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I have this tendency when I progress and grow in my inner being, to start judging and filtering my relationships around me as if everyone has attained or should attain this same level of awareness. I see another layer of “truth” (notice I’m using that word lightly, not absolutely). But it suddenly seems so obvious and clear and deep and true that I can’t possibly go back to how I understood reality before. This in itself is a beautiful thing.

The rub comes with the disillusionment of realizing everyone I love has not made this leap in awareness with me. Everyone else is on their own journey, not mine. For example, when I read Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness by Jonathan Haidt, I felt convicted about some of my phone habits. Even though I already have fairly minimal screen habits, I made a couple of tweaks with the aim of letting my phone be less of a distraction in my relationships. Haidt describes the effect of pulling out a phone when talking with someone: “We usually don’t tell the other person to stop talking; we just pull out our phone and spend some time pecking at it, leaving the other person to conclude, reasonably, that she is less important than the latest notification” (122). I don’t want to communicate this to my children or other important relationships. I want to be more fully present. For the first time in eighteen years, I bought and am wearing a watch. I realized I picked up my phone too frequently just to check the time and then potentially got distracted by whatever notifications were present on the lock screen.

So far so good. However, it’s a quick leap in my brain to look at the habits of the person next to me (most often my husband) and then assume whatever I’m learning would be good for him to learn too. Hence when I see him picking up his phone and not being present during a family interaction, I immediately judge and think thoughts like, He should know better. I’ve shared what I’ve learned, so he just doesn’t care. His phone is more important than me and the kids. He’s doing this on purpose. Suddenly I have an excuse to be pissed and irritable and foster an attachment disruption in our relationship.

Reality check. Two things are true at the same time.

1. It’s true that my husband could improve his phone habits.
2. It’s also true that he’s doing the best he can in that moment in time and his intentions are not what I project.

I’m reading a book (I know, surprise, surprise!) that sent this reminder like a flashing neon billboard. The book attempts to provide in accessible terms an introduction to a complex and hard-to-read body of contemplative work I want to ease my way into. The cliff note version is called Gurdjieff: A Beginner’s Guide by Gil Friedman. The term “The Work” refers to what Gurdjieff considers the inner task or approach to becoming more awake or conscious.

Friedman writes, “The Work states that we can grow only when we forgive all others because they are doing the best they can under the circumstances. […] We have to make a conscious effort to see the matter from another’s point of view. According to the Work, however, we are all machines, not conscious beings. We all do things mechanically. Therefore, we should not be surprised or upset when people do not behave as we do” (48-49).

The phrase “we are all machines” is not meant to be a dehumanizing comment. It’s just illustrating how our internal soundtracks play on autorepeat. Most of us react before we are even aware we are reacting. It takes a lot of work and awareness to do otherwise.

Friedman tells “an old Zen story on this point. A man is in a rowboat on a foggy lake. He notices through the fog that a boat is coming towards him. He tries to row away from the boat and yells in the direction of the boat for its occupant to change direction. The boat continues on its straight course. Finally the boats collide; the other boat was empty of occupants. It was just drifting. It was moving mechanically through the water. We, according to the Work, are moving mechanically through life. People, at least most people, won’t yell at a radio that doesn’t work, so why yell at people who are just as mechanical as the radio? Our problem is that we think people, including ourselves, are conscious” (49).

I don’t know about you, but I yell at a lot of empty boats.

Not physically yell (although my kids might contend with that on occasion). But internally yell? Most definitely. My head is easily filled with disgruntled thoughts of how people make dumb choices, should know better, or how their actions show they don’t care about me. None of this is accurate. I’m expecting people to be conscious when they are not. I’m giving myself more credit for being conscious than I actually am.

