"Most of your unhappiness in life comes from the fact that you are listening to yourself instead of talking to yourself." John Piper
Shuffling to the refrigerator in the middle of the night, I open the French doors wide and stand in the bubble of soft light. Staring at the contents of this cool space organized by bottle height and container size makes me smile. My eyes scan the sloppy jars of condiments, sliced pickles from last summer, and at least two plates of butter at various stages of use. I grab the bowl of tuna, pinch a small amount, and shove it in my mouth.
The burst of flavor is so satisfying, and for no particular reason, I whisper to myself, "I'm so happy. I'm so incredibly happy," which has nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with gratitude.
Please tell me I'm not the only one who talks to myself.
So this is what I'm thinking about this week…If our inner world is shaped by the things we tell ourselves, then our thoughts of woe or wow truly matter.
You know what I mean?
Okay, you're not convinced, and you want an example? Seems reasonable.
I'll give you two.
The first was when I went to the San Francisco Writer's Conference and failed my first attempt at socializing. I could have stayed in my room the next night and the next, licking my wounds and telling myself I was a total loser.
But I didn't do that.
I gave myself a hearty pep talk, telling myself I was a dazzling (okay, I used the word good) conversationalist and just as funny as the next clown sitting on a bar stool. So I got dressed, returned to the scene of the crime, and ended up meeting a wonderful person who changed the trajectory of the entire conference.
Self-talk. It matters.
Another example happened this weekend when Larry and I headed to the lake to deal with the damage from a recent storm. While sharing an omelet at Renee's in Lakeport early one morning, we start discussing the Ragbrai cycling event we plan to attend in July with our cousins, Gail and Mike, their daughter Ellie, and a few friends. The debate is about whether Larry should ride solo or if I should ride with him on our tandem.
This is how the conversation went down. Okay, this is my version of how the conversation ensued, but it's the only reliable account and, therefore, considered gospel on this blog.
Larry says, "I think we should ride Ragbrai together."
I say, "I would absolutely ride with you, but we've never ridden more than 65 miles in one day, and we've never ridden that far seven days in a row. We'll be riding across Iowa in the heat of July, there are three 80-mile days on the schedule, not to mention all the hills we'll have to conquer."
"No doubt, It's going to be a challenge."
"A challenge? I don't have a death wish, so I would only agree to do this ride if you are willing to adjust the miles when necessary."
"What does that mean?"
"It means if I decide I need to use the sag wagon after 70 miles on the fifth day of riding in 100-degree temperatures, you're okay with that."
"That's failure, in my opinion."
"I think it's being cognizant of our age and abilities."
"I don't think I can do that."
"I'll be 64 years old when we do this ride. I'm not a wimp. I know how to push myself, but I also know my limits."
"You have to train hard, and you have to ride with the mindset that you're going to finish every mile before you even begin. Failure is not an option."
"Who the hell are you? Gene Kranz? That depends on how you define failure. I think if we train, plan, and then go with the mindset that we're here for the experience, and if that experience includes using the sag wagon because I've exhausted all my reserves, then I consider that a win, not a failure."
"Using a sag wagon is a failure."
"Then I can't commit to this ride."
When our voices start attracting the interest of the surrounding tables, we decide to finish our omelet in silence. On the way home, he is quiet for the first fifteen miles. I would love to know the exact words rattling around in his brain during that drive.
He finally says, "I think we should do the ride together, even though I might have to rethink how we adjust the mileage."
"Adjust the mileage? What the hell does that mean?"
"It means we decide how many miles we want to do each day, and we use the support team to make that happen."
"So you've redefined failure."
"I've redefined success."
"I can do that."
In my opinion, thoughts are like naughty children. When you leave them alone for too long, they get into trouble. Then, the minute you check on them, they go silent but still hold the remnants of their mischief.
In this case, the mischief was Larry's unchecked thoughts about failure, which held us hostage to an ideal that didn't allow for compromise or the abilities and limitations of both riders. How we frame things in our minds matters. It's never easy to reevaluate our personal beliefs, especially when our understanding of success is at risk. Bravo to Larry.
Yes, I talk to myself all the time, and if I were being honest, I would admit that my shadow side is not very nice. I ruminate about my perceived failings as if a broken record, but the truth is those thoughts have nothing to do with my current reality but everything to do with my potential and, by proximity, my future.
When I'm not running interference, my thoughts are merciless. They enjoy obliterating my confidence, saying things like, "You're too old." "No one likes you." "You talk too much." "You're not smart enough." "You give up too easily." "And you're teeth are crooked."
Or my favorite, "You can't do that because you're…, fill in the blank…a girl, retired, stubborn, afraid, weak, unsophisticated, annoying, or worse…boring."
Right?
Screw that.
When I notice my thoughts are misbehaving, meaning I'm repeating old patterns of self-sabotage, I'll talk to myself (showers work best for this, or the car, but also insulated refrigerators in the middle of the night). I tell myself, "You are brave, ageless, confident, kind, and smart enough." Repeat, but use adverbs when necessary, "You are wildly brave, incredibly ageless, overly confident, absurdly kind, and ridiculously smart.
I have no illusions that I will ever be able to stop all my wayward thoughts. They're like evil, rising at will, but they do not have to win. This means I have to be the hero in my own life and push away those thoughts as if someone just offered me a cigarette or Thai massage. We can do things differently. We can invite new thoughts into our narrative.
Here's the linchpin: I can change the narrative whenever I want.
And how do we create a new reality?
One thought at a time.
Donna Ashworth says, "Get to know the voices in your head, only one of them is on your side, the rest slithered in many years ago when you were vulnerable and found a place to stay."
When my inner life is rich and fulfilling, my outer life will surely follow. I'm not saying I can increase my wealth or well-being just by just thinking it. That's too new agey for me, but my thoughts merge with my feelings, which drive my behavior, and form my habits. This is how I ride through life.
Gratitude is key when it comes to repurposing my reality for my own damn good.
When I'm unhappy with myself, I judge others by the unfair standards holding me hostage, and it becomes a gruesome circle of snarl and snare.
Even if the circumstances in which I live are currently chaotic, stressful, or emotionally deprived, I can still refocus my thoughts to bolster my hope, optimism, and sense of calm.
No one ever tells us our inner voice has lasting consequences. What we tell ourselves day after day, year after year, is efficacious. So, for goodness sake, sweet talk yourself whenever possible.
If there is an ounce of hope to be found in the cavernous reaches of life, then I will find it, pinch it, and enjoy all the flavors. I can create joy by simply recognizing its gratuitous presence and telling myself when this is so.
I think it's comforting to entertain hope, gratitude, and positivity even if we don't need them at the moment. It matters. Our imagination is running the show, and that gives us an amazing amount of leverage. Play it up. Go big. Think outside the box. The secret to a phenomenal life is what we tell ourselves. It's simply a matter of finding our own little refrigerator in our own little world and reminding ourselves, "I'm so happy. I'm so incredibly happy."
I'm Living in the Gap, blatantly talking to myself, what are you thinking about this week?
Let's Grow Damn It together. Here's an idea. Buy a minimum of six books, plan a book club and I'll join you via Zoom or physically if at all possible. Just let me know when and where! My email is cheryloreglia@aol.com, and I look forward to hearing from you!
Gene Kranz* one of NASA's most decorated flight directors for whom failure was not an option. Gene Kranz, the legend behind Failure is Not an Option.
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