
I am confident these words date me...
For the kids, let me tell you, before the turn of the century, there was a television show called Lost in Space about a family that was, well, lost in space. As is the way of shows like this, every episode had some dangerous scenario unfold, which the family would resolve one way or another, yet never find their way back to earth.
An essential character was their robot, which they referred to as, wait for it, "Robot." (Technically, it was Robot B-9, but mostly it went simply by "Robot). Robot had two catchphrases: "This does not compute" and "Danger, Danger." The latter was a warning it would issue whenever some danger was approaching the family (so, frequently).
I thought of this the other day while listening to Tara Brach speak about presence. Losing myself in space is not far from how I live, but I mostly call it being lost in thought. Honestly, I don't call it anything. It's just living to me.
My default setting is to be lost in thought. Thoughts constantly come and go, describe and predict, judge and assess, and mostly tell me what to do and how to feel.
They seem real; I scarcely notice them any more than I notice the closed captions on the screen as I watch my favorite shows – "Oh, there's my wife… she's beautiful today…did I do the dishes?...she asked me to do the dishes, and I think I forgot…wait, no I did them… but did I load the dishwasher the way she asked..shit, why is so fussy about that stuff, I am not that fussy about stuff, why can't she just let it go? Ugh, did the Mets lose again? Of course, they did... What's the weather today? Shit, I have to remember to get that email out…" On and on and on, the thoughts fly by as if presented on the news scroller in Times Square.
My thoughts are never-ending, and I usually wander around in them, pretending to be present with whoever I'm with. And that's fine because they are doing the same. When one of us is done speaking, it's the cue for the other to start, and then we nod as if we heard anything the other person said.
Of course, moments of presence puncture this bubble of thoughts I live in from time to time. But this happens so rarely that they stand out as memorable—briefly snapping me out of my head and into the present moment (and even then, just for a flash in time).
When we say we're "in our heads," we mean we're moving through space and time, reading the scroller about life, unaware of how our feet feel as they step on the ground. The idea of being "lost in thought" is understood to mean someone who is not present.
The experience of the air temperature on our skin is replaced with the words on the scroller, "It's hot." Then we live in the flood of judgments and assessments about it being "hot," forgoing experiencing what is actually happening.
More impactfully, when we see our partner, spouse, or child, we see the words, "I love them," and live in the thought we love them without taking the time to experience love in that moment.
We know that the idea of love and the experience of love are different. But we remain "lost in space" unless we do something to come home to the experience.
"The map is not the territory" is a phrase from philosopher and scientist Alfred Korzbski that has stuck with me. Thoughts are symbols, placeholders, or shortcuts that remind us of something; they point to something but are not the thing itself.
But we live like the map is the territory; we live on the map, not in the territory. We are, in this way, lost.
We have lost our connection to life as it happens around us, and more importantly, we often lose our connection to those around us.
When we look at the people we love, we know intellectually we love them, but the feeling, the experience of love, is missing.
I have a PhD in substituting the knowledge of something, the intellectual understanding of something, for the experience of the thing itself.
I always say I love my mom because I do love my mom. Other than the fact that she's insane and makes me crazy, I love her—and just that—the judgment of her as someone who makes me crazy keeps the experience of love at bay—you can intellectually know you love someone and not experience love for them. I do this all the time.
Knowing you love someone and experiencing love for them are different things. The latter is grounded in reality, while the former is a concept.
So, how can we find our way home?
The things our thoughts point to, talk about and refer to exist in the present. We think about things from the past or future, but we only exist in the present.
Being here now takes intentionality. Changing from the default setting of living "on the map" takes practice to get good at. It's simple, but it takes a little time to do it on purpose.
Like waking from a dream, waking up often starts with thinking, "Oh, I am asleep." With one intentional thought, being lost can shift to being home.
Tara Brach speaks of four ways we get lost in thought. Watching for these Danger, Will Robinson moments can be the opening to bring ourselves back home.
