Originally posted on 05-22-07:
I wrote yesterday about all the chatter that goes on in our heads, and how meditation can give us, not only a respite from that, but alternative ways to use brain time and energy.
This morning there was an article in the New York Times online called, “This Is Your Life (and How You Tell It),” that is wonderfully relevant: “Every American may be working on a screenplay, but we are also continually updating a treatment of our own life — and the way in which we visualize each scene not only shapes how we think about ourselves, but how we behave…”
A lot of that chatter in our heads, then, perhaps most of it, is related to our shaping the narrative of who we are, and how we have and will present ourselves to others. It’s understandable that we should spend a lot of time honing our narrative, given that who we are changes from one situation to another, and that this has been going on all our lives. We feel compelled to unify all the disparate aspects of our selves–the history and projected future of our behavior in myriad circumstances—into some sort of coherent entity. To quote myself from ten years ago: “Trying to keep track of who you are and how you fit in and what you should do next is like trying to carve a statue in smoke and keep it recognizable—its a full-time job, and you need help and encouragement from everyone to keep at it and to stifle the fear that you aren’t doing it right.” (From The Letters.)
When I became aware, from the perspective of a little meditation, of how compulsive this narrative activity was, and the anxiety associated with it, it was depressing at first. But the very recognition of the process, and of how universal it is with us humans, was helpful in damping the anxiety somewhat. The better I understood how the brain worked, the less identified I became with its processes.
The Times article points out an additional way of distancing ourselves. It describes a study in which researchers asked students to recall vivid scenes from the recent past: “They find that one important factor is the perspective people take when they revisit the scene—whether in the first person, or in the third person, as if they were watching themselves in a movie. …the third-person scenes were significantly less upsetting, compared with bad memories recalled in the first person.
“What our experiment showed is that this shift in perspective, having this distance from yourself, allows you to relive the experience and focus on why you’re feeling upset,” instead of being immersed in it…”
Some time before I began writing The Letters, I too, had discovered the change in perspective brought on by changing from the first to the third person, although with different intent:
“I forget where I read that monks and nuns of various sects (even Christian), avoid referring to themselves as “I”, as a way to minimize being ego-centered, and would instead refer to themselves as “this poor monk”, or some such. I was trying to think of a way to use this technique, and, since I’m not a monk, I hit on using this Chinese expression, “worthless rice bag.” It was a little awkward, though, and after I’d said to Eve a few times, “this worthless rice bag thinks…”, it got a bit old and cumbersome. Somehow I got from that to the idea of speaking of myself in the third person, at least in my private commentaries on my life, so that when I found myself depressed, for example, instead of thinking, “I’m depressed”, I would think, “HE’s depressed.” You wouldn’t think such a small thing would make much difference, but I found that I identified much less with my moods, and I had more of a sense of humor about them. It’s hard to take your mood so seriously if you say, “Oh, he is just SO depressed.”
“Then I started doing it to Eve. I would come in and find her in a state about something, and I would say, “Oh, she’s VERY upset.” Its funny, but if you say to someone, “You seem to be depressed,” they often either get defensive, or else they become even more convinced that, yes, they are depressed, but if you put it in the third person it sort of flips a switch and they automatically become more objective about it.”
I had come to the conclusion that the idea of my self being in charge of my life was mistaken, and had begun the quest to expunge the illusion. The change in perspective from first to third person was very helpful in both that struggle, and relatedly, in de-valuing the endless narrative. I later switched from “he” to “it,” to further undermine identification with thoughts and other behaviors that were not “my” creation.
The Times article was a worthwhile read, although it didn’t put the conclusions in the same context I would have, of course.
This third person idea reminds me of a story from thirty-odd years ago. I was making a trek across the country in my newly-outfitted old Dodge widow-van, and had spent the day on Black’s Beach in San Diego, trippin’ on LSD and smokin’ pot lying naked in the sun. I had decided to head further east in the late afternoon, and was on the freeway when I made a non-consequential though slightly scary driving error. In reaction, my mouth opened and out came, “Jesus Christ, Harold! You almost killed me and the kids!” followed by peals of laughter. (I was alone.) I still laugh when I think about it, although maybe you had to be there.
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