Relationships
Who gets the burnt chop?
09/12/10 09:32
A man calls his mother. “Mom, and how are you."
" Not too good," says the mother. "I've been very weak."
The son says, "Why are you so weak?"
She says, "Because, I haven't eaten in 38 days."
" Mama," the man says, "that's terrible. Why haven't you eaten in 38 days?"
The mother answers, "Because I didn't want my mouth to be filled with food if you should call."
The family is sitting down to dinner: lamb chops, an Australian favourite. Mum has cooked the dinner, and arrives at the table with a tray full of meat. Who does she give the best cut of meat to? Dad, of course. Other bits are served out to others at the table. There’s a burnt chop at the bottom of the pile. This, it almost goes without saying, ends up on mum’s plate. The kids look at mum’s burnt self-offering, and experience a dilemma created by masochism: How do I, in good conscience, eat my nice chop that mum has slaved over, while mum has to chew on her crappy one? To sit by and let her suffer makes me callous, unloving. How to resolve this? Perhaps I try to swap my portion with mum’s... and mum immediately puts up such a fight for her piece of carbon that eventually everyone gives up, with the impression that she’d rather die than have anyone else endure her terrible cooking.
This masochistic dynamic plays out in families and relationships everywhere. For some, it can make family dinner something to dread. For others, it may over time develop into an entrenched feeling of guilt; how can I enjoy my life if there are people suffering out there? In some cases, this guilt-ridden person may go on to become a mother herself, and in turn fight tooth and nail to be left with the burnt chop from the bottom of the pile.
It is a common stereotype of the masochist that they are self-sacrificing martyrs, who want the other person to have pleasure at their expense. The term ‘masochist’ was first coined in 1883 by German neurologist Richard von Krafft-Ebing, from the name of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, the Austrian novelist who enshrined his submissive sexuality in a novella titled "Venus in Furs." The relationship depicted in this story involves a man asking his lover to make him her slave. Initially she is excited at this game, but eventually finds it tiresome. Early psychoanalytic theorists such as Jacques Lacan insisted that, rather than masochists wanting the pleasure to be in the other, they instead need the other to feel anxious on the masochist’s behalf. The masochist’s anxiety is about not being able to be a free, independent and autonomous human being who can have desires fulfilled. Rather than act to achieve this independence, for example by having someone else cook dinner for them, they hold onto the trapped part of themselves, and project their anxiety into another person - the person who is forced to eat their well-made dinner and watch mother eat her overcooked one.
You may be reading this, and thinking about christmas day get-togethers. Will there be any masochistic moments on christmas day? After all, ‘tis better to give than to receive! So, is there a good strategy to use when dealing with masochists? Well, yes and no. Ultimately, someone has to eat the burnt chop. But maybe someone, perhaps dad, can step in and establish a fairer division of pleasure and pain. One way this fairer deal might be found is by saying “look, I’ll have the burnt chop tonight, and tomorrow night it’s your turn.” That way everybody gets to have a fair share of pleasure and pain.
" Not too good," says the mother. "I've been very weak."
The son says, "Why are you so weak?"
She says, "Because, I haven't eaten in 38 days."
" Mama," the man says, "that's terrible. Why haven't you eaten in 38 days?"
The mother answers, "Because I didn't want my mouth to be filled with food if you should call."
The family is sitting down to dinner: lamb chops, an Australian favourite. Mum has cooked the dinner, and arrives at the table with a tray full of meat. Who does she give the best cut of meat to? Dad, of course. Other bits are served out to others at the table. There’s a burnt chop at the bottom of the pile. This, it almost goes without saying, ends up on mum’s plate. The kids look at mum’s burnt self-offering, and experience a dilemma created by masochism: How do I, in good conscience, eat my nice chop that mum has slaved over, while mum has to chew on her crappy one? To sit by and let her suffer makes me callous, unloving. How to resolve this? Perhaps I try to swap my portion with mum’s... and mum immediately puts up such a fight for her piece of carbon that eventually everyone gives up, with the impression that she’d rather die than have anyone else endure her terrible cooking.
This masochistic dynamic plays out in families and relationships everywhere. For some, it can make family dinner something to dread. For others, it may over time develop into an entrenched feeling of guilt; how can I enjoy my life if there are people suffering out there? In some cases, this guilt-ridden person may go on to become a mother herself, and in turn fight tooth and nail to be left with the burnt chop from the bottom of the pile.
It is a common stereotype of the masochist that they are self-sacrificing martyrs, who want the other person to have pleasure at their expense. The term ‘masochist’ was first coined in 1883 by German neurologist Richard von Krafft-Ebing, from the name of Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, the Austrian novelist who enshrined his submissive sexuality in a novella titled "Venus in Furs." The relationship depicted in this story involves a man asking his lover to make him her slave. Initially she is excited at this game, but eventually finds it tiresome. Early psychoanalytic theorists such as Jacques Lacan insisted that, rather than masochists wanting the pleasure to be in the other, they instead need the other to feel anxious on the masochist’s behalf. The masochist’s anxiety is about not being able to be a free, independent and autonomous human being who can have desires fulfilled. Rather than act to achieve this independence, for example by having someone else cook dinner for them, they hold onto the trapped part of themselves, and project their anxiety into another person - the person who is forced to eat their well-made dinner and watch mother eat her overcooked one.
You may be reading this, and thinking about christmas day get-togethers. Will there be any masochistic moments on christmas day? After all, ‘tis better to give than to receive! So, is there a good strategy to use when dealing with masochists? Well, yes and no. Ultimately, someone has to eat the burnt chop. But maybe someone, perhaps dad, can step in and establish a fairer division of pleasure and pain. One way this fairer deal might be found is by saying “look, I’ll have the burnt chop tonight, and tomorrow night it’s your turn.” That way everybody gets to have a fair share of pleasure and pain.
|
Fire and Ice
05/10/10 11:19
A relationship – any relationship – has two ingredients. The challenge you face in making any of your relationships work is to find a workable balance of these two ingredients. The problem: these two elements are fundamentally incompatible. What are these two things? The first is your boundaries. The second is your connection.
Without boundaries, the relationship is not safe. Your partner/friend/lover/parent/significant other/business associate/child/etc may have the best intentions, but they can still do you inadvertent emotional harm if they don’t realize they’re intruding on your territory. They may mean the world to you, but that makes it all the more heartbreaking if you ever feel they have taken advantage of you. They may be exciting company, but do you feel safe to be yourself around them? All relationships need clear boundaries. Boundaries do put some distance between you and the other person, but it’s essential to know where you stand.
Meanwhile, your connection to the other is your reason to be involved at all. Your partner may be respectful and considerate; you may feel safe to be yourself with them; but there’s not much reason to spend time with someone if they don’t mean anything to you. They may be kind and thoughtful, but are they someone you feel like making plans with? What’s the point of spending time with someone if it doesn’t ever feel good to be with them?
