Use Your Damn Skills

Boundary-setting is not a skill we’re born with.

It’s not even an instinct most of us are born with. In fact, most of us are born with kind of the opposite instinct: we want to accommodate and please others, whenever possible. Even at the expense of our priorities, health, or peace of mind.

When we’re young, we learn, either implicitly or explicitly, that many other people in our worlds will treat us well mostly or only to the extent that we can meet their needs. Ideally, as we mature, we learn that relationships are a little more nuanced than that— that while there are some relationships that continue to function on simple reciprocity, there are other relationships that endure beyond you-scratch-my-back, I’ll-scratch-yours transactions.

However, our lizard brains largely retain the belief that, if we want our relationships to endure, if we want to be treated well and thought of fondly, we’d better be in the business of accommodating and pleasing others. Which makes saying “no” incredibly difficult for a lot of us.

Setting boundaries is really just a formalized way of saying “no.”

People don’t like to hear “no.” Especially when they want something from us.

And most of us don’t like to say “no,” either, precisely because we’ve internalized this belief that we’re basically valuable to others based on what we can do for them. Setting boundaries— saying “no”— can feel scary if we truly believe that our relationships are fragile, always on the verge of imploding if we fail to accommodate and please.

Over time, the belief that we will only be treated well if we accommodate and please has a way of calcifying into another insidious belief: that we only have worth to the extent that we are considered worthy or desirable by other people. Our self-esteem gets all wrapped up in the extent to which we’re valued by other people— and the extent to which we’re valued by other people is wrapped up, we think, in the extent to which we please and accommodate them.

That is, we come to believe our self-esteem depends on not saying “no” to very many people, very often.

All of which is nonsense, of course. Our worth as people has nothing to do with the extent to which other people consider us desirable or worthy.

Other peoples’ approval feels nice, and social acceptance makes it easier to connect with people (which itself is an important human need). But our basic worthiness cannot be raised or lowered based on whether we can meet other peoples’ needs in the way they prefer.

We have worth independent of whether other people approve of us, like us, or have use for us.

That said: most people in our lives are not going to be particularly helpful in helping us feel worthy regardless of what we can do for them.

And why would they, really? The fact is, many people have a vested interest in us fervently believing that we absolutely have to avoid setting boundaries with them, avoid saying “no” to them, at all costs. People don’t want us developing the belief system that we have worth independent of their approval.

They’d prefer we be at their emotional beck and call.

They’d prefer we feel guilty if we even THINK about saying “no” to them.

They’d prefer our self-esteem remain fragile, and dependent upon their approval. And of course their approval will be based on— what else?— the extent to which we are disinclined to say “no” to them.

So how, then, do we develop the skill of boundary setting, when both our early conditioning and the people around us are so effortfully working against us, making it inherently uncomfortable to say such a simple word— “no?”

You’re not going to like the answer.

The only way to get good at setting boundaries is to get practice at it.

And practicing setting boundaries is going to entail feeling mighty uncomfortable for a bit.

The good news? You can start small. You don’t have to get all your practice in high-stakes situations, such as your close personal or work relationships. Nobody’s expecting your education in setting boundaries to be perfect or easy.

Start with the little stuff.

Call the restaurant when they screw up your order.

Ask for a refund.

Unfollow somebody on Facebook whose posts make you mad or sad.

Tell a telemarketer to put your number on their do not contact list.

Remember this: it took you years to develop your aversion to say “no.” Nobody is expecting you to become a champion at setting boundaries overnight.

Remember this as well: the biggest hurdle you’re going to encounter is not, actually, going to be in other peoples’ reactions, especially in these low-stakes situations. It’s going to be dealing with the anxiety and guilt that saying “no” stirs up inside you— that anxiety and guilt that we work so hard to avoid by trying to please everyone, all the time.

Setting boundaries is not a skill we’re born with. But like many skills that are of essential importance to our emotional health, it can be nurtured.

You’re not alone in this.

 

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It’s okay to be tired.

It’s okay to be anxious.

It’s even okay to be depressed.

I know, I know. That’s not what our culture tells us. We’re not supposed to feel negative things— or if we do feel them, we’re definitely not supposed to express them, right?

After all, people who express experiencing negative things MUST be looking for attention.

They MUST be looking for charity.

They MUST be trying to make excuses for not trying hard enough.

