The darkness of isolation

I've been thinking a little about intrinsic isolation, the darkness of never knowing each others thoughts, never fully understanding.... each of us with our own personal narrative in different colored ink and variances in paper quality.....intrinsically separated...

I’ve also been reading in Jonathan Haidt's Happiness Hypothesis. In particular, one particular paragraph on suicide (pleasant thoughts for Monday!), showing that statistically, people with bonds and responsibilities - those that are "tied down" to family, work or social groups - are less likely to kill themselves. Less likely to sink their little islands.

Of course it is impossible to fully know another's mind/viewpoint/understanding of the world. However, one aspect of the mind we all share is that everyone’s thoughts are defined by change, a constant filling and disposing of ideas. So in that, we are all the same.

Here's one theory/idea: Meditation sessions in groups concentrating on one object such as the breath may be the only times people may share the same thoughts. This is unlike a collective experience, such as watching a film, which is subject to interpretation of the incoming information (the movie) and what it means to the viewer, based on their past experiences, learnings and current physical situation.

However, a meditation – clearing all thoughts but the one - on an object such as the breath is, in my opinion, almost devoid of cultural or background significance. Everyone breaths and, sure, everyone breaths differently, but that breath is still just an in-flowing and outflowing of air. Even that is subject to variance though(especially if someone has emphysema) but less so than a more concrete object such as a candle flame, which may be infused with cultural significance. Even in meditation, people's own skill level will effect their experience. But I think if you took a group of experienced monks, perhaps they would be closest to the ultimate in mind-reading...that is, their thoughts would be aligned.

Here’s another wayward thought! In our efforts to understand each other, see each others point of view, explore our dreams and ambitions and imaginings, we have developed language. Language defines us as apart from the animals…especially in our ability to describe concepts beyond what is actually tangible and immediate. So in a way, our inability to understand each other is a catalyst to us being who we are, it makes us more human. And in our striving to communicate, we forge bonds that enhance not only understanding, but social ties, responsibilities, love and companionship. Keeping ourselves from isolation, increasing our ability to spawn sprogs, and continuing the genetic flow.

And then, taking it a step further (with the power of both our human language and ability to imagine and define imagination…) what if we could step inside someone else’s mind for a bit, totally immersed, to see what it was like. Even then, for the time we were in there, we would not be. Then when we stepped out, we would be us again and the experience would be purely only a memory, which in itself is colored by our own paradigms. We’d definitely have more of an understanding, but it wouldn’t ever be complete without losing all personal identity.

One final thought (from the tumult in my mind) is that, if we were somehow all one mind and all one sketch of feeling and thought process…. I would miss the little glorious moments when, in our current states, minds do actually meet - when we burst into spontaneous laughter together, cringe together, catch a glance across a table..... Those would all be without significance or meaning or delight if they weren't so rare, and therefore so precious.

Dark thoughts welcome…

It's Adaptation, Amigos

I came out of the airport at Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, smack bam into the blasting sunshine. Between me and the airport wall the sun beat down, tumid and enveloping. New York had been cool, bordering on chilly. I remember thinking, damn it's hot.

Dodging taxi offers of around $60 a ride, I found the bus stop and some locals who helped me flag down the bus to Sayulita. Sitting up near the driver and the overridden clutch (actually I have no idea where the clutch on a bus is, but I was sitting near a rather large mound that screeched and swore like a wet cat every time a gear changed), I had a good view of the road and its variability, the roadside stalls featuring an inordinate number of magazines about nail-art, and the passengers who came on and off. We stopped every few minutes - at one point I think we stopped so a man could pick up some cigarettes. He wandered off and we left without him.

Sitting back on the crusty seats wearing my cowboy hat, I felt like Indiana Jones. He definitely would have taken a bus rather than a taxi. Or Kathleen Turner in Romancing the Stone, on her way to Cartagena.

Okay, so I also took the bus because I was way under budget. Okay, I didn't actually have a budget. But I did spend an extra $120 on a taxi from New York's JFK airport back home to pick up my Green Card (which, incidentally, looks just like a credit card), then back to JFK to get the plane. So, in Mexico, I took the bus. Not really so adventurous, just cheap. And fun.

I love the change that a vacation entails: change of routine, change of scenery, change of experience. I'd been planning this trip for so long, there was so much to anticipate. I had imagined it, how it would be, how it would feel, what it would look like. New foods, drinks, smells, flavors, temperatures, experiences.