It can feel hypocritical to set a boundary with someone you care about. Phrases such as “if you loved me, you’d…” or “love is blind” reflect the struggle to reconcile the need for connection with the need for boundaries. A simple but well-known example of this struggle: failure to use condoms during casual sex. The condom is there to keep both partners safe from harm, but the problem occurs when they must break the connection – ‘kill the moment’ – in order to put it on. The conflict between strong boundaries and strong passions is found in every relationship: for the parent who can’t bear to say no to the child they love; for the teenager who breaks up with his girlfriend via text message; for the dog owner who doesn’t want to bag up their pooch’s poo.
Strong, healthy relationships need passion. They also, to an equal extent, need boundaries. Maintaining adequate levels of both can make being in a relationship hard work, at times. Perhaps this is what a ‘labour of love’ is.
Twitter therapy
28/09/10 14:49
Here’s a simple, cost-effective way to improve your mental health: get online. All it takes is an internet-connected computer or phone, and an e-mail account.
There are many, many benefits of social media that outweigh the potential costs and reported risks. In fact there are some myths about sites such as Twitter and Facebook that deter many people — people who would otherwise greatly benefit from increased social activity. Some of these myths are:
1. The internet is not safe.
Okay, this is not really a myth. Accessing the internet, like, well, just about everything else in life, involves a degree of risk of harm. The point here is: What, exactly, are the risks, and are they a reason to steer clear of the internet? If you’re brave enough to go to the internet for ideas, then you are welcome to see some thoughts about the issues here and here. My opinion is that the internet is a largely unregulated community. Any such community will
contain dangerous people, as well as helpful people. The challenge for anyone entering that community is simply how to tell the difference. In my personal experience, the best advice on how to spot and avoid danger as a newcomer to any community can best be found from members of that community. So if there’s something about the internet you don’t understand or don’t trust, do some research.
2. I can’t control my privacy on Facebook.
A lot of work has been done to make it easier to keep your facebook presence private. It is now a lot easier to do this. However the easiest and best way to protect yourself and your online presence is to assume that everything you post online is visible to the entire world. Some other problems people have had with facebook privacy are covered in a humorous way in the youtube video above. As with any new activity, it’s important to learn how it’s done before you launch in. In my view, a little effort is worth it if it means you get to make new social connections safely. Limiting your exposure online also does not limit your ability to benefit from it (see point 4 below).
3. It’s too complicated.
Sorry, but it’s not. In behavioural terms, posting a letter is less complicated than getting on Facebook or Twitter, or even writing a blog. It’s not complicated - it’s just unfamiliar. If you take some time to familiarise yourself with it, you will find it is more straightforward than it looked from the outside.
4. I don’t have anything to put up.
This is probably the single biggest misunderstanding about social media (in fact about any social interaction): you don’t have to contribute in order to participate. Evan Williams, CEO of Twitter, recently tweeted that, “You don’t need to tweet to get value from Twitter any more than you need to make a web page to use the web.” This is another reason why the concerns about privacy are exaggerated, in my view. If you’re concerned about personal information being made available on the web, then don’t put that information there. You can still go online and see what others are doing, and even comment on it if you like (you can comment on this blog too, if you scroll to the bottom of this page).
5. I don’t have the time.
One of the most attractive things about online interaction is how brief it can be. Twitter, which is probably the briefest form of social media, limits all communications or ‘tweets’ to 140 characters. Tweeting a thought can take around ten seconds. How many other things do you do through the day that take less than ten seconds?
Now, some benefits:
1. It broadens and deepens your social sphere.
The whole purpose of social media sites is to facilitate interpersonal communication. Most people who join Facebook find that they resume contact with at least one friend they haven’t seen or spoken to for ages. You may be surprised to find out how many people you know (or knew) are already online, and how willing to be contacted they are.
2. It keeps you humble.
The internet is now interactive; you will find that there are hundreds of places to visit and people to follow. Many people who start exploring the internet discover how many other people there are out there, who are just like them. This can be both reassuring, and challenging; can you put your opinions out there as well?
3. It might actually help you feel better.
In the midst of angst about the ills of new technology, new research is begging to show how social media might just be helping people feel more connected. My experience has been that, rather than internet use causing social withdrawal, it tends to be the other way around; internet chat can be an important first step for people emerging from depression, who are beginning to look for initial way to reach out and make new connections. The internet isn’t a cure for loneliness, but in my opinion it’s a valuable tool for people who are seeking to reduce their sense of isolation.
4. It can help build interpersonal confidence.
Online interactions are far ‘safer’ emotionally than face-to-face meeting. You have far more control over the process; you can end it when you want, you can edit your communications as you go — you can even delete Facebook posts that you have changed your mind about. This is a shy person’s dream: you can chat to your heart’s content without even having to make eye contact! As confidence builds, so too can the depth and breadth of your online presence. This can eventually become a stepping stone to ‘traditional’ social contact, such as meeting face-to-face over a meal, for example. By then, much of the hard work is done...
5. It can assist in a process of personal development.
Socializing online, as with any kind of lasting relationship, is a bit like smoking: the reason you begin is different to the reason you continue. Your first few tweets or blog entries may feel a little like, well, talking to yourself. After all, you’re usually the only one in the room when it’s happening. The thing to remember is, regardless of who reads your posts, writing things down is far from pointless. Fundamentally, personal development is a process of self-reflection. If you ever want to see this process in action, visit a blogging site such as this one and read back through a blogger’s posts. Compare the early posts with the recent ones, and you might begin to get a sense of how that person has used the space to develop their ideas and hone their sense of themself. Early blogs often have a hesitant, brittle quality, while more seasoned blogs seem to issue from a clearer, more integrated voice. Blogging is free and unlimited. Why not try it?
Finally, some tips to get started.
Get a twitter account, and start following people. You don’t need to tweet anything, just see what others are saying. Try visiting my twitter page and see who I’m following; you might like to follow some of these people too. When you join Twitter you will regularly be given suggestions of people to follow. Who knows, some of them might start to follow you back!
Get on Facebook and have a look at some of the groups you can join, such as this one. If you want to preserve your anonymity, create a new e-mail account for yourself on gmail.
If you’re feeling confident and want to start getting ideas out there, start a blog. You can use your gmail account to do it here.
There are many, many benefits of social media that outweigh the potential costs and reported risks. In fact there are some myths about sites such as Twitter and Facebook that deter many people — people who would otherwise greatly benefit from increased social activity. Some of these myths are:
1. The internet is not safe.
Okay, this is not really a myth. Accessing the internet, like, well, just about everything else in life, involves a degree of risk of harm. The point here is: What, exactly, are the risks, and are they a reason to steer clear of the internet? If you’re brave enough to go to the internet for ideas, then you are welcome to see some thoughts about the issues here and here. My opinion is that the internet is a largely unregulated community. Any such community will
contain dangerous people, as well as helpful people. The challenge for anyone entering that community is simply how to tell the difference. In my personal experience, the best advice on how to spot and avoid danger as a newcomer to any community can best be found from members of that community. So if there’s something about the internet you don’t understand or don’t trust, do some research.