It’s really extraordinary, how much our culture tries to shame us for feeling certain things. It frequently gets to a point where we end up choosing to not express ourselves authentically, ever, because we don’t want to end up being judged by our Facebook friends as being too whiny.

What the hell is that about, anyway?

Spoiler alert: people who express feeling tired, anxious, or depressed usually aren’t looking for attention. In fact, attention is frequently the very last thing they want. It’s the comparatively rare individual who wants their psychological pain to be a topic of conversation among their friends and acquaintances.

Most people, in fact, who are tired, anxious, and depressed go to great lengths to hide what they’re going through from just about everyone. Most people will never know how much energy a sad person invests in hiding from the world.

The thing is, we’re all born with an urge to connect, to share our authentic selves with other people. People who are tired, anxious, and depressed often feel this need even more acutely than most, precisely because their conditions have caused them to isolate.

Which is what makes it so heartbreaking when they are then judged for what they’re experiencing. As if they somehow invited fatigue, anxiety, and depression in to ruin their lives.

It seems I very often read that we live in a culture of entitlement. That we feel it’s our birthright to be somehow free of pain or inconvenience, and that we get whiny when confronted with negative feelings or experiences. That social media has become a platform for people to complain about their issues, without making any real attempt to work on them.

People who think this aren’t in my line of work.

If they were, they’d know what I know: that, contrary to popular belief, people who are in psychological pain often believe they are less worthy, not more, of compassion, expression, and relief.

Don’t get me wrong: I do think social media creates some unique opportunities for people to avoid and amplify their problems instead of solving them. There is definitely a subset of social media posts I see and fervently wish the poster would take their struggles to a therapist, rather than to their Facebook audience.

However, it is overwhelmingly untrue that most people who are struggling express their pain in order to gain attention or sympathy. In fact, I rather consider it a breakthrough when many patients get to the point of actually believing they are worthy of attention or sympathy.

It’s hard enough to be in emotional pain without the added pain of the judgment of other people.

If you feel you’re being judged for your pain, I’m not in a position to say that you’re not. It very well may be the case that you are. People in general don’t respond well to expressions of negativity. It stirs up their own issues around vulnerability and feeling helpless.

(As it turns out, people don’t enjoy those issues getting stirred up.)

But know this, without a doubt: you are not a lesser person for what you’re feeling or going through.

You didn’t ask for this.

You didn’t expect this.

You’re just trying to make it through this.

I hear you.

 

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One of the most painful experiences many people endure is having their worth as a person confused with the success of their life projects.

I even saw a reasonably well-known personal growth writer spell it out explicitly in an online post: “Your results are a reflection of you. If your business is a mess, it’s because you’re a mess.”

I get the point he was trying to make, though I might have framed it somewhat differently. I might have said, it’s almost impossible to compartmentalize your life projects from your overall health and functionality as a person. That it’s unlikely for your business to succeed when you’re a mess.

But the way he put it suggests that there is no difference between us, as people, and the things we do in our lives— which just isn’t true. There is a relationship that exists between us and our projects, to be sure, but we are not our projects.

In your life, you’re going to have lots of projects. Careers. Romantic relationships. Platonic relationships. Pet ownership. Home ownership. Skill acquisition. Hobbies. Performances.

Some of those projects are going to go very well. You’ll have times when your job or career is going well. You’ll have romantic relationships that are full of fun, sex, and good vibes. You’ll have friendships that are supportive and sturdy. Dogs and cats who you’ll love, and who will love you back. Places to live that you feel comfortable and safe in. Skills that you pick up and which are useful and satisfying. Hobbies that are interesting and fulfilling. Performances that will impress others and edify you.

And…there will be times when those projects don’t go so well.

You will lose a job at some point. You will be broken up with. Some friendships will drift apart. Pets don’t live forever. You won’t love every place you live. Skills you value at some point will deteriorate. Hobbies will lose their luster. And not every performance you give will lead to a standing ovation.

If you’re a human being who lives under the fat part of the bell curve with the rest of us normal human beings, it’s not a question of if, but when those things happen. Both the good and the bad.

The success, or lack thereof, of your life projects will definitely impact your level of happiness and level of functionality in the world. No question.

And it will mean absolutely zero in terms of whether you are worthwhile human being or not.