Once in Sayulita, after finding out by text that my friends hadn't even arrived, I headed down to the beach hoping to find someone from the wedding party. Lugging my suitcase along the sand, sweating in my heavy plane clothes and randomly ear-wigging on conversations felt less Indiana like, but my quest was soon over when I happened upon the French contingent and settled at their table with a gallon of frozen margarita.

Later, at a beach table with my beach food (cerviche) with my beach friends and Texas hat. The novelty of the little beach table deserved a photo...

Sayulita itself is a small town about 45 minutes by taxi, or an hour and a bit by bus, from Puerto Vallarta on Mexico's Pacific Coast. The small town is unencumbered by large hotels or chain restaurants. The people - and this came up often in discussion so I feel justified in such a generalization - were genuinely friendly and helpful, almost as if the lack of commercialization had kept things sweet with the locals.

With five friends, representing Australia, New Zealand and Ireland (a perfect target for the French who unfortunately were rugby fans) - we hired a house near the beach. It was beautiful, all primary colours, open spaces and a maid.

The wedding was day two, on a clifftop over looking the sea. After that, we settled in proper.

In a day or so I knew the beach and the strange, short-breaking surf. I knew the cafes and the beach-front bars that served the best margaritas and salsa. I knew that the outside couch on our patio at "home" had fleas and that the hot water didn't work. I knew, with some relief, that my roommate Derek didn't snore.

I'd been reading about how our minds adapt to circumstances in Professor Jonathan Haidt's The Happiness Hypothesis. He, like many psychologists, has studied our incredible capacity for change and its effect on our happiness.

Adaptation enables us to cope in a labile world. Our lives are defined by change, and without the ability to adapt we would desist completely, be overwhelmed.

So, what long-term effects do external changes have on our internal well being? There are dissenting views: one famous study showed that people who suffer paralysis, compared with lottery winners, all within a year or so return to near-abouts their base level of happiness. Others differ in opinion, and cite cases where occurrences such as the death of a spouse or divorce do impact well-being in the long term.

Regardless of where we end up on the life-satisfaction scale, we often anticipate our inability to change as far greater than it is. In The Happiness Hypothesis, Professor Haidt says:

We are bad at "affective forecasting," that is, predicting how we'll feel in the future. We grossly overestimate the intensity and the duration of our emotional reactions.....The human mind is incredibly sensitive to changes in conditions, but not so sensitive to absolute levels.

I was thinking about this principle in relation to a my friend's impending career change. He is feeling some trepidation regarding a new career move - a looming fear of the certain drop in income that will come with starting his own business. Like many of us, he's always worked for someone, and been paid a salary. He wonders how he will cope on less income, given that he is used to certain luxuries.

What the science points to is that, he will start the new job and at the beginning, in comparison to his previous pay-check, he will feel less satisfied. But as he adapts to the new level of income, each gain or accomplishment will register as a positive change, and give him a boost.

The flip side of adapting to negative changes is our ability to become accustomed to positive ones. The "hedonic treadmill", as described by Martin Seligman, "causes you to rapidly and inevitably adapt to good things by taking them for granted. As you accumulate more material possessions and accomplishments, your expectations rise." (Pg 49, Authentic Happiness). We get used to things, but still want that rush of positive feeling that comes with the change involved in earning more or gaining more.

At Sayulita, what had sufficed for entertainment in the first few days - beach, friends, the wedding, food - was soon to be superceded with more daring adventures. Some people went deep sea fishing. My group went out into the humid jungle and swung down long wires strung between trees - in New Zealand we call it a flying fox, over here they call it a zip line. Awesome.

To me, adaptation is also closely related to mindfulness. Knowing we will adapt, it is even more useful to be mindful of every moment. The future will never turn out the way we imagine it. In the meantime, with all our (read = my) day-dreaming and imagining, we've adapted to circumstance without appreciating it just for what is is....a moment - each little moment being a micro-bite of constant change, constant renewal and constant adaptation.

I took a taxi back to the airport. Done with the bus, time for something new and more comfortable! My driver's name was Jose and we sang to Classic Rock, windows down, barefoot and warm. Maybe I appreciated him and the car more because of the bus experience? It definitely felt like a treat.

At the airport it was hot. I felt the heat, recognized it. I remembered it and the feeling of novelty just days ago.

I wanted to be back on the beach, my beach. I wanted to be with my old friends. I wanted to be drinking margaritas with my feet in the sand.

Then....then I just got in the line to check in. And hoped that they would have something other than peanuts on the flight back.