Sylvia's Journal

My self-selected messengers delivered two related messages this morning that, like Velcro, hooked onto words already floating in my mind: boredom and change. They seem opposite at first glance. One a state of mind, the other a force of nature.

I have a steady morning routine which consists of  a 10-minute meditation, a 8 to 9 mile stationary bike ride, followed by a shower and then breakfast. I recently answered someone’s question (how are you feeling?) with the word ‘bored!’ It’s the same thing every morning, day after day after day. At night I have a different routine: I listen to whatever audio book I am engrossed in while doing my electronic jigsaw puzzle. It’s not that these routines are unpleasant or forced, it’s the sameness that sometimes gets to me.

My meditation teacher talked about boredom this morning. He reminded me that the sight of a sleeping baby may seem boring to all but the parents of that child. Not much going on. Yet nothing is further from the truth. Inside that sleeping infant changes are taking place at a crazy pace. 

In our physical distance world of today many people have expressed this sense of ‘boring sameness’ to me. A joke that is circulating on FB tells it all: Until further notice the days of the week are now called 
thisday, thatday, otherday, someday, yesterday, today and nextday!

Yet around us, and possibly inside us, change is taking place at a crazy pace. All the things we took for granted (such as how we get medical care, how we meet, how we work, how we earn our living) have been thrown out of the window. Telemedicine, something some people have been pushing for decades, has now become a common form of consultation with health professionals. Flexible work hours, tele-commuting, working in remote teams became a near instantaneous reality, as if a switch was flipped.

So I am telling myself that underneath all that sameness and boredom, some awesome, and in many cases badly needed changes are actually taking place. I can only hope that these changes are so firmly embedded by the time we leave our isolated spaces that flipping the switch off again will be nearly impossible. 

I studied psychology because I was interested in human behavior. After a long and circuitous route, I have come back to my roots. Not that I ever lost interest in human behavior, but I pushed off from the Developmental Psychology shores many decades ago. Now I am back.

I graduated about 5 years before Robert Keegan published his book ‘The Evolving Self.’ I paid little attention to him then as he was not in the pantheon of great psychology theorists at the time of my studies. Besides I had moved to the Middle East (Yemen, then Lebanon) and later to Senegal. I had gotten married and had a child while working full time. Although I watched the development process unfold in my own child, I had kind of forgotten about the discipline of developmental psychology in which I was credentialed, at least academically. It was in 2001, when I read Keegan and Lisa Lahey’s book ‘the way we talk’ that I reconnected with my initial interest in developmental psychology and started to follow Keegan. 

Yesterday I was reminded of his theory of human development during my breakfast reading of Heather Cox Richardson’s daily missive. She displays, for all to see, the behavior of people at the highest levels of our government. It took me back to Keegan’s view on how the mindsets of some people evolve more than those of others. 

Here’s a summary of his stage theory – more depth be found on the internet and YouTube.

In Keegan’s theory the earliest stage, Stage 1, is the stage of the Impulsive Mind. The world revolves around the small child and everything is there to serve his or her needs. At stage 2 the child (now an adolescent) has expanded his or her horizon, although satisfying one’s own needs is still at center stage in all interactions. This is the stage of the Imperial Mind. Interestingly, in his research he found that about 6% of the US’s adult population is stuck in that mindset. 

At stage 3 we have learned that we are no longer the center of the universe and our minds are socialized by the culture, values and philosophies of our extended family and community (tribe, religion, etc.) in which we are embedded. Keegan’s research suggests that about 58% of the adult population is at this stage of the Socialized Mind. In stage 4, the stage of the Self-Authoring Mind, we have come to realize that there are other perspectives on reality that are different from the one we were socialized in – hence the importance of travel and living in cultures other than the one you grew up in. About one third of the adult population has reached this stage. 

The highest stage is number 5 – the Self-Transformative Mind. At this stage we have come to realize there are no firm answers to anything as everything happens in a context.  Jennifer Garvey Berger, who has worked with Keegan and who is a genius in her own right (especially when it comes to leading in chaotic situations, like right now) explains: “People with this form of mind are less likely to see the world in terms of dichotomies or polarities, […] they are more likely to believe that what we often think of as black and white are just various shades of gray whose differences are made more visible by the lighter or darker colors around them.” An estimated 1% of the population has reached this stage.