A lot of people fall into this trap of only feeling worthy when their life projects are going well. It’s a bummer, but it’s understandable: we get rewarded, in our culture, for doing those tasks well. We get admired. We get financially compensated. We get the rewards that come with being close to people— sex, intimacy, companionship.

We like those rewards.

We spend much of our time working toward those rewards, trying to do our life projects well. And when we get those rewards, we reward ourselves internally, psychologically: we’re proud. We figure, “I must’ve done something right, to get these rewards.”

This is where the problem starts.

Don’t get me wrong, if you’ve succeeded at your life projects, hooray! You’ve done exactly what that sentence implies: you’ve done exactly what you need to do to succeed at those projects. Good for you.

But if you’re not reaping those rewards; if your life projects for whatever reason, aren’t going well, that statement we tell ourselves when life’s going well— “I must’ve done something right, to get these rewards”— turns into a blade that we often turn against ourselves. You know, in the form of “I must’ve done something bad, because I’m not getting rewarded.”

No.

You haven’t done something bad.

You are not bad.

You simply haven’t, for whatever reason, been in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing, to succeed at that particular project. No more; no less.

The person who happens to have been in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing, is not more worthy of love, respect, compassion than the person who happens to not have been in that position.

Circumstances change. Levels of success change. Occupations change, relationship statuses change, seasons change, people and lives change. It’s just what they do. And while there are definitely habits and behaviors we can develop that will enhance our chances of succeeding in our life projects, it’s essential to keep in mind: WE ARE NOT OUR PROJECTS.

If you only allow yourself to feel good when you’ve succeeded at a life project, you’re being unfair to yourself.

If you insist on torturing yourself because you’ve not succeeded at a life project, you’re being cruel to yourself.

Over time, we do not develop and sustain positive relationships with people who are habitually unfair and cruel to us.

Including ourselves.

Take your life projects seriously. They’re important to you; otherwise they wouldn’t be your life projects. But when you start to feel your self-esteem rising and falling based on how your life projects are going? Stop.

Take a step back.

Take a deep breath, and remember: you are a human being, worthy of dignity, kindness, and respect.

Literally no life project outcome can possibly change that.

 

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Showing compassion, either toward yourself or others, is not “weakness.”

It is not the case that the range of behaviors we can exhibit, either toward ourselves or others, exists on a simple continuum from “ruthless” to “compassionate.” And even if that was the case, it wold not the be case that “ruthlessness” requires more strength than “compassion.”

Compassion isn’t the “easy” road. In fact, experiencing and expressing compassion takes much more nuance, restraint, intelligence, and fundamental strength than mindless aggression.

Which makes it all the more curious to me that so many people take perverse pride in how hard they are on themselves. As if it takes some sort of special gumption to be ruthless toward ourselves, rather than compassionate.

I’ll spoil the surprise for you: there’s no fundamental virtue in being hard on yourself, at least not for the sake of being hard on yourself.

I’ll spoil the surprise further: there’s no fundamental weakness to being compassionate toward yourself.

When we say “compassion,” what do we really mean?

It has nothing to do with lowering our standards. Some people seem to think that “compassion” is code for “letting someone get away with subpar performance.” Nope.

It has nothing to do with making excuses, either. Some people seem to think that “compassion” means “letting someone off the hook with a lame explanation, because we don’t want them to feel bad.” Nuh uh.

When we’re compassionate toward someone, it’s not that we hold them to a lower standard or make excuses for them. Though I do suppose some people do those things in the name of compassion, because they either misunderstand the concept, or are looking for an easy way to explain their own choices.

Compassion means taking the time to understand someone’s story.

It means taking the time to understand someone’s experience.

It means extending to someone the benefit of the doubt.

It means affirming respecting and affirming someone’s right to exist— including their right to be imperfect.

We can do all of those things and STILL hold people to high standards, as well as refuse to let them make excuses. (In fact, I’d say lowering standards and/or accepting excuses aren’t particularly compassionate things to do, insofar as they set someone up for failure down the road.)

It means approaching someone from a position of fundamental kindness.

It seems, we hear a lot about the need to be “compassionate” toward our fellow human beings. From childhood on, we get messages from our culture, from our religions, from our elders, and from our media that we’re at least supposed to be compassionate toward others. Those who lack compassion for others get branded as “selfish,” “sociopathic,” or worse, depending on the context. (Though it’s also the case that we’re often presented with the case for being uncompassionate toward certain groups of humans, too— again, context seems to matter greatly when we’re being told how to feel about other people.)