2. I can’t control my privacy on Facebook.
A lot of work has been done to make it easier to keep your facebook presence private. It is now a lot easier to do this. However the easiest and best way to protect yourself and your online presence is to assume that everything you post online is visible to the entire world. Some other problems people have had with facebook privacy are covered in a humorous way in the youtube video above. As with any new activity, it’s important to learn how it’s done before you launch in. In my view, a little effort is worth it if it means you get to make new social connections safely. Limiting your exposure online also does not limit your ability to benefit from it (see point 4 below).
3. It’s too complicated.
Sorry, but it’s not. In behavioural terms, posting a letter is less complicated than getting on Facebook or Twitter, or even writing a blog. It’s not complicated - it’s just unfamiliar. If you take some time to familiarise yourself with it, you will find it is more straightforward than it looked from the outside.
4. I don’t have anything to put up.
This is probably the single biggest misunderstanding about social media (in fact about any social interaction): you don’t have to contribute in order to participate. Evan Williams, CEO of Twitter, recently tweeted that, “You don’t need to tweet to get value from Twitter any more than you need to make a web page to use the web.” This is another reason why the concerns about privacy are exaggerated, in my view. If you’re concerned about personal information being made available on the web, then don’t put that information there. You can still go online and see what others are doing, and even comment on it if you like (you can comment on this blog too, if you scroll to the bottom of this page).
5. I don’t have the time.
One of the most attractive things about online interaction is how brief it can be. Twitter, which is probably the briefest form of social media, limits all communications or ‘tweets’ to 140 characters. Tweeting a thought can take around ten seconds. How many other things do you do through the day that take less than ten seconds?
Now, some benefits:
1. It broadens and deepens your social sphere.
The whole purpose of social media sites is to facilitate interpersonal communication. Most people who join Facebook find that they resume contact with at least one friend they haven’t seen or spoken to for ages. You may be surprised to find out how many people you know (or knew) are already online, and how willing to be contacted they are.
2. It keeps you humble.
The internet is now interactive; you will find that there are hundreds of places to visit and people to follow. Many people who start exploring the internet discover how many other people there are out there, who are just like them. This can be both reassuring, and challenging; can you put your opinions out there as well?
3. It might actually help you feel better.
In the midst of angst about the ills of new technology, new research is begging to show how social media might just be helping people feel more connected. My experience has been that, rather than internet use causing social withdrawal, it tends to be the other way around; internet chat can be an important first step for people emerging from depression, who are beginning to look for initial way to reach out and make new connections. The internet isn’t a cure for loneliness, but in my opinion it’s a valuable tool for people who are seeking to reduce their sense of isolation.
4. It can help build interpersonal confidence.
Online interactions are far ‘safer’ emotionally than face-to-face meeting. You have far more control over the process; you can end it when you want, you can edit your communications as you go — you can even delete Facebook posts that you have changed your mind about. This is a shy person’s dream: you can chat to your heart’s content without even having to make eye contact! As confidence builds, so too can the depth and breadth of your online presence. This can eventually become a stepping stone to ‘traditional’ social contact, such as meeting face-to-face over a meal, for example. By then, much of the hard work is done...
5. It can assist in a process of personal development.
Socializing online, as with any kind of lasting relationship, is a bit like smoking: the reason you begin is different to the reason you continue. Your first few tweets or blog entries may feel a little like, well, talking to yourself. After all, you’re usually the only one in the room when it’s happening. The thing to remember is, regardless of who reads your posts, writing things down is far from pointless. Fundamentally, personal development is a process of self-reflection. If you ever want to see this process in action, visit a blogging site such as this one and read back through a blogger’s posts. Compare the early posts with the recent ones, and you might begin to get a sense of how that person has used the space to develop their ideas and hone their sense of themself. Early blogs often have a hesitant, brittle quality, while more seasoned blogs seem to issue from a clearer, more integrated voice. Blogging is free and unlimited. Why not try it?
Finally, some tips to get started.
Get a twitter account, and start following people. You don’t need to tweet anything, just see what others are saying. Try visiting my twitter page and see who I’m following; you might like to follow some of these people too. When you join Twitter you will regularly be given suggestions of people to follow. Who knows, some of them might start to follow you back!
Get on Facebook and have a look at some of the groups you can join, such as this one. If you want to preserve your anonymity, create a new e-mail account for yourself on gmail.
If you’re feeling confident and want to start getting ideas out there, start a blog. You can use your gmail account to do it here.
Johnny Cash and Oedipal issues
07/07/10 15:59
The Man in Black famously performed his song ‘A Boy Named Sue’ in front of prisoners at San Quentin Prison, and in the clip below you can hear the inmates sharing his delight as he sings of the confrontation between a man and his father.
I don’t know if it was intended, but Cash has elegantly captured the oedipal tensions that exist between a young man and his father, in a song that becomes a roller-coaster of emotions from sadness, to anger, to hatred, to love, and even redemption.
Cash sings:
“My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me ‘Sue.’”
‘Sue’ receives four legacies from his father: a relationship with his mother, the guitar, a drinking habit, and a girl’s name. Note that Sue uses the same guitar to tell his story. The boy idolizes his father: “I don’t blame him ‘cause he run and hid”, but struggles with the legacy his father has left him.
Cash continues:
“Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through...”
Perhaps if Sue’s father had stuck around he mightn’t have had to keep fighting quite as long. The fight Sue is waiting for is the only one that matters: the one with his father...
“Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made a vow to the moon and stars
That I'd search the honky-tonks and bars
And kill that man who gave me that awful name. “
Finally, the boy named Sue confronts his nemesis, in a father-son scenario that is played out in songs (such as Cat’s in the Cradle), books, movies (such as Star Wars), plays (such as Hamlet) and popular culture (such as media coverage of the Packer family) across the ages:
“Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon on a street of mud (Oedipal issues are a dirty business!),
There at a table, dealing stud (Stud, huh?),
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me "Sue."
Sue only has a simple memory of his father, cobbled together from stories, the memories of a toddler, and most of all from the mixed emotions of rage and longing he’s carried through his life until this moment, when reality is finally confronted:
“Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
From a worn-out picture that my mother'd had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old (Not the man of Sue’s memories!),
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: "My name is 'Sue!' How do you do!
Now you’re gonna die!!"
A moment of pure oedipal fantasy. The young man feels he can resolve his oedipal tensions of love, rage and longing about his father by killing the object of these tensions.
“Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down, but to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer (was it good for you, Sue?).
“I tell ya, I've fought tougher men
But I really can't remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.”
Sue sees his father looking at him with love for the first time. It is, in my opinion, part of a father’s job to show his son the respect of engaging him in battle. It’s not about who wins the fight, it’s about the fact that the fight can even occur in the first place. If the father and son can work through the battle in this way, then the son is ultimately the winner, as Sue’s father explains:
“And he said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn't be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's the name that helped to make you strong."
