was the original sustainability. Nowadays we buy essentially disposable clothes and the fashion industry thrives on this endless turnover.

So, what am I proposing? Well, first, I suggest we start with a moment of self-awareness. Instead of talking about fashion sustainability, we need to focus on ego sustainability. Instead of solving the problem downstream, where fashion industry dumps its dyes, let’s solve the issue upstream, where consumer psychology springs from.

Put differently, among many things, as a civilization, we need to let go of fashion and we need to refocus on psychological sovereignty that allows you to be okay with yourself even if you are wearing bell-bottoms in the 21^st century.

Fact of the matter – and I was young once, so I know – healthy body needs no fashion. A healthy, functional body is sexy, appealing, attractive in any clothes. A healthy body needs no assistance from designer labels. Health is the only truly sustainable fashion. A healthy body is its own brand.

Sure, the consumers can rebel and start buying “green,” sustainable clothes. The fashion industry will re-consolidate. Big fish will swallow some smaller fish, jobs will be lost, and new profit margins will finally allow the big brands to satisfy consumers’ climate guilt. But if we hold on to the idea of fashion, we will continue to buy more and consume more, and our planetary house that is not yet on fire will keep getting hotter.

Let me push this envelope a tad more. Fashion, which is a budget form of conspicuous consumption, – as a concept – is antithetical to sustainability.

Now, you may scoff: “So, am I now supposed to wear the same thing for years?”

My answer isn’t a should, but an invitation: “No, not supposed to. There is no gun to your head. But, if you are really climate-conscious, then you should probably ask yourself about why exactly you need to have so many jeans and t-shirts.”

If we go back to common sense, to a time before fashion, the decision-tree is simple: do or do I not have anything clean and functional and seasonally appropriate to wear that fits me? You do need several pairs of pants and shirts and dresses and socks and whatnot, because clothes get dirty and we can’t wash everything we have everyday.

And, I am not a prude, I am not saying that you should never get anything new, just because it caught your eye. Go ahead, of course, spice things up a bit now and then. Live a little. No harm in that. But do we really need to update our wardrobes as often as we do just because the garment industry keeps using fashion as a tool to promote continuous consumption?

Just take a moment to appreciate this simple thought: the word “fashion” works as a whip. You see something new, a new style of clothing and you feel that you are somehow out of date. You are being punked. You are being put down. Can you endure this little challenge to your ego? Can you shrug your shoulders and just keep wearing what you already have and already like? Or will you surrender to this little manipulation of fashion and buy the next trendy thing that has built-in seasonal obsolescence?

Sure, there are going to be special occasions. And there are circumstances that require a dress code. Ok, get what you need – sweat pants, dress pants, you name it. But also, start asking yourself this basic question: “What is the carbon footprint of my low self-esteem?”

I am including a picture of a pair of black H & M sweat pants that I bought three years ago. There are pretty ripped on the thighs and knees (from all the CrossFit hang-cleans I’ve done). There is also a bit of paint from some house remodeling. They still fit me well. I like how they feel and how they wear. If you are in my gym, you will see me wear these pants at least twice a week. And, frankly, I don’t give a damn about the fact that I might look like a hobo. My own view of self sustains my ego, fleeting impressions from random minds notwithstanding. I will wear them till they fall apart or I outgrow them.   For me, fashion is just another four letter word (with a couple of extra letters).

I lay down on my bed and close my eyes. There is a faint white noise emanating from somewhere in the house. I choose it as my somatic/meditative anchor. I know that my ears are still receiving this signal but I “hear” it only intermittently, as my mind tunes in and out of reality. I observe this. I know (from past experience) that it is normal and inevitable. I marvel at the white noise of thinking that can eclipse the actual acoustics of reality. The sound of thinking 

This is the process of meditation: not an effortful tug-of-war between mind and no-mind, but an effortless toggling between self and non-self.

(1)   the habit of making one’s own meaning (instead of “looking for it”)

(2)   the habit of accepting reality “as is” (put differently, the habit of “noticing ordinary perfection”)

(3)   the habit of being present in the moment

(4)   the habit of making conscious choices (which helps you de-program and re-program your life at will)

(5)   the habit of self-acceptance/self-compassion

(6)   the habit of accepting uncertainty (“because we are always flying blind into the unknown of what is yet to be”)

(7)   the habit of forgiving and compassion

These seven vital signs of conscious, meaningful, and mindful living are the goals of the program of existential rehabilitation.  Developing these habits will help you feel freer and more alive, more at ease and psychologically invulnerable, more attuned to yourself and more connected with others, and, most importantly, less preoccupied with what should be and more in awe of what already is.

Adapted from Present Perfect (P. Somov, New Harbinger Publications, 2010)

This morning I’ll let Walt Whitman make my point:

There was never any more inception than there is now.
Nor any more youth or age than there is now,
And will never be any more perfection than there is now.

Ordinary perfection is when we stop comparing “what is” with “what should be” and we notice “what is” in all its perfectly imperfect suchness.