But what about compassion toward ourselves?

Do we take the time to really understand our own story?

Do we make the effort to understand our own experience?

Do we affirm and respect our own right to exist— including our right to be imperfect?

Not often, it seems.

In fact, it often seems to be the case that, in our deification of “self discipline” (which, may I add, is an essential tool for personal growth— I have absolutely nothing bad to say about self-discipline in and of itself), we overlook the fact that, just as we would be considered monsters if we failed to show compassion toward our fellow human beings, we are also, ourselves, human beings, in desperate need of compassion in order to function, grow, and thrive.

Just as parents who fail to show compassion toward their children as they’re growing up, making mistakes, and learning to exist end up raising wounded people, we wound ourselves when we fail to approach ourselves from a position of fundamental kindness.

It is not weak to be kind.

It is not selfish to be self-compassionate.

If your goal is to thrive; to grow; to become a resilient human being who can function, laugh, emote, connect with others, and achieve…then self-compassion is more than a luxury.

It is a fundamental need.

Are you strong enough to meet that need?

 

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There’s a popular myth going around that true “leaders” operate on gut instinct.

I saw it repeated just last week on social media, by a fairly popular personal development writer, that real leaders make decisions in the heat of the moment, even if they have limited information, and trust in their emotional intelligence to propel them in the direction of passion, purpose, and success.

What a distortion of what it takes to manage a life, let alone be a leader.

On the national stage right now, we’re getting plenty of examples of what happens when behavior is mostly informed by gut feelings and leaders act with limited information. I’d say few following along with that farce are impressed.

Gut instinct is a wonderful thing. Intuition is a wonderful thing. Neuropsychologists speculate that the phenomenon we call gut instinct, or intuition, might have evolved as a result of our brains picking up on cues and signals in our environment that were too subtle for our conscious mind to register, but which aided in our survival. Those cave-people who had decent intuition were selected for; those who lacked it were at an evolutionary disadvantage.

It’d be silly to deny how valuable our guts can be in appraising situations, making decisions, and solving problems.

That said: it’d be equally silly to suggest our guts are well-suited to be our primary decision making organs.

Fact is, when it comes to decision making, our guts frequently have you-know-what for brains.

We have lots and lots of tools at our disposal when it comes to making decisions. Many of those tools are awesome– for what they’re good for. Gut instinct is a great example of this. For sizing up a situation quickly, especially a situation that involves identifying or avoiding a threat? Our guts can be invaluable.

But when it comes to decisions where we have the luxury of a little more time to think and evaluate, consider our needs, values, and goals? Relying on our gut 100% of the time is not only unnecessary, but counterproductive.

Especially when it comes to decisions like, you know, how to spend your money.

What food to put in your mouth.

Whether to end a relationship.

Whether to have a child.

You know. Little things like that.

I know, I know. There are people who swear up and down that their gut instinct has never steered them wrong. And it’s a valid concern, getting so caught up in the dreaded “analysis paralysis” that happens when we overthink our problems to death. I’m not saying never listen to your gut or act on impulse. Hell, sometimes those decisions lead to a lot of fun, spontaneity, and momentum.

But the very best decisions we make are those that use all the tools we have available. Your gut, your cerebral cortex, your memory, your values, your senses.

The most successful people I know, both the people who succeed professionally and get better in therapy, are those who discover and use decision making tools they’d forgotten about or undervalued in the past.

If they were primarily a “gut” thinker, they learned how to harness and use the cooling and analytic power of their forebrains.

If they were an over-analyzer, they learned to get back in touch with their instincts and access their less strictly rational impulses.

If they primarily operated on principles of expedience and convenience, they learned to clarify and pay more attention to their core values.

If they were rigidly enslaved to their principles, they learned to be more flexible in their approach, and how to compromise in ways that didn’t betray or deny those principles.

If you’re heading into battle, you don’t want a leader whose model for decision making is always instinctive, impulsive, driven by gut feeling in the heat of the moment (especially when there is limited information available).

You want a leader who utilizes and appreciates all the tools at their disposal for decision making– especially those tools that they’ve had to work to develop, precisely because they don’t come naturally to them.