(Listen to the roar of emotion from the prison inmates in the room.)
“He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you “Sue.”
The conflict between father and son has enabled them both to reconcile the feelings of love (‘you just fought one hell of a fight’) and hate (‘kill me now, I wouldn’t blame you if you do’) for each other and in themselves. By finally allowing the conflict to occur together between them, rather than separately inside each of them (for example by Sue killing his father, or his father running away again), then the emotional tensions in each man can at last begin to be resolved jointly. The impact on Sue is palpable, and ultimately transformative:
“I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I came away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him...
Bill, or George! Anything but Sue! I still hate that name!”
Sue still hates his name, but he no longer hates himself, or his own father. This is the gift any father can give his son (or any parent their child): by engaging with his son in conflict, the father allows the son to channel his hate somewhere other than back into himself. Liberated from his father’s legacy, Sue is now free to pass on a different, healthier legacy to his own son - ‘anything but Sue!’ Who won the battle? It doesn’t matter any more. What matters is that the battle could be fought together.
I don’t know if it was intended, but Cash has elegantly captured the oedipal tensions that exist between a young man and his father, in a song that becomes a roller-coaster of emotions from sadness, to anger, to hatred, to love, and even redemption.
Cash sings:
“My daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to ma and me
Just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now, I don't blame him cause he run and hid
But the meanest thing that he ever did
Was before he left, he went and named me ‘Sue.’”
‘Sue’ receives four legacies from his father: a relationship with his mother, the guitar, a drinking habit, and a girl’s name. Note that Sue uses the same guitar to tell his story. The boy idolizes his father: “I don’t blame him ‘cause he run and hid”, but struggles with the legacy his father has left him.
Cash continues:
“Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke
And it got a lot of laughs from a' lots of folk,
It seems I had to fight my whole life through...”
Perhaps if Sue’s father had stuck around he mightn’t have had to keep fighting quite as long. The fight Sue is waiting for is the only one that matters: the one with his father...
“Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean,
My fist got hard and my wits got keen,
I'd roam from town to town to hide my shame.
But I made a vow to the moon and stars
That I'd search the honky-tonks and bars
And kill that man who gave me that awful name. “
Finally, the boy named Sue confronts his nemesis, in a father-son scenario that is played out in songs (such as Cat’s in the Cradle), books, movies (such as Star Wars), plays (such as Hamlet) and popular culture (such as media coverage of the Packer family) across the ages:
“Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July
And I just hit town and my throat was dry,
I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew.
At an old saloon on a street of mud (Oedipal issues are a dirty business!),
There at a table, dealing stud (Stud, huh?),
Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me "Sue."
Sue only has a simple memory of his father, cobbled together from stories, the memories of a toddler, and most of all from the mixed emotions of rage and longing he’s carried through his life until this moment, when reality is finally confronted:
“Well, I knew that snake was my own sweet dad
From a worn-out picture that my mother'd had,
And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye.
He was big and bent and gray and old (Not the man of Sue’s memories!),
And I looked at him and my blood ran cold
And I said: "My name is 'Sue!' How do you do!
Now you’re gonna die!!"
A moment of pure oedipal fantasy. The young man feels he can resolve his oedipal tensions of love, rage and longing about his father by killing the object of these tensions.
“Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes
And he went down, but to my surprise,
He come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear.
But I busted a chair right across his teeth
And we crashed through the wall and into the street
Kicking and a' gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer (was it good for you, Sue?).
“I tell ya, I've fought tougher men
But I really can't remember when,
He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile.
I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss,
He went for his gun and I pulled mine first,
He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile.”
Sue sees his father looking at him with love for the first time. It is, in my opinion, part of a father’s job to show his son the respect of engaging him in battle. It’s not about who wins the fight, it’s about the fact that the fight can even occur in the first place. If the father and son can work through the battle in this way, then the son is ultimately the winner, as Sue’s father explains:
“And he said: "Son, this world is rough
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough
And I knew I wouldn't be there to help ya along.
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye
I knew you'd have to get tough or die
And it's the name that helped to make you strong."
(Listen to the roar of emotion from the prison inmates in the room.)
“He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight
And I know you hate me, and you got the right
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do.
But ya ought to thank me, before I die,
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye
Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you “Sue.”
The conflict between father and son has enabled them both to reconcile the feelings of love (‘you just fought one hell of a fight’) and hate (‘kill me now, I wouldn’t blame you if you do’) for each other and in themselves. By finally allowing the conflict to occur together between them, rather than separately inside each of them (for example by Sue killing his father, or his father running away again), then the emotional tensions in each man can at last begin to be resolved jointly. The impact on Sue is palpable, and ultimately transformative:
“I got all choked up and I threw down my gun
And I called him my pa, and he called me his son,
And I came away with a different point of view.
And I think about him, now and then,
Every time I try and every time I win,
And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him...
Bill, or George! Anything but Sue! I still hate that name!”
Sue still hates his name, but he no longer hates himself, or his own father. This is the gift any father can give his son (or any parent their child): by engaging with his son in conflict, the father allows the son to channel his hate somewhere other than back into himself. Liberated from his father’s legacy, Sue is now free to pass on a different, healthier legacy to his own son - ‘anything but Sue!’ Who won the battle? It doesn’t matter any more. What matters is that the battle could be fought together.
Does my bum look big in this?
30/06/10 15:29
A question that many husbands dread. Why? It should be so straightforward, right? “How do I look?” Perhaps this scenario, played out in households around the country, gives a clue to the nature of a deep and troubling disconnect that is often found, but rarely confronted, by many modern mums. I will attempt to put this disconnect into words as follows: You love your husband, every bit as much, probably more, than when you were first together. Yet it is still possible to look at this man you’ve known, loved, traveled with, slept next to and made love to for years now, and feel that they are still a stranger to you in some ways.
Many modern mums on the go had distant workaholic fathers, which made it difficult to get to know the male object of your early admiration and affection very well. How many gen-x women were able to hang out with their dad, go shopping with him, chat with him about the bitchy girls at school, hear him talk about his own hopes and fears in turn? A much more common scenario was an early precursor to today’s feature topic, viz: Teenager emerges from bedroom in latest fashion, with high skirt, hour-long harido and makeup all done. The father looks her up-and-down and says something like: “where are you going looking like THAT?” Is it any wonder that years later the thirtysomething woman sometimes only has an impersonal way of pleasing her husband; she get dressed up with him in mind, but doesn’t feel that she can consult with him about her choices. The only way she can easily include him in the process is to present the finished product to him for some feedback.
Many husbands feel put in a strange position when they are asked to comment on their wife’s appearance: They’ve been put on a pedestal they don’t feel entitled to occupy. They are used to a different type of relationship with their own mothers, where things (such as clothes shopping choices) WERE negotiated with mum, often with mum calling the shots about what’s ok and what’s not. To be asked to evaluate their wife’s choices feels bizarre - rather like how they might feel if their mother was to ask for comment on her clothing selections, or how they think she’s doing as a mum.