So, I’ll answer my original question (of “What is ordinary perfection?”) with a counter-question: What isn’t?!

Indeed, what isn’t ordinary perfection?  Ordinary perfection isn’t that idealistic, theoretical, unattainable perfection that many of us have wasted our lives chasing.  Ordinary perfection is the perfection of all that is now, including you.  Yes, you.

—

Resources:

Present Perfect (Somov, 2010)

Reference:

Walt Whitman/Songs of Myself

This is not a formula for paranoia. This is a formula for compassion.

Everyone is drunk with their subjective view of reality. Everyone is afraid (on some level) of being (profoundly) wrong about their view of reality. And everyone is armed with anger.

If you can, now and then, help minds you meet see that there has never been and never will be such thing as objectivity (mind is bias). Next, if you can, help them see that even if they are not right, they are not necessarily wrong. And, finally, help them see that their anger is a cry for love.

These assumptions are this modern-day ape’s rules for living peacefully in a “human” jungle.

An ancient sage, Mani, wrote: “In your opponent too, though hidden, lives the light.”

There is an intimate interplay between what we assume and between What Is.

—

[adapted from “The Monkey Mind of Being Human: From Neurosis to Nirvana” (Somov, 2014)

www.drsomov.com

www.pavelsomov.com

Author Hee-Jin Kim explains: koans are “realized, not solved” (1975, 101). Admittedly, this explanation is a bit of a puzzle itself. But here’s how I make sense of it. A koan, once again, is an unanswerable puzzle. If we take it on, we begin banging our dualistic head against the nondual wall of the unknown . At some point, we realize that there is no solution, and we settle into a don’t-know mind.

This realization, of course, comes up pretty early in the koan work. And it serves as the true beginning, not the end of the process. Knowing in advance that you are working with an unanswerable question, you accept your limitations. No longer trying to know the unknowable, you calmly remain with the question in a state of not knowing. Knowingly, you keep chasing the tail of not knowing in a process that, I believe, very much parallels the day-to-day mystery of life.

Thus, the potential therapeutic value of koan work as a kind of one-question-therapy that can help soothe the perfectionistic thirst for answers.

Here are a few of the koans [from the Present Perfect book] that I developed to challenge perfectionistic thinking for my clients and my readers:

What color is approval?
What is your mind full of when you are a success?
What is your mind full of when you are a failure?
How much would you pay for a pound of certainty?
How do you add to what already is?
How perfect are you when you sleep?
When you think “I am not good enough,” who thinks that? (and when you think “I think that,” who thinks that?)

Here’s some Buddhist guidance on answering questions of this kind:

“There are […] four ways of answering questions. Which four? There are questions that should be answered categorically [straightforwardly yes, no, this, that]. There are questions that should be answered with an analytical (qualified) answer [defining or redefining the terms]. There are questions that should be answered with a counter-question. There are questions that should be put aside.” (Buddha)

The point of uncertainty training is to learn to let go of the unknown, i.e. to learn to put an unanswerable question aside.

–

[adapted from Present Perfect (Pavel Somov, 2010, New Harbinger Publications)]

www.drsomov.com

www.pavelsomov.com

You see, mindfulness can be understood as a conscious deployment of attention.  That’s not all of it but that’s how a mindful moment begins – it begins with a choice of what to attend to.  And that’s where subjective bias sneaks in.  So, as we unpack our travel bags, the souvenirs (souvenir is French for something “memorable,” a memento) tell the story of what caught our attention.  Yes, “caught.”  There is, indeed, a passivity to this most of the time – something catches our attention, as though initially against our will, and then we ourselves choose to continue or not continue to deploy our attention (our will) on what initially caught it.  Needless to say, the attention span of an average modern tourist seems to be limited to how long it takes to snap a picture and post it on Facebook or Instagram.  We seem to be moving through unfamiliar places with almost the same speed as we move through familiar places, pausing only long enough to look at the Unfamiliar through the familiar peephole of our phone-cameras.

Shutter speed is a term from photography that has to do with how long a shutter is open.  Another term for this is exposure speed.  In my travels, I am progressively intrigued by how little we – travelers – linger, and by how quickly we move on to the next thing.  Our minds open up for a brief moment – we let the new reality in for a split second – and then we bury our noses in editing and uploading the impressions that we have just been barely exposed to, before we even have a chance to process them.  To swallow is not the same as to digest.  To take a picture of a scene is not the same as to take in the experience that a given scene evokes in you.  But that’s where we are at …

About a week ago I get an email from an Australian psychologist who attended one of my workshops (this one was in Sydney) and he tells me that he’s been mulling over a point I made in the presentation on mindfulness and resilience.  The point itself is important but it is irrelevant to this writing.   What struck me was how thoughtful his analysis was; his email contained a very well-written, well-reasoned analysis of what I had said and of his own thoughts on the matter.  In sum, I was intrigued by his long-exposure, slow-shutter speed of processing, ie by the apparent aperture (openness) of his point of view.  So, I asked him if he writes – he said “yes;” he added that he hadn’t bothered to publish what he writes. Even more intriguing – an authentic voice that hasn’t yet sold out.  I asked him if he would mind sharing his writings with me – he didn’t object and sent me a collection of vignettes.  I asked him if I could share a few of his vignettes with my blog readers.  Once again – no objection from him.

