A way to deal with difficult situations

In my search for how I might deal with per­so­nal­ly chal­len­ging situa­tions, I have come across various phi­lo­so­phies and arts of living. Ide­as of Stoi­cism and the anci­ent Asi­an world-views have been par­ti­cu­lar­ly appe­al­ing to me.

In the­se, hap­pi­ness and unhap­pi­ness are seen pri­ma­ri­ly as human value jud­ge­ments and con­s­tructs of our minds. It is the human being who makes this world fair and just and jud­ges it.

The exter­nal world around us is neu­tral. A flower, for exam­p­le, does not distin­gu­ish bet­ween ‘good’ and ‘bad’ or ‘right’ and ‘wrong’. It emana­tes its fra­grance for all and mere­ly fol­lows the laws of cau­se and effect.

The forces of the cos­mos are neither just nor unjust. They are the­re, not­hing more. At least as I under­stand it, it is the human mind that ascri­bes value to things. The world then beco­mes what we think it is and the events beco­me what we inter­pret and eva­lua­te them to be. This is one way available to us in which we can inter­act and reso­na­te with the world around us. But it is also an oppor­tu­ni­ty to free our­sel­ves to some ext­ent from the com­pul­si­ve search for hap­pi­ness and fear of unhappiness.

For we humans often asso­cia­te hap­pi­ness with posi­ti­ve thoughts and actions. Accor­ding to anci­ent Asi­an tea­chings, every posi­ti­ve also con­ta­ins some­thing nega­ti­ve and vice ver­sa. So whe­re the­re is shadow, the­re is also light. Say­ing that you are hap­py means that you have been unhap­py in the past. If you like one flower, you like ano­ther one less. This dua­li­ty is important to us. You need to know the nega­ti­ve in order to app­re­cia­te the posi­ti­ve. I am also fami­li­ar with this approach from sport, whe­re it is essen­ti­al for me to accept losing from time to time in order to pro­per­ly app­re­cia­te and value a win. Often we find that it is a set­back that moti­va­tes us to keep stri­ving for some­thing and ulti­m­ate­ly to grow. Every com­plaint about some­thing car­ri­es with it the hope of impro­ve­ment. But such know­ledge alo­ne does not make one hap­py. The reason is that true hap­pi­ness seems to me to lie con­cea­led in the absence of such jud­ge­ments. So I try to accept things and peo­p­le as they are wit­hout jud­ging and wit­hout eva­lua­ting them too much. I admit it’s not easy and I am still a long way from being able to do this. And I don’t think this should stop us from app­re­cia­ting or appro­ving some­thing, or having pre­fe­ren­ces, or being opti­mi­stic, quite the oppo­si­te. Per­haps it means sim­ply being con­tent with what you have more often, and taking the moment as it is. This way we also abide more in the pre­sent, neither dwel­ling on the past nor lon­ging for the future. This is the quint­essence of inner peace and balan­ce, and makes us more ser­e­ne. Take child­ren as an exam­p­le. They are able to ful­ly sur­ren­der to the moment ins­tead of ‘overt­hin­king’ ever­y­thing and often seem hap­py and care­free. Accor­ding to Bud­dhists, hap­pi­ness can be found within us if we keep things simp­le and, for exam­p­le, meditate.

Why do we often find it so dif­fi­cult to just sit quiet­ly? It is becau­se we con­stant­ly dis­tract our­sel­ves with wis­hes. We belie­ve that hap­pi­ness is some­whe­re ‘out the­re’ and we have to look for it in the out­side world. It will come when we pos­sess some spe­ci­fic thing, do some­thing spe­ci­fic, expe­ri­ence some­thing spe­ci­fic or achie­ve some­thing spe­ci­fic. And as quick­ly and suc­cessful­ly as possible.

I find the meta­phor of the ‘mon­key mind’, which comes from Bud­dhism, very fit­ting. Thoughts are com­pared to bran­ches and the mind to a mon­key that hops rest­less­ly from one branch to ano­ther. Some thoughts are jud­ge­ments, or memo­ries, others are ide­as about the future. We worry, plan the coming weekend and go through the shop­ping list, bother about mista­kes we’ve made, mourn a missed oppor­tu­ni­ty and eva­lua­te what’s going on. In this way the mon­key mind swings through seve­ral thousand bran­ches every day.

