I was in second grade when I read The Dinosaur Joke Book. Fifty years later, I still remember this one:
Two cavemen are staring at a big rock. The first caveman announces he is going to carve the rock into a dinosaur sculpture. The second caveman mocks him and points out that the first caveman has no knowledge of sculpting. The first caveman explains why this is not an issue: “I’m just going to chip away all the parts that don’t look like a dinosaur.”
In retrospect that might have been the first self-help advice I ever encountered, even if I was not aware of this at the time. It would also take decades before I learned this joke was based on a Michelangelo quote regarding the creation of David: “I saw an angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”
Let’s be real. I’m never going to be an angel. But this past weekend I dedicated some time to standing back and taking in the ongoing sculpture of my life. With this inventory, it dawned on me that I have, very slowly, very cumulatively over many years, carved out an existence that I enjoy more often than I do not.
While it’s true I never did learn French (nor do I recall why, living here in the Country Formerly Known as Mexico, I felt a desire to do so), I actually have achieved most other things on The List, a loose set of life goals I’d been compiling for a very long time. I now do the following daily: meditate, knit, eat pretty excellently (if you don’t count the weird ice cream obsession), read books, do reggae yoga, listen to music.
The common denominator here is that I have made time for these small, steady routines that greatly contribute to better mental health. But then, we can’t really make time, we can only rearrange it. Which in turn allows me to see that “making time” for these endeavors has been contingent on discontinuing spending time on that which has not served me.
Here are things I have dispensed with:
Malignant Narcissists. To my delight, I am no longer a magnet for these assholes. To my greater delight, at long last I can spot them coming from ten miles away and I always, always, cross over to the other side of the street now.
Alcohol. This one went away a long time ago. Still worth noting.
Giving away money I don’t have to help “the worse off,” thus rendering myself the worse off.
Credit cards.
Cruel brides.
Most party invitations.
Worrying about what other people think of me.
Getting sucked into society’s ubiquitous body shaming bullshit.
Anything resembling “romantic” relationships.
Sex (stay tuned for a future installment dedicated to this topic).
Aspiring for “success” as defined by someone else.
A recent addition to my list of goals is to up my savoring game, courtesy of recently hearing some expert convincingly extol the importance of this practice. The concept of savoring is not new to me. I learned quite a bit about savoring fifteen years ago at a Thich Nhat Hanh Plum Blossom meditation retreat. Food was to be eaten slowly and mindfully in silence without the distraction of conversation or devices. Shitting was also to be conducted while mindfully appreciating just how awesome and vital shitting is. To this day I try to bring full awareness to anything I am eating and I remain a very cheerful, very grateful pooper.
I am now working to incorporate savoring into everything I choose to do. Which, yes, necessitates staying away from the bulk of humankind much of the time, because it’s pretty unsavory out there in the wide world right now. I am savoring the feel of wool, the rhythm of my breathing, the way pigeon pose magically quiets my sciatica. Any day the temperature is below 100 degrees, I make a point of actively appreciating it.
I still have plenty of chiseling left to do. For instance, it will be a secular miracle if I ever fully eradicate my tendency toward defensiveness, of perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop, of expecting that any moment now I will be attacked. But I’m chipping away at it.
I’m also paying attention to my limitations, to better understanding that which is worth pursuing and that which is not.
Last week some guy in Poland posed as a mannequin in the window of a fancy department store. Once the place closed for the evening, he went on a spree grabbing expensive jewelry. He had apparently convinced himself this plan was foolproof, giving no thought to the security cameras that captured his stupidity and led to his arrest.
Curiously, there is a name for this particular sort of idiotic hubris. It’s called the Dunning-Kruger Effect, named for the researchers who came up with an explanation for the behavior of a robber even more brazen and incompetent than the Polish mannequin impersonator. That guy covered himself in lemon juice and smiled at the cameras before attempting to hold up a bank. His reasoning was that lemon juice is used for invisible ink, so saturating himself in same would render him unseeable. He truly believed this.
The D-K Effect illustrates how an illusion of competence trips nearly all of us up at one time or another. Also, some of us are so incompetent in certain areas that we cannot recognize our own incompetence. Initially, this made me laugh as much as the caveman joke did. Then, both aghast and amused, it dawned on me that while I might not be as dumb as the bumbling robbers, I can list plenty of occasions where I got into some situation way, way over my head by convincing myself I was far more capable than I actually was. (The best examples I can offer here are dating and parenting.)
I’m still allowing myself to laugh at those dolts, but I’m also admitting I might have something to learn from them, too. More spots on the rock of my life to hew, to expose more beauty and render more stark relief.
NOTES:
As ever, thanks for reading, y’all. I appreciate it. You are always welcome to support my word habit by subscribing for $5 per month or $50 per year. It’s cool if you’re not in a position to do that. You can also help by sharing with others you think might dig my writing. One-time tips also gratefully accepted via Venmo: @spike-gillespie.
I am SO STOKED to announce that at long, long last my friend Francesca has unleashed a substack. Francesca used to be my neighbor. Now she lives in France in an old farmhouse and she writes so eloquently about life. I encourage you to check her out for yourself.
Question of the week: What have you added/subtracted to/from your life to make it better?
The next six-week memoir writing workshop for ladies at the ranch starts in mid-November. $150. Tuesdays 11 am - 1 pm. Holler if you want to sign up.
No more angry cable news watching! Even if I agreed with them, it made me angry! Why be angry?
I find that we Gen X ladies are getting better at living intentionally the older we get -- we'll be like laser beams when we're 70! Love you! Tracy