There’s a fine line between discernment, “That habit isn’t healthy,” and judgment, “They are a bad person because they are making a bad decision and they should know better so they are being bad on purpose.”

think it runs counter to theology that believes in original sin, that everyone begins life fallen and evil. It requires a bit of a nuanced conversation, but I don’t believe that anymore. I’m struck by how I would parent my children differently if I saw them first as made in the image of God, carrying divine DNA in every cell of their bodies, that they are beautiful first, and having a hard time second. Rather than viewing them as sinful and needing to be disciplined into goodness. With this view, how would I parent myself differently as well?

Kennedy challenges parents to begin with what she terms as the “most generous interpretation” (MGI) of what is going on. If my child is having a meltdown and disobeying, it’s an opportunity to get curious about what else is going on. The behavior is a symptom of something deeper. If my daughter is lashing out and crying and being mean to her sister, with some digging I might find more tender tears and a need for a long hug because she’s wrestling through adjusting to the higher expectations of going to full-time school. A surface reaction might think: My daughter is so obstinate. She’s being so mean to her sister. She’s sinful. She’s such a frustrating person. Why is she doing this to me? Whereas my MGI might consider: This new school is a lot to handle. She’s stretching and growing and her emotions are overwhelmed. She’s a strong person who is doing the best she can with all this change. I wonder how I can help her feel seen and understood?

I can work to use this same tactic with my husband too. If he’s turning to his phone, so often the external behavior is all I see or register. But what if I considered an MGI of the situation: Wow, my husband is turning to his phone. I wonder if he is overwhelmed with something? Maybe he’s had a long day working hard. Maybe he’s frustrated over something and he’s just trying to manage his frustration without lashing out at the family. Maybe I could give him some time to take a break before engaging with us.

Huge difference.

What if I used MGI on myself as well? If I just yelled out of frustration at my kids I might think: Danielle, you idiot. You’re such a bad mom. You were awful to your kids. It serves you right if they don’t like you. If I approached myself with a lot more grace and self-compassion it might sound like: Wow. Those were some big emotions. I can tell you feel frustrated and overwhelmed. I know you don’t really feel that way about your kids. What can you do to take care of yourself so you can come back and act like the better mom you already are on the inside?

It’s all easier said than done. I’m thinking all these generous thoughts towards my family as I sit here writing this in a coffee shop, but I guarantee by the end of the day I’ll have forgotten at least a handful of times to respond in this manner. It’s autopilot, those judging assumptions. It takes a lot of intent to choose something else.

Gratitude seems to be one of the tools needed.

Friedman states, “Gratitude is the secret balm that can cure all our songs [automatic inner dialogue] and is the antidote to our making accounts [of what others have done]. When we consider what a miracle it is that we even reached adulthood, with all the near misses the vast majority of us had growing up, we can give thanks for what we have, and get over what we think we need to become complete. Without gratitude we will always be making account of what we are owed” (48).

It’s not that we all haven’t experienced lack or grief or trauma. All those things are true and deserve validation. But it’s also true that I can move on. I can grow up. I can give myself what I need now and stop waiting for the world to compensate my lack. I tend to remember the lack so quickly. The abundance is slower to recall. So I will end this post with my own liturgy of gratitude.

an unrushed conversation with my husband. the smell of ginger pear black tea. freshly made beds and swept carpets. animated expressions on my three-year-old’s face that make me belly laugh. sunlight on a cold January day. blankets and cozy ottomans. space heaters. a tire that has been fixed. books that never let me stay the same. a head of curls. plans for making dinner. a zoom call that makes me think about querying my novel. six thousand words on the page in one week. lingering hugs from my five-year-old. scheduled coffee with a friend. a gas stove. libraries. rest time. quiet.

Resources

• Gurdjieff: A Beginner’s Guide: How Changing the Way We React to Misplacing Our Keys Can Transform Our Lives by Gil Friedman
• I receive this daily quote about the Fourth Way Wisdom Work (part of the Gurdjieff Work) in my inbox each day from this website: https://fourthwaywisdomwork.org/quotes
• Good Inside: A Guide to Becoming the Parent You Want to Be by Dr. Becky Kennedy
• This post is somewhat continued thoughts from my previous post: No One Else Can Grow Me Up but Me

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Shalom.