The stages are somewhat comparable to the levels of energy that I learned about in my (IPEC) coach training. People with catabolic (depleting, destructive) levels of energy either are victims or get very angry. At levels three to seven people show up with the kind of energy that is anabolic, uplifting, constructive. The highest levels are congruent with Keegan’s stage 5.

Back to our government officials. I think many of them operate out of level 2 or 3, and the one at the top seems to be stuck in level 1. I would think this level to be an immediate disqualifier for the top position.

I am reading more and more about the millions of viruses out there that have not been catalogued and for which we are wholly unprepared, like this one. Of course, we can never be totally prepared as these viruses are known to shape-shift in response to our own shape-shifting context. The new normal will also be shape-shifting. And thus, I am extending the tunnel that we are currently in, further and further.

The light at the end of the tunnel that I saw early March, is slowly receding. The prediction that we are still far from normalizing life again is now closer to being fact rather than fiction (or opinion). The whole summer? Next fall? Next year? There are moments when I can only see darkness rather than light at the end of the tunnel.  

The light that used to be at the end of the tunnel will have to come from within. Not from outside to inside, as our president suggests, but from inside to outside.

How we show up in our lives has always been important, but now I think it is even more so. People have recently evoked many times the oxygen mask routine in planes (put it on yourself before you put it on your child). It is an apt comparison. If we can’t be grounded and lit up ourselves, how can we ground and light up others?

I am also benefitting from the light that others emit, both close by and faraway. I have joined two networks that were outside my geographic sphere, a vertical slice of the world that extends from the tip of Africa to the north of Europe, with some outliers in South America and Australia. They are all team coaches, some aspiring team coaches like me, and they are all full of light.

Last week I also joined an Indian network of people who consider themselves talent developers. I am signing up left and right to such networks as they keep me connected to the rest of the world, and I find inside these networks individuals who are not only like-minded but also light-minded.

It helps that, at least in the northern hemisphere, that we are also heading into more light of day and less and less darkness.

We have a new vocabulary now. During the day we ask ourselves whether we are zoomed in, or up, or out. When we facetime with our daughter, after her work day is over, we see her glazed over eyes and conclude that she is zoomed-out. There were zoom-bombings before the Zoom company shored up its security. There are Zoom(cock)tails and Zoom weddings and Zoom Quaker meetings for worship, with everyone on mute, unless a message from the universe requires an unmute.

There is the concept of social distancing, words rarely used together outside sociology departments, surely with a different meaning now. It’s not social but physical that causes us so much grief. With all the things we are not able to do, there is now the joy about the things we can do (internet stability permitting): being socially close to people that are not nearby. I feel socially quite close to people, knowing we could not possibly infect each other. I am participating in workshops and learning webinars with Indians, South Africans, European. Our Zoom 40th anniversary wedding was attended by people from two continents, 4 countries, and several states in the US.

Last night we watched a documentary about Mr. Rogers, a TV personality Americans would know about. Maybe he was known outside the US. I learned about him via our kids. It was Mr. Rogers who reminded kids that there were always more helpers than bad people. Look for the helpers he would recommend parents to tell their kids when bad things happened. And I see, around the world, that we are all heeding his words. The people who make us angry are always in the minority. It’s good to remember that.  

The things I have learned about the brain come in handy now. I understand better than before why centering practices, meditation, meditative yoga and other ‘stilling’ practices are important. As I prepare my sessions for working with teams that are coping rather than thriving in this new pandemicked world, I am going through the many centering exercises I have collected over the years to pick one for today’s session. 

In the past I felt a little self-conscious, awkward even, when I introduced a centering exercise at the start of a meeting.  Once, at a time of great anxiety and stress at my previous employer, I asked the people sitting around the table with me and those on a video screen in another location, to close their eyes and take a few deep breaths. I noticed how some people (mostly younger) embraced this opportunity, others (mostly older) rolled their eyes and seemed impatient to get on with the task at hand. 

It was risky telling people that being present, centered, and taking a few deep breaths before continuing with the meeting agenda, should be part of the task at hand. But now I am no longer the only one who believes that. There is now abundant research to suggest that centering and being present is a critical part of any work. After all, any, internal or external, change we want to make starts in the here and now. If your mind is elsewhere, either in the past or in the future, the change cannot start.