This men­tal busyn­ess can be useful. It allows us to for­ge long-term plans, dri­ves us in our actions and enables us to sol­ve pro­blems. Nevert­hel­ess, we would do well to tame the mon­key and calm down the inner jum­ping-jack that con­stant­ly dis­tracts us from the present.

Nobo­dy is say­ing it’s easy. In my case in par­ti­cu­lar as an ath­le­te, I always want to achie­ve some­thing, I am very goal-ori­en­ted and loo­king to the future. My thoughts often revol­ve around opti­mi­sing my per­for­mance and achie­ving goals. New sti­mu­li, but also always striking a balan­ce, this is an important, con­ti­nuous pro­cess of growth. For this, medi­ta­ti­on can help me to see in a non-jud­ge­men­tal and unbi­a­sed way what my mind is up to, to let go of use­l­ess thoughts and to slow down the mon­key mind. I have a clear view of what is essen­ti­al and real­ly important, and I rea­li­se what per­so­nal hap­pi­ness actual­ly means.

It is pre­cis­e­ly the ten­den­cy to focus on the future with an eye to my goals that makes me rea­li­se how much hap­pi­ness and unhap­pi­ness are lin­ked to our per­spec­ti­ve, how we see things, even in the way we use our lan­guage. Thus we seem to seek hap­pi­ness in the future that lies befo­re us, for exam­p­le by ‘rea­ching’ goals, ‘stri­ving’ for con­tent­ment or ‘gras­ping’ hap­pi­ness. Mean­while, mis­for­tu­ne ‘cat­ches up’ with us, we are ‘over­ta­ken’ by fate, and so on. This allows us to hope for a bet­ter future and encou­ra­ges us to turn away and lea­ve the sup­po­sedly bad things behind us. But it also pre­vents us from living con­ten­ted­ly in the here and now, and taking things as they are. It tempts us to cha­se after hap­pi­ness fas­ter and fas­ter, and to want to flee from mis­for­tu­ne. But per­haps mis­for­tu­ne will catch up with us any­way, at least when we are exhaus­ted. Per­haps we can slow down our pace, beco­me more rela­xed and look for hap­pi­ness within our­sel­ves ins­tead of ahead of us.

Apart from the­se more spi­ri­tu­al con­side­ra­ti­ons, for me per­so­nal­ly reli­gious opi­ni­ons tend to play a sub­or­di­na­te role. But of cour­se I also think about this, and even as a child I asked the ques­ti­on of ques­ti­ons: ‘Why was I of all peo­p­le born with this con­di­ti­on spi­na bifi­da and depen­dent on a wheel­chair?’ I recei­ved the ans­wer back in my child­hood in the form of an equal­ly mat­ter-of-fact and simp­le coun­ter-ques­ti­on: ‘Why not you of all people?’

As to whe­ther I belie­ve in God or not, I won’t go into that here. Just this much: if he exists, I am con­vin­ced that he is an uncon­di­tio­nal­ly loving God who accor­ding to the abo­ve prin­ci­ples neither jud­ges, con­demns nor eva­lua­tes. Ever­y­thing is of equal value or inde­ed not even sub­ject to a value sys­tem. Whe­ther I can walk or not is about as irrele­vant to God as the fact that I have brown eyes or (grey) brown hair. In this he has no inten­ti­on, no deeper mea­ning, nor is he try­ing to tell me any­thing. Nor is it a punish­ment. He just doesn’t seem to attach the same importance to fate as we humans do. He does not make value jud­ge­ments about it. But quite right, in the end pri­ma­ri­ly it is we humans who have to deal with our suf­fe­ring and not God (if we see him as sepa­ra­te from us), and the ques­ti­on of ‘why’ can be hel­pful, or not if we never find a satis­fac­to­ry answer.

The­re is, howe­ver, one ques­ti­on that I hard­ly ever ask mys­elf any more: ‘What if you weren’t in a wheel­chair?’ I accept mys­elf as I am, and as the­re is litt­le I can do to chan­ge my situa­ti­on, this ques­ti­on is super­fluous. I have been very lucky in my life and enjoy the many pri­vi­le­ges I have recei­ved. Thanks to the wheel­chair, I dis­co­ver­ed wheel­chair ath­le­tics and a won­derful sport­ing care­er has unfold­ed. None­thel­ess, the wheel­chair would cer­tain­ly not be my first choice of means of trans­por­ta­ti­on if the­re should be a next life.

‘You should take things as they come. But you should also make sure that things hap­pen the way you want them to hap­pen.’ Curt Goetz

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