Given the choice, given the possibility of inventing a
future of my own
creation,
given the possibility of inventing
a future worth living
into,
given the access to forging a life I love, it's ironic how
many of my favorite things have the ability to pull me back into and
keep me stuck in the past - with
deadly
efficiency.
Although I don't get to do it often enough, I love to reminisce with
my children,
with my family, and with my
friends.
I love to hear their
stories
and to tell mine. I love sharing tales about our common pasts. I love
to "talk
story"
- as they say in the
Aloha state.
And if we tell the truth about it, it's easier (at least, at first) to
relate to each other sharing experiences from our past as common
ground, than it is to generate an experience from the future together,
as common ground.
Listen! This isn't a criticism of our love affair with the
past. Instead it's simply an
observation
that we're crazy about the past ... so much so that we've
even forged our present and future
identities
based on what we've done in the past ie based on who we
were in the past - which is to say we're quite willing to
forgo the possibility of spontaneity and newness in our lives now and
ahead, in favor of carefully preserving and even promoting what's gone
before.
There's
nothing wrong
with that. On the contrary, it's just one of the many ways we human
beings survive successfully.
Having distinguished this, I've discovered it requires an act of
decisive, alert discrimination on my part, to even notice
when I do it. When I do it in some of my favorite moments, I don't
realize I'm doing it. Principle among these moments, for example,
in addition to when I'm talking
story,
is when I'm browsing through old photographs. By
definition old photographs can only show
what happened.
They epitomize the past. It's a wonderful pastime browsing
through old photographs. But when was the last time you browsed through
old photographs and noticed ie said to yourself "As I
browse through these old photographs, my experience is
hijacked by the
machinery,
kidnapped back into the past, abducted back into
what happened
back then, removed from the present, taken away from the future, and
excluded from what's possible"?
Tell the truth, now: you didn't say that when you were browsing through
old photographs, did you? You didn't distinguish it was happening while
it was happening. You had it on automatic - and you
didn't even notice you had it on automatic, yes? Neither
did you distinguish it when you were talking
story,
did you?
Something similar happens when I hear the golden oldies, when
I'm listening to their beautiful, evocative music. They're the
songs
which comprise the
background
soundtrack
for my life. When they come on the radio, they re-activate
the past. Reactivated, I remember the past - in other
words,
I re-live the past. Golden oldies, some of my favorite
things, have the ability to keep me stuck in the past.
When was the last time you listened to your favorite golden oldies and
noticed ie said to yourself "As I listen to this music, my experience
is hijacked by the
machinery,
kidnapped back into the past, abducted back into
what happened
back then, removed from the present, taken away from the future, and
excluded from what's possible"?
Tell the truth, now: you didn't say that when you were listening to the
golden oldies, did you? You didn't distinguish it was happening while
it was happening. You had it on automatic - and you didn't even notice
you had it on automatic, yes?
I
intend
this conversation distinguishes how easily we're pulled
back into and get stuck in the past. It's more than easily
actually: it's this process of being pulled back into and getting stuck
in the past, happens automatically. It's its
automaticity which promotes our survival. In particular,
it's its automaticity which promotes us surviving the way we
were over and above promoting (ie rather than)
risking / daring the freedom of what we could become.
As wonderful as our memories from and our feelings of the past are,
I'll go out on a limb here and say pandering to them trades
aliveness
and living a life of freedom and possibility, for living a life of
effect, reaction, and
machinery
(machinery
which has no choice yet cleverly masquerades as if it
does) ... and ... if I don't
deliberately
distinguish I'm living a life of effect, reaction, and
machinery,
then no other life is possible. The emergence of (the
genesis of, if you will) a life of freedom and
possibility, starts with ie is enabled by making this distinction.
On Hangers A Few Rows Back
Recently I was rearranging all the articles of clothing hanging in my
clothes closet. In addition to getting the closet straight (re-hanging
jackets next to jackets, slacks next to slacks, shirts next to shirts,
plus re-hanging all articles within each clothing group in order of
color from dark through light), I was on a
dry‑cleaning mission: to pull all clothes requiring
dry-cleaning, take them down the road to the local village dry-cleaner,
and have them dry-cleaned all at once.