I made up the word pandemicked because it has the word panicked inside it. We know that panic is created by our old reptilian brain that is solely concerned with surviving. Our very existence now attests to how the effectiveness of this part of the brain to do what it was designed to do.  

The pandemic has brought to the fore the original meaning of surviving, which is about continuing to live and defy death, this in addition to psychological survival, which is the usual cause of our stresses and anxieties. Now there is a real existential threat because the corona virus could kill us, as it already has killed so many people. The new closing messages on emails are now ‘stay safe,’ because if we don’t, we, or others, might die.

Our reptilian brain is not very good at coherent thought. This capacity resides in the most evolved part of our brain, the prefrontal cortex. Our reptilian brain leads us to take sensory short cuts; it leads us to believe things to be true that are not, it leads us to jump to conclusions based on very little evidence. When this part of our brain is in the driver’s seat we do stupid things because we can’t think clearly about anything other than escaping danger in the here and now. We’ll deal about the consequences later, once the prefrontal cortex is back in the driver’s seat. 

When we are on such high alert, it’s our sympathetic nervous system that is activated and floods us with neurochemicals preparing our bodies to run away from the threat. But the corona virus is invisible and all around us, increaSing our sense of danger. Taking even a few minutes to breathe deeply and slowly, and still our mind, activates the parasympathetic nervous system. Gratitude practices, going into our happy place, imagining being with or holding someone or something we love or care deeply about, produces neurochemicals that enhance our well-being, our well-feeling and our immune system, in ways that brain scientists can explain so much better than I.

We are learning (or with a sigh surrendering) to do things we used to buy or outsource. Like cleaning the house. Yesterday we talked with friends in Pune, India, where I stayed in December. I remembered the two ladies who would come in the morning, prepare lunch and dinner, clean the house and do laundry. They are no longer coming and the chores are now insourced rather than outsourced. Many middle and upper class folks around the world now have to clean bathrooms and do dishes themselves, unless their help stayed with them or they have daughters or daughters-in-law living with them. Our Indian friends have divided the chores between them, with, as one can expect, the lion’s part falling on the woman. Of course, this inconvenience is mild compared with the missing income for the millions of people who did all that work and who no longer have a job, at least for now.

I am also learning to make things that are always on back order, like paneer for our favorite Indian dish, sag paneer. Last night we made it with most of the accoutrements produced by us: the yogurt, the paneer, the lime pickle and the chapatis. Soon we will be able to add our own vegetables. It’s planting time for some varieties of beans, peas, spinach, shallots, and potatoes. The garlic I planted in November is already up. We make our own bread. Given the dearth of yeast I made a sourdough starter that is nearly ready for prime time. Axel has been brewing beer which should be ready in about a week. We produce mung bean sprouts every week. With some creative meal planning and what’s left in our pantry, we can help ourselves.

And then there is hair. The pandemic may produce a resurgence of women with long hair – not styled, just long, just like the 60s. For people like me with short hair, the closing of hair salons as non-essential while gun shops stay open as essentials, reveals a male prejudice. Yesterday I ran out of patience with my locks falling in front of my eyes. I am not quite ready to entrust this task to my husband, although I some point I will have to (I am sure there are some YouTube videos on haircutting). I cut the front part, bangs and sides. That was difficult enough as I had to keep my glasses on and do everything in mirror imagine. I am pleased with the outcome, even though it’s a little uneven. We’ll see if I can manage another 6 weeks without a skilled hairdresser.  

Oh those things we thought essential and that are not, and the ones we took for granted that are now essential.

We had a physical-distanced-in-person cocktail gathering at our beach yesterday, which remains nicer than a Zoom one, although those are easier to organize and execute. Our friends are isolating as a family pod, two sons, a daughter and their mates and a gaggle of grandkids of about the same age. 

There is something very comforting and smart about the idea of three generations living together. Of course it stops being comforting and smart if you don’t have a large house or a farm. Three generations in a two bedroom apartment in a city would be hell, especially now.  

Margaret Mead, who herself grew up in a three generation household, as so many of our parents did, recognized the enormous value of such an arrangement. ‘Her hypothesis,’ according to David Cooperrider, ‘was that the best societal learning has always occurred when three generations come together in contexts of discovery and valuing — the child, the elder, and the middle adult.’ 