I propose that many married women have trouble including their husbands in self-esteem-linked activities such as shopping for makeup or choosing an outfit, because they have no earlier precedent for such an interaction with their own fathers. Meanwhile, modern dads have trouble responding to some of the questions they get from their wives, whom they love unconditionally, about questions of self-worth. When she asks “how do I look?”, does he say “you look beautiful”, thus putting himself in the (arm’s-length) role of judge? Does he offer a more intimate, connected, honest answer, such as “I don’t like what you’ve done with your hair”, and risk bruising his wife’s self-esteem? The roots of this dilemma can be found, I believe, in the childhood relationship that each person had with their opposite-sex parent.
1 + 1 = 3
09/05/10 14:13
This month’s psychoblog comes to you courtesy of the Mums on the Go Guide.
To view the blog, click here.
Happy mother’s day to you mums!
To view the blog, click here.
Happy mother’s day to you mums!
Split the difference
30/03/10 14:45
Let’s face it: life is rarely black and white. You meet someone, you like them, it all feels good, then they do something unexpected that makes you wonder what you ever saw in them.
You plan a purchase, pay, take the item home, try it out, but a few weeks later it just looks shabby.
Worst of all is when someone you hate does something unexpectedly nice, and you find yourself SOOO wanting to dismiss it as the exception that proves the rule.
What about YOU? Are you a good person, or a bad person?
If you bit the bullet and answered “both”, then you’re taking what’s called the ‘depressive position’. This is a way of looking at people that allows for contradictions, such as that they have good parts and bad parts, and if they do something hurtful this doesn’t mean THEY are a hurtful person. Or: You don’t need to keep doing good things in order to be a good person.
I like to think that this compassionate way of looking at things is called the ‘depressive position’ because it’s a bit sad to accept that in life things aren’t clear-cut: life always finds a way to be more complicated than you thought it was (*sigh*). Many Buddhist philosophies seem to reflect this way of looking at things. A Buddhist quote I once heard: “If your compassion doesn’t include yourself, it is incomplete.” This sits nicely with the other Buddhist-type observation that “life is pain and suffering”.
By comparison, if you find yourself using what a person does to judge who they are, then you’re engaging in something called ‘splitting’. This may be useful if you’re angry, and want to take a strong stance on something, or resist someone else’s pressure (“no, I won’t do that, it would be just wrong!”); however it may be problematic if you get bogged down in this way of looking at things. You may find yourself having to resort to magical thinking in order to cope with what’s happened. Splitting can also be problematic when it’s positive: think of the jeopardy cult members place themselves in when they choose to see their cult leaders as perfect, and incapable of harm (and everyone else as either evil or blind).
Basically, the safest position to take is... both. When things are generally ok and you feel like life’s on track, take a compassionate view of people, and don’t be fooled into thinking that what a person does in any given moment defines who they are. When things are tough, and you feel under pressure, take a strong position, and don’t be fooled into thinking that just because people are complex, doesn’t mean they can get away with doing hurtful things. Incidentally: this is also the safest attitude to take toward yourself: when others are happy, be compassionate toward yourself. When others are upset, try to be flexible. You can always switch back to a more self-interested position later if it doesn’t work out.
You plan a purchase, pay, take the item home, try it out, but a few weeks later it just looks shabby.
Worst of all is when someone you hate does something unexpectedly nice, and you find yourself SOOO wanting to dismiss it as the exception that proves the rule.
What about YOU? Are you a good person, or a bad person?
If you bit the bullet and answered “both”, then you’re taking what’s called the ‘depressive position’. This is a way of looking at people that allows for contradictions, such as that they have good parts and bad parts, and if they do something hurtful this doesn’t mean THEY are a hurtful person. Or: You don’t need to keep doing good things in order to be a good person.
I like to think that this compassionate way of looking at things is called the ‘depressive position’ because it’s a bit sad to accept that in life things aren’t clear-cut: life always finds a way to be more complicated than you thought it was (*sigh*). Many Buddhist philosophies seem to reflect this way of looking at things. A Buddhist quote I once heard: “If your compassion doesn’t include yourself, it is incomplete.” This sits nicely with the other Buddhist-type observation that “life is pain and suffering”.
By comparison, if you find yourself using what a person does to judge who they are, then you’re engaging in something called ‘splitting’. This may be useful if you’re angry, and want to take a strong stance on something, or resist someone else’s pressure (“no, I won’t do that, it would be just wrong!”); however it may be problematic if you get bogged down in this way of looking at things. You may find yourself having to resort to magical thinking in order to cope with what’s happened. Splitting can also be problematic when it’s positive: think of the jeopardy cult members place themselves in when they choose to see their cult leaders as perfect, and incapable of harm (and everyone else as either evil or blind).
Basically, the safest position to take is... both. When things are generally ok and you feel like life’s on track, take a compassionate view of people, and don’t be fooled into thinking that what a person does in any given moment defines who they are. When things are tough, and you feel under pressure, take a strong position, and don’t be fooled into thinking that just because people are complex, doesn’t mean they can get away with doing hurtful things. Incidentally: this is also the safest attitude to take toward yourself: when others are happy, be compassionate toward yourself. When others are upset, try to be flexible. You can always switch back to a more self-interested position later if it doesn’t work out.
Ctrl-Alt-Delete
22/02/10 14:42
If you use a PC, you’ll probably be familiar with the ‘Control-Alt-Delete’ key combination. If your computer freezes or becomes somehow stuck, pressing these three keys all at once on the keyboard will allow you to reset the computer; it will shut down, then restart, returning to its original state, as if nothing bad had happened, just like magic. The only problem is, if you didn’t save your work in permanent memory, that work will be forgotten, along with the glitch that got the computer stuck in the first place.
Control, Alt, Delete. If only relationships were so simple. Jerry Seinfeld jokes in one of his stand-up comedy routines about needing a set director in some of his conversations - someone in a flak jacket who can march into the middle of the interaction, yell “cut!!” and get the two people to “start that scene again.” Meanwhile, you may have someone you know who really does try to re-write history, by exploding or shutting down a conversation, then ringing you up days later, and acting as if the altercation never took place. In relationships, this editing of reality may also come after a period of ‘silent treatment’.
In his mighty psychoanalytic tome, ‘The Primitive Edge of Experience’, Thomas Ogden recounts a patient who “often would laugh and say that he was only kidding after having said something extremely cruel to his wife. Having said, ‘you know I was only kidding,’ he felt that he had undone the damage by magically changing the assault into something humorous (just by re-naming it). When his wife refused to participate in this magical rewriting of history, the patient would escalate his efforts at joviality and begin to treat her with contempt, accusing her of being a baby for not being able to ‘take it.’”