What decision making tools do you rely on? Which tools might you have undervalued or underdeveloped in the past?

You don’t have to just go on your gut. You don’t have to ignore it, either.

 

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Yesterday, an acquaintance of mine who works in the personal growth industry opined in a mini-blog entry that “popular does not equal profound.”

He was referring to the motivational quotes, pictures, and memes that you often see on your Facebook and Twitter feeds, which often garner hundreds or even thousands of “likes” and reactions. His point was that if something is particularly popular, that probably means it’s not something that “challenges” people or brings them out of their comfort zones. Thus, he suggests, that content can’t be of much worth in helping people change their lives.

I get, and appreciate, his point. And I told him so.

But I also think “popular does not equal profound” kind of misses a more important point.

To the contrary, I’d say: something does not need to be profound to change someone’s life.

It doesn’t need to be deep.

It doesn’t need to come from Einstein, or Steve Jobs, or the Buddha, or even Dr. Glenn Doyle.

In order to change someone’s life, a quote, a picture, a meme, a blog entry, whatever— does need to be memorable.

It needs to be applicable to where you are in your journey, right here, right now. It needs to speak to YOU, in such a way you’re able to hear it and take it in.

It needs to be accessible and understandable.

Something that has an impact on you may or may not be “popular” online. It may or may not have accrued hundreds of “likes.” It may or may not resonate with “the masses.” But the fact of the matter is, it doesn’t really matter how “popular” it is, or even how “profound” it pretends to be.

If it doesn’t speak to you in a way that you can actually USE, it’s useless.

In the personal development field generally, and on the Internet specifically, you’re going to run into all kinds of people who are very invested in influencing what you allow to influence you. It’s easy to scorn “motivational quotes” that go around as superficial, and it’s common for some people to try to shame you if you happen to find those quotes and memes and articles uplifting, useful, inspiring.

You know what? Screw ‘em.

Screw anybody who tries to make you feel embarrassment about something you find empowering.

Different things speak to different people. Different people need different things at various times in their lives.

Some people respond well to “tough love” approaches. Some people have had more than enough “tough love” in their lives, and need to feel compassion and empathy before they can move forward.

Some people benefit enormously from complex analysis, because they need to know the intricate “why’s” of their situation before they feel comfortable making and acting on a plan. Other people get lost in and overwhelmed by too much analysis, and need to boil things down to the basics— a direction, a push one way or another.

It’s easy to decry popular, seemingly superficial content as “pandering” to the masses. Are there some content creators who do this, just to garner as big an audience as possible? Sure, I suppose.

But my observation is, you never know what’s going to move or speak to or be meaningful to or motivate a specific person. Content that one person finds superficial and pandering may be something another person finds inspirational and provocative.

“Popular” may not equal “profound,” as my acquaintance wrote.

But “profound” does not necessarily equal “useful,” would be my response— and I don’t know bout him, but I’m in the business of realistically changing people’s lives, not producing “profundity” that is only accessible to a select few.

 

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If our culture believes anything about personal growth, it’s the “ah-ha!” moment.

You know. The big, dramatic moment where everything suddenly becomes clear. When the scales fall from our eyes. When realizations crystalize. When lightning strikes, and we’re never the same.

The “ah-ha!” moment has been dramatized in our culture, almost to a comical extent. Many of our favorite movies and other stories include a variant of it. You know the part of the movie I mean— the moment where the hero suddenly has a revelation, accepts their quest, shifts their identity. That one, magic, golden moment.

I can’t tell you how many people have come into my office waiting, looking, earnestly searching for their own “ah-ha!” moment. The therapeutic breakthrough. The part of “Good Will Hunting” where Robin Williams grasps Matt Damon by the shoulders, looks deep into his eyes, and repeats, “It’s not your fault, Will,” until the latter embraces him in a sobbing heap of therapeutic progress.

It’s beautiful, man. And those dramatic, corner-turning moments do happen, in and out of the therapy room.

But they don’t tend to be particularly dramatic.

And, if we’re being honest, they don’t tend to be particularly important, for that matter. At least, not as important as we want them to be.

In fact, the “ah-ha!” moments we seek, and sometimes find, often set us up for disappointment.

Why? Because no matter how dramatic your “ah-ha!” moment may be; no matter how profound your revelation may strike you as; no matter how fundamental a change it may signal…there’s still a moment after it.