So, here we are.  I’d like to introduce you to Sean Kijurina, a rural Australian psychologist, who practices in New South Wales (a five hour drive from Sydney).  In particular, I’d like to share with you a vignette from Sean that speaks to his shutter-speed, to how long he seems to keep his mind exposed to an experience as he digests it.  But, first, here’s how Sean describes his clinical practice:

“I am required to deliver primarily a short-term psychological intervention (about 6-12 sessions).  Common problems presented are mood dysregulation, anxiety and stress, interpersonal conflicts, adjustment/transition problems, chronic pain, and if I’m lucky, once every couple of months someone will come in with an existential crisis and lack of meaning in daily life, at which point my enthusiasm changes up a gear.  I’ve done training and practiced applying (to different levels of success) various therapeutic approaches including CBT, ACT, DBT, IPT and so on, though I have found over time it’s usually only a few key aspects or exercises from each of those that tend to remain in my practice in the long run.”

I asked Sean to share more about his work with the Aboriginal clients and here’s what he wrote:

“To answer the question about Aboriginal clients, there’s actually a fair amount of variation. For some there is really no difference in how I approach therapy. However for some who may have a particularly strong sense of their culture – being aware of how their families and community works, being aware of the importance of passing on traditions to the new generation, being aware of their strong connection to native land, language, and also being aware (with some of the older clients) of the Stolen Generation (when kids many years ago were forcibly removed from their families by the government and tried to be integrated into new families) and the collective trauma that came with that.”

The following is a vignette by Sean that I wanted to share with you, a vignette that shows what, in photography, would parallel a long-exposure snap of reality:

There is a tree, a single solitary tree. A tree that stands resolute, and eternally patient. A tree that waits for nothing, gone beyond waiting. All manner of life comes and goes by, the tree stands there faithfully beside the highway, watching as hundreds and thousands of humans drive by, some relaxed and some restless, some in a hurry and some go easy. The tree sees all things but never speaks its wisdom, never tells its stories or interferes with its interpretations. It simply stands there silently. Every now and then one of the humans runs right into it. The tree does no bend or sway or intervene, it just stands there in stillness and silence, watching.

Over the years, nature brings flooding and the water level rises up to the lower branches. The waters slowly subside and eventually nature brings drought. The tree stands there calmly all the while, still and dry. Nature again brings flooding and onward the cycle goes. No matter what comes its way, the tree continues to simply stand still and observe all manner of life, open to everything, watching the world go by.

I admire the tree for its resolute character. It does not bend or waver, nor yield to changing tides; it endures all that comes its way. The tree never strives to be taller for a better view, nor seeks deeper roots for a greater share. It is not in a rush, and time is unimportant. It just stands there patiently watching, taking everything in, observing the natural world as it ebbs and flows. The tree stands still and silent, completely alive.

When I read this I thought of a moment I had in Kings Park in Perth, Western Australia.  Kings Park is a botanical garden with breath-taking views of the Swan River – a place that is both spectacular and serene at the same time (there I go “infecting” you with my subjective impressions – perhaps, you wouldn’t like it … who knows … ).  So, there in Kings Park there is a giant 750 year old baobab tree.  It has an amazing story: this tree had “grown up” 3200 kilometers north of Perth and was slated for “demolition” to make way for a highway; the local people from the Gija tribe instead decided to donate this tree to Kings Park and so this ancient living fossil was trucked from Telegraph Creek near Kimberley to its new home in Perth, roots and all.  It’s been almost ten years since this epic journey and this giant baob, named Gija Jumulu, is doing just fine.  Swan River views aside, I wonder if it misses the views of Telegraph Creek …

So, as I stood there a few years ago, during my first teaching visit to Australia, I felt I simply couldn’t take my eyes off this silent giant, taking in what Sean would have referred to its “resolute character.”  But just as I was amazed by the resilience and longevity of this tree, I was acutely aware of the fleeting shutter-speed of human attention around it. Folks with cameras on their necks or phones in their hands would walk up to the tree, their jaws would drop in a “wow,” then they’d pose, snap a selfie, and move on without much delay, minds closing at shutter speed. Oh, how hard it is for us to slow down, to take in the immensity of cosmic time.  How afraid we must unconsciously be of our own fleeting mortality to get so quickly bored by such awe-inspiring sights.

In the blogs to come I plan to share more of Sean’s writings (with his gracious permission), but right now I’d like for you to ponder a line from Sean’s vignette: tree “is not in a rush, time is unimportant.”  Indeed, indeed!  Time is unimportant.  But timelessness is.

www.drsomov.com

www.pavelsomov.com