Obsessive Thinking: Worrying, fears of impending doom, and thoughts of past failures. Excessive preparation, planning, and even activity that initially looks like responsible behavior fall into this category. If you tell yourself the truth and ask, "Is my continued thinking about this useful?" you will know if it is obsessive or practical.
Judgments: Good and bad are signs on the map and never exist in the territory. When Shakespeare had Hamlet say, "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so - this is what he meant. Mostly, our lives are spent cycling through what's wrong or what could go wrong, questioning if something is good or bad, if it's right or wrong, and on and on and on. Our judgments are real as judgments; they are just not objective reflections of reality.
Addictive Behaviors: Distractions such as compulsively checking emails serve to numb discomfort. The fact is, most of us live on our screens. Only two business models refer to their customers as users: drug dealers and software companies. Coincidence?
Speed: The pervasive mantra of "I don't have enough time" propels us into a rushed existence. It is a badge of honor in our culture to talk about how busy we are. That is the impact of speed—the need always to be doing something, getting somewhere, or producing something tangible toward a specific goal. Speed shows up in many ways around us, and it keeps us living on the map.
N.B. Adding the judgment that living on the map is the wrong way to live or that living in the territory is better will keep you stuck to the map. The first step of stepping off the map into life is to notice where you are and do so without judgment.
That step is called mindfulness.
Often, the most challenging hurdle for people beginning any mindfulness practice is bringing nonjudgmental awareness to themselves. We are so quick to judge ourselves, and mostly harshly, that it seems more like describing a truth than adding a label to something simply there.
This might look like we notice we are judging someone or something. Remember, even judging something as good is part of it. Automatically saying something is good doesn't mean you are any more connected to it—I've said, "I love my mom," but if I didn't feel love for her at the moment, I wasn't any more connected than if I hadn't said anything.
Just noticing the judgment, the need for speed, the pull to check your phone for the 172nd time this hour, or recycling some doom in your head is the door out.
The common idea that "the only way out is through" won't work here. The only way out is the door you came in.
If you are committed to waking up and stepping out of sleepwalking through life, you first need to notice you are asleep.
Upon noticing it, you only need to take a thoughtful breath.
Just focus on how the air feels as it enters your nose. How does your chest feel as it expands? Notice the sensations of your feet on the ground. Locate your thoughts on the sensations happening at this moment in time.
An alternative to being in our heads is to be in our bodies. While our minds are often in the past or the future, our bodies are always in the present.
Just one breath. Close your eyes if it is safe to do so where you are (NOT WHILE YOU ARE DRIVING, PLEASE) and feel your body—feel the sensations of your body here and now.
And it is not unlikely that the behavior you have noticed yourself stuck in is trying to distract you from some sensation in your body. Check it out. In that one breath, feel what's happening in your body.
I do that thing I said about feeling my feet on the ground, and you can do that too – but whatever part of the body you notice, think, "This is what that feels like." You are not labeling it in any way – you don't need to add a judgment; just simply, "This is what that feels like."
If you have more than a moment, take a second and third breath. And so on. Break for as long as you feel comfortable.
But just one breath breaks the cycle, and you will find that as you break up the trance, it becomes less and less solid over time. It becomes less of a dome you live under and more of a thin, more easily pierced veil. It becomes easier to shake off.
Simple reps matter more than the length of time. I have a bell that rings at random times every hour. When it does, I stop and notice what part of the trance I am in, and then I take a breath.
If I can, I practice 4-7-8 breathing for a minute or two.
You can pause to look around and notice something you were not seeing while in a trance—the territory is always much more alive with nuance than the map. There are colors in the trees, car sounds, a breeze, a smell.
You can take a moment and smile at the person you are with. You can see them as a living, breathing person with concerns, joys, and fears standing right there with you.
Life is happening, and for a moment (at least), you can experience it.
That is what it looks like to be present, to move from the map to the territory and come home.
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