It is not just the formal learning (think homeschooling now), but also learning to play, to deal with conflict, to listen, to apologize, storytelling, and other social skills that are hopelessly missing when I watch the news.  Our daughter Sita has always known this, possibly even more than we did. Maybe because she has befriended members of the Bateson clan. She has been sending us real estate ads for large houses or wide open spaces that would allow us to live together yet not on top of each other. It does remain an appealing vision.

And so, in the spirit of intergenerational possibilities, I was thinking about inviting our daughter, husband and two kids, to move in. We have all been in isolation longer than we can remember, so we should all be clean and could help each other out. Having the grandkids would do us good, real hugs instead of virtual ones; having us around for childcare would help our kids do their day jobs, the envy of working parents with kids now. The large yard, a driveway for biking, and the beach for exploring Rachel Carson’s world, would do our grandkids good. And we could make music together.

There is of course a downside to this joyous three generations togetherness, giving our particular space. There would be the permanent chaos; coats, boots and shoes scattered in the entry hall, the enormous amounts of toilet paper that we would use (it would make us toilet paper hoarders). Faro would constantly getting his shoes, socks and pants wet by straying into Lobster Cove, and we would have to watch endless reruns of Shawn the Sheep. And the parents would not be happy with us indulging the grandkids, especially when it comes to sugary things, so we’d get into scrapes with them.

But what stopped me extending the invite, more than anything listed above, was the realization that our quiet morning and evening routines of meditation, yoga, exercise, blogging, music practice, knitting, and reading would be severely disturbed. It took us a while to get into those routines and having to alter them would be hard. So, we’ll go for the intergenerational living as a future vision, and in a limited virtual manner for now.

There is much talk now about the old normal that some want to go back to and others want to leave behind. We sometimes forget that our old normal was once the new normal. In the FDR days the new normal meant women left their private space and, especially during war time, started to contribute to the formal economy in jobs few thought appropriate for women only a decade earlier. Women started to vote, wear slacks, smoked, drank, flirted, crossed their legs in ways that their made their mothers shudder.

When I think about the two Roosevelt women, Alice and Eleanor, it is interesting how the passing of time has re-arranged how we label thing, what is normal and what we find courageous. Courage always means moving into a new normal, whether tiptoeing or dashing into it. Although not by all, many people now remember Eleanor as someone who lead the way into the new normal by embodying a new understanding of the role and potential of women – while Alice has faded away. 

The emergence of a new normal doesn’t mean the old normal disappears. Just like at previous times of upheaval, while the new normal expands, the old normal hardens.

I am wondering about the new normal, what it will look like. Will it include a new set of practices around how we work together, who we work with, when we work and when we play, and what we can do for ourselves, and what we cannot? What courageous men and women and kids will step forward and lead the way?

While we explored Ken Burns’ documentary about the Roosevelts, night after night, I also learned about them from the perspective of Alice Roosevelt, the daughter of TR from his first marriage. I listened to an historical novel about Alice based on her diary and other original sources. The author of the book informs the reader at the end what is historical fact (most of the book) and what is literary fiction. It added an interesting perspective to the Burns’ story. 

It’s a good read/listen/watch in this time of global upheaval, because the Roosevelts also lived in times of global upheavals: two horrendous wars, a depression and rapid industrialization. And those are just the external upheavals. In parallel were the Roosevelts’ more private upheavals: premature deaths of loved ones, sickness (polio in particular), philandering husbands, out-of-wedlock babies, psychological abandon, political rivalries, paralyzing depression, suicides and alcoholism. 

To me, those members of the Roosevelt clan who survived all these tragedies serve as great examples of resilience: the ability to pick oneself up, dust oneself off and put one foot in front of another.

TR’s famous quote comes to mind: “It’s not the critic who counts. Not the man who points out where the strong man stumbled or where the doer of great deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena. Whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood. Who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again. And who, while daring greatly, spends himself in a worthy cause so that his place may never be among those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.” 

‘Daring greatly’ are the words Brené Brown borrowed from TR for one of her books, which picks up on the topic of resilience through the lens of vulnerability. This may not have been that applicable to the male Roosevelts, but it certainly picks up where Eleanor’s journey left off.