Magical thinking is in this case a defence that we might use to avoid feeling guilty about having hurt someone; or we may simply feel the need to re-write history because we forget the role of repair in relationships. It is inevitable that sooner or later in a relationship, one person is going to upset the other. So many problems in relationships occur when the couple is unable to repair this hurt. Typically, effective repair in relationships involves use of the word “sorry” - but repair can take many shapes and sizes.
Try it yourself: next time you feel like hitting the ‘delete’ button in an interaction, try repairing (start by saying ‘sorry’, even if you don’t feel sorry), and see whether the situation can be recovered after all. That way, you won’t have to lose all the good work you’ve done up to that point. Who knows, you might even get a “sorry” back from the other person!
Control, Alt, Delete. If only relationships were so simple. Jerry Seinfeld jokes in one of his stand-up comedy routines about needing a set director in some of his conversations - someone in a flak jacket who can march into the middle of the interaction, yell “cut!!” and get the two people to “start that scene again.” Meanwhile, you may have someone you know who really does try to re-write history, by exploding or shutting down a conversation, then ringing you up days later, and acting as if the altercation never took place. In relationships, this editing of reality may also come after a period of ‘silent treatment’.
In his mighty psychoanalytic tome, ‘The Primitive Edge of Experience’, Thomas Ogden recounts a patient who “often would laugh and say that he was only kidding after having said something extremely cruel to his wife. Having said, ‘you know I was only kidding,’ he felt that he had undone the damage by magically changing the assault into something humorous (just by re-naming it). When his wife refused to participate in this magical rewriting of history, the patient would escalate his efforts at joviality and begin to treat her with contempt, accusing her of being a baby for not being able to ‘take it.’”
Magical thinking is in this case a defence that we might use to avoid feeling guilty about having hurt someone; or we may simply feel the need to re-write history because we forget the role of repair in relationships. It is inevitable that sooner or later in a relationship, one person is going to upset the other. So many problems in relationships occur when the couple is unable to repair this hurt. Typically, effective repair in relationships involves use of the word “sorry” - but repair can take many shapes and sizes.
Try it yourself: next time you feel like hitting the ‘delete’ button in an interaction, try repairing (start by saying ‘sorry’, even if you don’t feel sorry), and see whether the situation can be recovered after all. That way, you won’t have to lose all the good work you’ve done up to that point. Who knows, you might even get a “sorry” back from the other person!
Push me, pull you
01/07/09 14:58
“exclusive!”
“three’s a crowd...”
“she’s the odd one out”.
“us and them.”
“no boundaries.”
“children should be seen but not heard”.
“you crossed the line”.
“there’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’.”
“are you in our out?”
“you’re either with us or against us.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“members only.”
What do these expressions have in common? They all relate to oedipal dynamics in relationships. These dynamics are what can make interacting with people so exhausting at times; perhaps this is partly what prompted Sartre to comment “hell is other people”. So much of the angst of interacting with others springs from questions of who’s in and who’s out. Sales pitches such as “exclusive!” “don’t miss out” appeal to the fear we all have of being ‘on the outer’, left to survive alone while the herd moves on without us.
Politicians on both sides of the ditch are able to powerfully and subtly harness fear or excitement when talking in terms of ‘us and them’. Think of George Bush’s “You are either with us, or you’re with the Terrorists”. Think of Barack Obama’s “together we can”. By invoking ideas of unity or division, of belonging and ostracism, our deepest fears can be either threatened or reassured.
Essential to the idea of inclusion/exclusion is the boundary itself: by talking about ‘us and them’, we implicitly create a boundary between the two - where the boundary is defined by the ways that ‘they’ and ‘us’ are different. Is it a division based on skin colour? Gender? Sexual orientation? Political allegiance? Religion? Species? Age? Our brains are predisposed to seek these groupings out and position ourselves so that we are not excluded. This need for inclusion harks back to the very beginnings of our lives, when we needed to remain with the family in order to survive. These old fears of abandonment, whatever form they may take in adulthood, form the basis for so much of how we see others and ourselves, and more specifically, how we position ourselves with or against others in relationships. We may align ourselves with others who we feel a connection to, not only by seeking out more of their company, but also by thinking more favourably about them. We derive soothing satisfaction by noticing all the ways in which we are the same. We like them, we are like them, and thus can we like ourselves.
Conversely, we may distance ourselves from another who we dislike, not only by avoiding them, but also by angrily reflecting on all the ways we are SO unlike them. We hate them, we are not like them, and thus can we like ourselves. The problem, and the truth, is that we are all very alike in many ways, and we are also all quite different from one another. So we can never realistically be satisfied in the knowledge that we are utterly unlike that bad person, or completely identical to that good person. This is the dilemma explored in so much literature over the years: Romeo and Juliet, the lovers from warring tribes; Les Miserables, the story of prisoner 24601 who masquerades successfully as a pillar of the community; or Pride and Prejudice, the story of how elitism almost prevented two lovers from seeing each other for who they were. ‘Us vs Them’ has also been the basis of so much political intrigue over the years: The Cold War and the War on Terror are two examples that spring to mind, where ‘us and them’ perceptions have fuelled political careers, wrought death and destruction, and made a lot of people very scared of each other. To quote Pink Floyd: “It can’t be helped, for there’s a lot of it about.”
A Nervous Rex
25/05/09 21:12
Here’s why Freud thought the Greek tragedy of Oedipus Rex was a useful thing to base nearly all Psychology on: Everything that made life difficult for Oedipus, is also what makes life difficult for you and I. First, Oedipus was abandoned by his parents. This deprived him of the ability to get to know them as people. The struggle to see our parents as everyday, mortal humans, when they are a source of such joy and pain, is something that all of us, whether we are ‘well-adjusted’ or not, struggle to achieve through and beyond childhood.
When he got older, Oedipus went into battle with his father, and killed him. This part of the tale reflects the damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t problem we face when we come into some sort of conflict with our parents: if we let them win, we ourselves are annihilated; yet if we defeat them, then we are orphaned. What was Oedipus supposed to do?
As if this wasn’t bad enough for the Oedmeister, he was then invited to marry the queen of the defeated army, who just happened to be his mother, unbeknownst to him. He did so, and when he later discovered who she was, she killed herself, and he tore out his eyes. We could think of what he did as a way to restore the blindness or blissful ignorance about his parents that had been there throughout Oedipus’ life. But again, here is one of life’s great dilemmas painfully represented: What do we do with ‘taboo’ feelings (such as feeling attracted to another person’s partner)? It is a normal biological response for one person to be attracted to another from time to time, but what do we do if that person is off limits? Do we pretend the feelings aren’t there (go blind, like old Oedipus)? That may not work because then we may not notice if the feelings get stronger, or not notice how we are acting on them in an indirect way (we may not notice or admit to ourselves that we are flirting, for example). If, on the other hand, we embrace the feelings, we then increase the risk of acting on them directly, thus harming ourselves and the other person by crossing an uncrossable boundary (such as is crossed when one family member has sexual contact with another). The dilemmas aroused by these Oedipal issues do not have final solutions; they are a part of life. The trick is to understand them, and to live your life in such a way as to make room for them to be dealt with throughout life. The only way to ensure that these issues do not become toxic is to continually talk about them, with yourself and with others - to make sure you are not blind, like Oedipus was. That way, the ghost of poor old Oedipus might have a chance to rest in peace.