And a moment after that. And even a moment after that.

Unlike movie characters, our lives tend not to be one dramatic moment happening after another, as it turns out. The reality is, most of our lives deal with habit and routine, not earth-shattering turning points.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good “ah-ha!” moment as much as anyone. Hell, I have ADHD, thus my brain is, if anything, more susceptible to moments of heightened drama and emotion than most. It’s not that there’s something wrong with “ah-ha!” moments, or craving emotional breakthroughs. Seeking those moments are often what drive people into therapy in the first place.

However, there’s this delusion in our culture that once we have our “ah-ha” moment, the bulk of our work is done. As if the task of personal development is all about building up to that moment, gaining momentum, preparing ourselves for it, and once we crest that wave, our goal is accomplished— the spell’s been broken, the world is different, the credits can roll.

If only that were the case.

Yes, it’s the dramatic high point of the story when the prince kisses Sleeping Beauty, bringing her out of her slumber. It’s a beautiful moment when the Rebels blow up the Death Star. It’s a stunning development when Christ rises from the dead and appears to the Apostles. And I love it as much as anyone when Jerry Maguire solemnly tells Dorothy, “You complete me.”

What those stories don’t elaborate upon, however, is that now the prince and Sleeping Beauty have to figure out if they’re well-suited to live happily ever after.

Or whether the Rebels can make an intergalactic government, which in its previous iteration had fallen prey to corruption and infighting, halfway functional.

The Apostles, in the wake of the Resurrection, were now looking at the logistical problems of establishing a new religion and on the verge of centuries of bloody persecution.

And none of Jerry and Dorothy’s fundamental marital problems were actually solved by his player getting a contract and him deciding that she “completed” him.

Moments of profundity are important. Breakthroughs can be beautiful. Those glimpses of high emotion are often what we fantasize about when we set off on our journeys of personal growth, and what propel us along the way. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to experience those highs.

But the real work of therapy lies in integrating those profound “ah-ha!” moments into our daily existence. Modifying our ways of living, routines which have been conditioned by day after day, year after year, of thinking, feeling, and behaving in certain ways, to accommodate our new insights.

Chase your “ah-ha!” moment, by all means.

But know that that exciting moment is where the real work only begins.

 

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We often don’t get to decide the things that happen to us.

As many of you reading this blog are aware, our lives are often interrupted and punctuated by unexpected events. Accidents; deaths; setbacks. Events which, even if they seem predictable in retrospect, totally catch us by surprise at the time.

Even occurrences most of us consider positive sometimes hit us out of the blue. A lucky break; a fortunate near miss; an unexpected leg up.

Being human, of course,  we do everything we can to make life adhere to our schedule. We humans are nothing if not control freaks. However, despite our best attempts, life frequently seems to have other plans for us. It specializes in throwing curve balls.

Here’s the thing, though: while it’s true we often don’t get to decide the things that happen to us, we DO get to decide how important those events are to our lives.

We DO get a say in whether something that happens to us is a bump in the road, or a crippling setback.

We DO get to decide whether something is a lesson to be learned from, or a meaningless calamity.

In fact, when it comes down to it? We’re the ONLY ones who get to decide how important an event is to us. What an event MEANS to us, in the grand scheme of our lives.

Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of people out there who are perfectly willing to try to tell you how important an event SHOULD be in your life, how you SHOULD feel about it, what an event SHOULD mean to you. In fact, that’s a lot of what comprises the Internet: people not just informing you of things that are happening in the world, but trying to tell you how important those things SHOULD be to your life, what you SHOULD do in response.

But the reality is, while others can influence how important we perceive events to be in our lives, in the end they don’t get a vote.

In the end, it is completely up to us to decide how important WE consider certain events to be, what their meaning is going to be for US.

It’s absolutely the case that the likelihood of some negative events happening in our lives is pretty high. Our lives are probably not going to unfold perfectly (I know, I know, spoiler alert).

We’e going to stumble. We’re going to lose people and things. Situations that had been idyllic are going to collapse. Lucky streaks tend to end.

Reality, as it turns out, is not perfect, and neither are we.

But the facts that roadblocks appear, that hot streaks cool, that relapses occur…doesn’t need to be particularly important to you.