I hang the clothes I wear most often, on hangers in the front rows
where they're easiest for me to reach. Behind them on hangers a few
rows back are the clothes I once wore a lot in the past but now don't
wear much anymore. On the very back rows are clothes having (for want
of a better word) sentimental value which I never wear
anymore but haven't yet donated to a thrift store or to Good
Will or to the Salvation Army.
As I shuffle through them selecting those needing dry-cleaning, I
notice how clothes (some of my favorite things) have the ability - just
like talking story, just like browsing through old photographs, just
like listening to the golden oldies - to keep me stuck me in the past.
Here's the jacket and slacks I wore while
delivering
hundreds of week-long technical seminars.
The jacket is starting to fray. I try the slacks on. They no longer fit
me around the waist. They're too tight. It's not likely I'll ever wear
either of them much again. Yet I still hang on to them - because they
remind me of the
extraordinary
enterprise undertaking that was
Laurence Platt and
Associates
in its halcyon days.
Here's the plaid shirt I wore when
my son Joshua
was born. It's worn thin in parts, and now it's tight
around my chest. It's not likely I'll wear it again. Yet I still hang
on to it - because it reminds me of the miracle, the
privilege,
and the joy of witnessing
Joshua's
birth and
participating
in his delivery ... that, and his less than one minute old body
actually touched this very shirt.
<aside>
Wow! If that isn't sentimental, then I don't know what
is ...
<un-aside>
It's not just jackets, slacks, and shirts. Here are the snow boots I
wore for après ski at Aspen, Vail, and many of the
other great ski resorts of these United States. They've seen a
lot of mileage. They're scuffed and mud-stained beyond any
possibility of being restored to their original pristine white. It's
not likely ever I'll wear them again. Yet I still hang on to them. And
here's a veritable pile of carefully folded sweaters whose
colors no longer suit me. I'll never wear them again. Yet I still hang
on to them.
The Past Is In The Past, The Future Is Calling
Now I've upped the ante in a new game I'm playing. In
addition to a ruthless purge of articles of clothing in my
wardrobe, the game is this: whenever I acquire a new article of
clothing (be it a jacket, slacks, shirt, footwear, or sweater) I toss
out one I currently own, or donate it to a thrift store or to Good Will
or to the Salvation Army, saying goodbye to it and thanking it like an
old friend
who's served me well. In this way I'm
committed
to re-doing my entire yesterday's wardrobe for the future.
Arguably the first step to being free to be what we could become
(rather than staying stuck in the way we were) is leaving the past in
the past. Arguably the sharpest
tool
in the
toolbox
for leaving the past in the past is simply recognizing ie simply
distinguishing the pull the past has on us
(surfers
may call this "pull" the undertow, the backwash), simply
noticing it's some of our favorite things which have the ability to
pull us back into the past and keep us stuck in the past - with
deadly
efficiency (it's very pernicious).
One of the most
extraordinary
powers available to every human being is the power of distinguishing -
in other
words,
the power which is leveraged by making distinctions. In this
regard,
Werner Erhard's
enormous contribution to humanity by distinguishing
distinguishing, has yet to be recognized, fully appreciated for
what it is, and acknowledged globally.
In the act of distinguishing how talking story, browsing through old
photographs (which includes watching old movies), listening to the
golden oldies, and continually wearing clothes from yesterday's
wardrobe (especially sentimentally) keeps us stuck us in the past, we
create
the possibility for
Self,
glossed over by the past, to
re‑presence
itself. Interestingly enough, what you then choose to do
about talking story, what you then chose to do about browsing through
old photographs and watching old movies, listening to the golden oldies
and wearing yesterday's wardrobe, isn't as significant as it may at
first appear, now that they've all been
recontextualized
(I
love
that
word)
by distinguishing how unexamined, they pull us back into the past and
keep us stuck in the past.