Yours, mine, ours
02/04/09 12:05
One third, one third, one third. In any relationship (and I mean, any) there are two (or more) people who differ in at least some small ways. In my threadbare experience this is probably the most fundamental challenge of the human condition: how do we, who are all so different and unique, nevertheless relate to one another? Many people resolve this struggle in an ‘either/or’ way, by being themselves only when alone, and being accommodating to others when in an interaction, thus hiding their ‘true’ self from others.
When trying to find harmony in a relationship, there is a useful rule-of-thumb to use: yours, mine, ours, a third a third a third. In other words, the two of you should be devoting a third of your time/energy towards what you think is important (even if the other person doesn’t), a third towards what the other person thinks is important (even if you don’t), and a third towards things that are important primarily for the relationship (even if both of you wouldn’t do it if alone).
For example, a married couple might sit together and watch a game of football (based on what he thinks is important), then go and visit friends for dinner (based on what she thinks is important), and the next morning lie in bed and talk about the week ahead (even though both individuals have other things they’d rather be doing). A mother and toddler might spend 45 mins. playing together with the child’s tea set (what the child wants to do), then the child will have a sleep before lunch while the mother reads a book (what the mother wants to do), then after lunch the mother and child attend a local play-group (even though the child is still interested in the tea-set and the mother’s not very keen on one of the other mothers at playgroup).
As you may have deduced, the demarcation between ‘yours’, ‘mine’ and ‘ours’ is not always obvious. In new relationships, for example, everything feels like ‘ours’ (you and I don’t matter; all that matters is that we’re together). Further, the idea of ‘ours’ as opposed to ‘yours’ or ‘mine’ can be difficult to see unless you realize that the relationship is a ‘thing’, separate and additional to each of the two individuals in it. The relationship has a life of its own, and needs and interests of its own. If a metaphor would help, you can think of the relationship as a car that the two of you are travelling in. A lot of the time, you can simply use the relationship for your own ends, but it would soon stop working if you never refilled the tank, got it serviced, kept it fairly clean, etc. So sometimes you are driving the car (yours), sometimes I am driving the car (mine), and sometimes the car is being maintained (ours).
In a therapy relationship, this principle also holds, although by necessity there is less time/energy spent on the therapist, and more on you. Sometimes you will be talking about something that upset you during the week (yours), sometimes we will be reflecting on how the therapy process is going (ours), and at some point you will need to pay the fee (mine).
So this rule of thumb may be useful to you if you have one or more relationships, be they friendships, love affairs, workplace interactions, or altercations in the street. It’s worth remembering that there are always three parts to a relationship: you, me, and us.
When trying to find harmony in a relationship, there is a useful rule-of-thumb to use: yours, mine, ours, a third a third a third. In other words, the two of you should be devoting a third of your time/energy towards what you think is important (even if the other person doesn’t), a third towards what the other person thinks is important (even if you don’t), and a third towards things that are important primarily for the relationship (even if both of you wouldn’t do it if alone).
For example, a married couple might sit together and watch a game of football (based on what he thinks is important), then go and visit friends for dinner (based on what she thinks is important), and the next morning lie in bed and talk about the week ahead (even though both individuals have other things they’d rather be doing). A mother and toddler might spend 45 mins. playing together with the child’s tea set (what the child wants to do), then the child will have a sleep before lunch while the mother reads a book (what the mother wants to do), then after lunch the mother and child attend a local play-group (even though the child is still interested in the tea-set and the mother’s not very keen on one of the other mothers at playgroup).
As you may have deduced, the demarcation between ‘yours’, ‘mine’ and ‘ours’ is not always obvious. In new relationships, for example, everything feels like ‘ours’ (you and I don’t matter; all that matters is that we’re together). Further, the idea of ‘ours’ as opposed to ‘yours’ or ‘mine’ can be difficult to see unless you realize that the relationship is a ‘thing’, separate and additional to each of the two individuals in it. The relationship has a life of its own, and needs and interests of its own. If a metaphor would help, you can think of the relationship as a car that the two of you are travelling in. A lot of the time, you can simply use the relationship for your own ends, but it would soon stop working if you never refilled the tank, got it serviced, kept it fairly clean, etc. So sometimes you are driving the car (yours), sometimes I am driving the car (mine), and sometimes the car is being maintained (ours).
In a therapy relationship, this principle also holds, although by necessity there is less time/energy spent on the therapist, and more on you. Sometimes you will be talking about something that upset you during the week (yours), sometimes we will be reflecting on how the therapy process is going (ours), and at some point you will need to pay the fee (mine).
So this rule of thumb may be useful to you if you have one or more relationships, be they friendships, love affairs, workplace interactions, or altercations in the street. It’s worth remembering that there are always three parts to a relationship: you, me, and us.
It takes two to tango.
08/08/08 18:29
When Jo and Sam first met, they had little in common. Sam, being a generation older than Jo, seemed to know all about life, while Jo felt there was still so much to learn. They soon discovered a shared passion: dancing. At every opportunity, Jo could be seen dancing "like no-one is watching", as the saying goes, while Sam was an avid Tango dancer. Watching Sam Tango, Jo felt that no other dance could offer such perfection, such subtlety. Jo was in love. Sam sensed Jo's awe and longing, and graciously offered to teach Jo how to Tango. Of course, the burgeoning relationship offered rewards to both of them, in the beginning. Jo's beauty and lust for life made Sam feel new excitement about the dance, while Sam came to be Jo's 'rock', opening new possibilities for mastery of a world-renowned dance form. Mutual friends were happy for them both, and soon held Sam and Jo out as a model dance couple - "they've got this great connection... some people are just made for each other." For Jo, dancing with Sam was like a dream; the safe hands, the sure feet, the feeling of security all brought Jo the confidence to go beyond the free-form flailing that had come before. Meanwhile, Sam found that Jo breathed new life into the tango, and with that new life came new joy. Both Sam and Jo felt immense happiness about their partnership, and each came to look forward to dancing happily ever after.
There were the occasional and inevitable conflicts, and early on the rocky moments were dealth with quickly and without lasting resentment. Both Sam and Jo knew that all good relationships have their rough edges. Sometimes Sam would get frustrated with Jo's impulsiveness, undermining the discipline that good Tango requires. At times, Jo found Sam's rigid adherence to the rules infuriating. But Sam knew that Tango is a timeless dance and, with patience, Jo could become a truly perfect Tango dancer.