You can decide that the fact that these things inevitably occur is, in fact, a relatively unimportant fact to you.

An inconvenience. An annoyance. A blip on the radar screen of your continued success.

Relapse doesn’t have to signal the end of a recovery.

An argument doesn’t have to signal the end of a relationship.

The end of a relationship doesn’t need to signal that one is unloveable and destined to be forever alone.

A bad mood doesn’t have to signal the beginning of a spiral into depression.

Of course, some events are easier to pull this trick with than others. Certain occurrences are objectively a big deal, and it’s silly to suggest that some simple mental gymnastics can turn them from life changing or interrupting events to mere inconveniences.

However, even with the big stuff— and I encourage you here to think of the biggest life-interrupting event you can possibly imagine— it still comes down to you, and only you, to determine what that event means to you, how it’s going to fit into your overall life story. How important it is to who you are, what you do, how you exist in the world.

Life doesn’t respect our schedule. But it has to bend to our decisions about how important any one thing is to us.

Those decisions, always and only, are on us.

I can tell you, as a psychologist, that our brains aren’t good at focusing on nothing.

One of the reasons why meditation seems such a revolutionary practice to us— not to mention one of the reasons why meditation is so difficult for so many of us— is that we’re neuropsychologically wired to focus on stuff.

Our attention seeks objects and activity to focus on. It’s part of our evolution as a species.

Our evolutionary ancestors that did not have an appetite for objects and activity didn’t last too long in the prehistoric wilderness, insofar as they missed important opportunities to, say, bond and eat, which turned out to be somewhat important for survival.

(Who knew?)

The main reason why boredom is so painful to us modern human beings is because boredom, essentially, boils down to a lack of stimulating objets and activity to engage our focus. It’s the modern day equivalent of our cave-person brains seeking opportunities to bond and eat, so we can successfully survive and multiply.

And, as it turns out, like many psychological quirks that were evolutionarily selected for because it aided our survival? Our antipathy for boredom doesn’t serve us so well in the present, either.

In fact, our brain’s constant demand that we entertain it, put objects and activity in front of it in order to keep it happy and interested, can significantly work to our detriment if we constantly cave to its demands.

Put another way: if we constantly cater to our brain’s appetite for shiny objects, we’re going to be screwed in the long run.

This is the Internet. You may have noticed, there is no lack of competition on this magic computer machine for your attention. Even within the world of self-help and psychology blogs in which I exist on your computer screen, there is a never-ending stream of therapists, coaches, motivators, and instigators peddling their catchy quotes and inspirational words-of-the-day.

The Internet is a constant blur and blender of objects and activity. If we hooked your brain up to an EEG while surfing the Internet, the damn thing would light up like a Christmas tree.

There’s no worry about there being a lack of objects and activity to look at on the Internet. Which makes your inner cave-person happy, if maybe a bit overwhelmed.

Thing is, in our constant quest to never be bored— to quench, again and again, our neurodevelopmentally-based thirst for objects and activity— we might be chipping away at our progress toward our meaningful, long-term personal goals.

Fact is, we’re no longer the prehistoric, still-evolving cave-people we once were. We no longer need to be hypervigilant toward every rustle in the bushes which might be a saber-toothed tiger looking to eat us (a lesson some of us must learn again and again as we slowly overcome PTSD). And we no longer need to be immersed 24/7 in the project of defending our tribe or hunting for food— a memo our brains haven’t quite processed yet.

The constant blur of objects and activity that is the Internet is not going to slow down and ask you whether spending hours and hours scratching that evolutionary itch of stimulation is consistent with your long-term goals.

Believe me, if there’s one thing the Internet is NOT overly concerned with, it’s your development as a person.

Unlike your evolutionary ancestors, you have the ability to actually step back from your brain’s craving for stimulation, and ask yourself: you know all these hours I’m spending scrolling through my Facebook feed, watching movies on Amazon Prime, watching videos on Instagram— are they moving me closer to, or further away from, my goals?

Our cave-person ancestors didn’t have the luxury of asking questions like that. For one thing, they lacked the cognitive development to do so (cerebral cortex FTW). For another, long-term planning and the delay of gratification weren’t things that were rewarded in the prehistoric jungle— but they are in our modern world.