As time went by, Jo became more and more aware of the limitations of the timeless dance. True, there were opportunities for the free expression Jo was used to, and increasingly longed for, but even when these openings came, Jo felt eclipsed by Sam. Sam was disquieted by Jo's growing restlessness, and tried to help. Sam demonstrated the moves with increasing insistence, and tried to revel in the opportunities for creative expression when they came.
Eventually, Jo and Sam reached a crisis. Much as Jo loved the Tango, it had come to represent a way of dancing that offered no freedom. Jo felt unable to breathe, unable to move without restriction. In secret, Jo began to indulge in the flailing style of dancing that used to be so much fun, but it had a sense of urgent furtiveness that hadn't been there before. To Jo, the Tango felt more and more like a prison dance, but the alternative felt like no dance at all. Sam sensed Jo's unhappiness, but could only look to the time-honoured form and function of the Tango for solutions. Sam sought to reassure Jo, talking of the awe and perfection that Jo had witnessed in the early days... perfection that was still within their grasp. Jo saw the logic of Sam's reassurance, but was torn. There was just no more room for Jo to be Jo any more. Beautiful as the Tango is, it had come to feel lifeless for Jo. To Sam's despair, Jo drifted away.
Sam continued to dance the Tango, but it had lost the wild joy that Jo had brought. Sam found new dance partners, many of whom had more discipline than Jo, more precise adherence to the form, but Sam found that somehow this precision still had an emptiness to it. Sam's new-found refinement brought the accolades of friends and admirers, but for Sam, the dance had lost its vitality.
Dead languages, dead relationships
30/07/08 18:28
Latin is sometimes referred to as a 'dead' language (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Language_death). This refers to the fact that Latin is not really spoken by anyone as their first language, and there are no large communities that routinely communicate in Latin. The result is that latin words retain the same meaning over time, and no new words are created. By comparison, English is routinely spoken and new words are being created all the time (is there a latin word for 'blog'?). In English, existing words also change their meaning (how gay are you feeling today?). To get a feel for how alive and dynamic the English language is, try reading Chaucer, and see how the form and function of English words is different to today. in 200 years' time, Latin will still be Latin, while English will look and sound noticeably different to how it does today.
The idea of a 'dead' language is also useful as a way of understanding how relationships can become stale or otherwise difficult. Relationships need to be 'alive', flexible, able to incorporate new ideas and 'grammar', new styles of interacting. 'Alive' relationships continually change to reflect the living, changing beings that inhabit ('speak') them. Established terms may be re-written; old, irrelevant or unhelpful terms may be discarded, while new terms may emerge to reflect new circumstances. If the relationship does not change, then it becomes progressively more difficult for the people in it to interact effectively or in a satisfactory way. When this happens, one or both people in the relationship may become frustrated or dis-engaged. How do I bring my new ideas to the relationship if it doesn't make room for them?
Change is the only constant, as the saying goes. This is as true for relationships (and languages) as it is for people. Sometimes relationships become 'frozen' because people in it are afraid that bringing new things into the relationship will somehow undermine it. People complain when new 'Americanisms' enter Australian parlance ("turn out the light" is apparently now replacing "turn off the light", for example). Don Watson, Paul Keating's speechwriter, even wrote a book titled "Death Sentence" about the importance of keeping our language alive and untainted by 'weasel words'. In a similar way, you might fear that if you allow new behaviour or new ideas into a relationship, it may be the 'death' of the relationship. A new job, a new friend, a new pursuit (do you know any golf widows?) or a new toy can strike fear in one or both people that the relationship will be eclipsed or changed beyond recognition. In fact, the opposite is the case. There will always be new things entering the relationship, and to remain alive, the relationship must adapt and change to accomodate them. If the relationship is kept rigid, static, and inflexible, it is in danger of becoming as obsolete as, say, the slide rule, or the horse and carriage, or Latin. These are sometimes still used for the novelty value, but, overall, life has moved on - as it should.
The joy of "no"
17/04/08 17:42
Scenario: a young child sits playing with some toys. Her mother walks into the room, and says "come on, it's time to go and pick up your brother". She looks up, and with the smallest hint of a smile, says "no."
Now what? In every toddler's life, there comes a moment when they discover that they exist independently of others. It dawns on them that they have feelings, needs, wants, and ideas, that are uniquely their own, and not anyone else's. This creates both a crisis and an opportunity.
The crisis: Because they are unique, then there will necessarily be times when they are the only one who feels how they feel, thinks what they think, or wants what they want. This is a crisis because it has the potential to be a very isolating experience: what if no-one understands how I feel, or wants what I want? If I'm the only one who wants it, can I still have it? How can I co-exist with others who are not the same as me?
The opportunity: It feels good to be me. My uniqueness is proof-positive that I exist. To mis-quote Descartes: 'I am unique, therefore I am.'
The toddler who simply, but triumphantly, says "no" to his mother, just for the sheer rebellion of it, is experiencing a joy that many people these days deprive themselves of. Many people are unsuccessful in their attempts to change for the simple reason that they couldn't work out how to safely say "no". The fear of "no" is that it will be met with guilt, shame, or rejection. The joy of "no" is the joy that comes from feeling safe to be yourself, be different to others, but not have to pay a penalty for it.
So the next time you meet a non-compliant child, or a teen 'rebel', be grateful. Just think how boring the world would be if we were all the same! Of course, you may read this and decide that you disagree with what is written here. What joy!
In deepest empathy...
12/02/08 17:40
Today, the prime minister apologized to "the indigenous peoples of this land". The apology, which can be read in full at ABC online, was resisted for a long time, because it was felt that we shouldn't, or can't, apologize for something that someone else did. As was justifiably said, the people who took children from their families genuinely believed they were doing the right thing. Meanwhile, it was argued, we current generations know better, and it would be wrong for us to say sorry when we weren't the ones who did the harm.
So, what would be the point of saying sorry for something that someone else did? What sense is there in walking up to a stranger who has just tripped over in front of you, and saying 'sorry about that'? The answer to this may lie in the distinction between sympathy and empathy.
Sympathy is defined by Dictionary.com as "harmony of or agreement in feeling, as between persons or on the part of one person with respect to another." Meanwhile, empathy is described as "the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another." For the recipient, it is the difference between between solidarity and understanding. You may express sympathy for the wife of a friend who has died. This means you feel sad too; her sadness and your sadness are "similar", but not the same, since each of you has lost something slightly different. Sympathetically, you may say to her: "I'm devastated. I can't imagine what you are going through." Empathy makes different, and perhaps far deeper demands on you, because it requires you to place yourself in someone else's shoes, and discover for yourself what their bunions really feel like. Empathetically, then, you might say "I can sense how hard it is for you."
Pondering the difference between sympathy and empathy, I began to wonder if this explains why it might be worth saying 'sorry' to the stolen generation. It doesn't really matter if it wasn't our fault, if we are trying to empathise (not just sympathise) with this group of people. Once we start to empathise with them, we realize that being told "sorry" simply helps because it feels right.