In our modern world, the ability to keep stimulation in perspective— to pick and choose when to indulge one’s appetite for objects and activity— often determines the difference between those who see their plans come to fruition in the long term, versus those who may be consistently entertained in the short term…but who struggle to achieve things that are meaningful in their lives in any larger sense.

Mind you, I’m not saying there’s anything inherently virtuous in boredom. Hell, I have ADHD; I hate being bored.

But I know that if I let my brain’s craving for stimulation, as well as the Internet’s enthusiasm for providing me with superficial stimulation, run my everyday life and determine my focus, I’m not truly living a life according to plan. I’m responding to a primitive impulse that makes me no more likely to be a success than my cave-person ancestors.

(Credit where it’s due, of course: they were good at hunting and gathering and not-dying. Not so great at pursuing long-term goals such as building a career, maintaining a relationship, or losing weight, though.)

You have a brain that is significantly more evolved than your evolutionary ancestors’. It may still balk at the idea of doing nothing, but don’t let that lure you into the trap of constantly seeking objects and activity to occupy your brain.

Your brain has spent eons evolving past the yearning for immediate gratification. Use it.

Here’s the thing about life: more often than not, it goes on.

We’ve been conditioned by movies in particular to think that, after a particularly significant event happens— a death, a graduation, an election, a revelation, whatever— that time goes into kind of a freeze frame. The music hits, the credits roll, and the audience wanders out into the street, maybe happy, maybe sad, maybe uplifted, maybe bummed out, at what they just saw.

But for most of us, that’s not how life works after major life events.

For most of us, we wake up the next morning, and that morning is, most often, a lot like all the mornings prior.

And we’re faced with the reality that whatever happened, as major as it was, did not remove the fact that we still have to live our life, adjusted to this new reality.

We still have to figure out a way to pay our bills.

We still have to figure out a way to get our interpersonal needs— our needs for interaction, for validation, for reality checking, for sexual gratification— met.

We still have to care for our pets. We still have to handle our families. We still have to provide value for our customers. We still have to connect with our version of the divine.

Sometimes, that significant thing that happened is a death. Maybe the death of a family member, or the death of a pet. I’ve experienced both of these, and believe me, I get it: after those events, your routine is altered. No question about it.

Those events can make you feel as if your world is turned upside down, and your routine can never be the same.

But the reality is, even after something as significant as a death of a person or animal who is absolutely beloved to you, maybe who was even the center of your world: life still goes on.

Everything in us wants to believe that such a fundamental shift means that the universal pause button gets pushed, while we cope and mourn— while the credits roll— but that’s not how it works.

As it turns out, we still have to get up, make breakfast, work out, make a living— even if we feel like there’s a huge hole in our heart where our loved one used to be.

Sometimes the significant thing that happens is, we get fired from our job. I’ve had that happen, too. In grand fashion, even: I had a dramatic falling out with a mentor, which left me feeling misunderstood and underappreciated (I can’t read her mind, but I’d be surprised if she didn’t feel the same way at the time).

Again, I felt that life as I knew it, at least professionally, had ended.

But again, the reality was that even after that professional relationship, which had been the most significant one in my life to that date, had ended, life went on. The next day, I had to pick up the pieces and start putting together the plan for my own practice instead of working for someone else.

The fact that I’d gotten fired didn’t mean there weren’t people who needed my help; it didn’t mean I didn’t have bills to pay; it didn’t mean that I didn’t have a whole caseload of patients who were willing to start over in my new practice with me.

As it turns out, the fact that I’d gotten fired from one job didn’t mean I still didn’t have work to do.

So often when major changes happen in life, especially when they hit unexpectedly, and especially when they rob us of the life and routine we used to have, we feel angry. We’re distracted and intimidated by the scale of the change. We’re furious that life had the audacity to change in such a significant way without our permission.

We want our old life, even with its rough edges and imperfections, back. We don’t like unpredictability, and we definitely don’t like loss.

Make no mistake: it’s essential to mourn the losses that occur when major life shifts happen, especially when they happen unexpectedly and deprive us of something that had been central to us before. The presence of a family member; the love of a pet; the income of a job. Not taking time to mourn your loses is a recipe for your self-esteem to deteriorate: your brain notices if you’re skimping on your own emotional needs.

Something that can provide some unexpected solace, however, is the fact that life does, most often, go on.

The sun will rise, one way or another.

Even after things that feel like the end of the world.