Here am I floating ’round my tin can
David Bowie, “Space Oddity”
Far above the moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do
Almost immediately after writing yesterday’s journal entry style blog post, I started to write another (this one). I might have hit the publish button, but my thinking about uncertainty and the life I had planned on living when I moved away was pestering me. I couldn’t shake the association of life’s uncertainties with my (and I think a lot of other people’s) need for control. Admittedly, the topic of control has become a sensitive one for me. When my last relationship ended, I was told that I was controlling, which, in turn made her miserable. It was a harsh criticism and it was a word that had never been used in our relationship until the very end. The abrupt and sudden nature of our demise leads me to think that resentment and a feeling of being trapped had been building up for her for some time. That was never my intention.
Couples therapy suggests avoiding statements like “you are controlling” because they place blame and make it about the person as opposed to the relationship. I believe that was the intention – to say this thing fell apart because I forced it to fall apart. Instead of “you are” statements, couples are usually coached to use I statements “when you do x, I feel y.” That type of a statement is an invitation in to a conversation. By framing it as action / reaction, it becomes less of a personal attack (you are mean, you are controlling, you are cold, you are lazy, etc.) and instead focuses on what’s being felt in the situation and relationship. “When you don’t respond to my texts, I feel like I’m not important to you.” “When you text me to see how I’m doing, I feel like you don’t trust me and are checking up on me.” In both of those statements, there is ownership of feelings and an allowance for the possibility that the action was not intended to cause the reaction. Someone not responding to texts might be busy and probably isn’t trying to make their partner feel unimportant. Someone checking in might be genuinely concerned and probably doesn’t want to make their partner feel trapped.
In the weeks following her criticism, I made all types of admissions, apologies, and pleas for understanding. In the months following, I turned my attempts at understanding inward (and slightly outward with this blog). I continued to read books and articles on how to have a healthy relationship. I would read about the things people and couples can do to overcome past hurts and heal together. I read about forgiveness because I believe holding on to anger is poisonous and because I wanted us to find a way to forgive each other. I turned more towards the philosophies of Zen Buddhism because it seems to preach simplicity as it embraces complexity. More than once, I attempted to restart this blog in an effort to gain clarity on what it was I was trying to do. More than once, I thought the title of my book is either the Art of Letting Go or Learning to Walk Slowly. While much of my writing takes the form of a complaint or lamentation, it’s almost always the first step towards an attempt at understanding.
In writing my complaints and observations and lamentations, I can see that so many things in life are really about control. Taken in its broadest definition, a definition that might also include desire and hope and their opposite twins disappointment and hurt, most of our lives are spent in an effort to exert some sort of control. It’s the only life we have. It makes sense to be invested in the outcome. We strive for jobs, pleasure, meaning, relationships, and status. We try to avoid pain and suffering. We try to manipulate our physical environment in order to have an easier and more pleasant stay on this planet. We seek out experiences in an effort to shape our sense of joy and wonder. Everything we do is, in some sense, an attempt to control and shape our life and our experiences – in the moment, in the future, and in response to the past.
When I started this particular blog post, I was thinking about my plan to get a house here in Memphis and a dog and a grill. I was thinking about why I desired those things. The house was to have greater control over my environment, the dog to have greater control over my sense of companionship, the grill to have greater control over my sense of leisure and potential community. Yet, to some degree, these are all false senses of control. At times, I hated home ownership, I don’t like that pets tie us down, and it’s hard to make friends to invite over for a bbq. But still we strive and hope and struggle to attain these things. Who hasn’t owned a home and complained, “ahhh, the joys of home ownership”? Ownership is the ultimate form of control. We’ve all heard stories about, or experienced, those people who want to own us as opposed to work with us or partner with us. We all know business owners that exercise complete control over the enterprise(s). I suspect this sense of ownership and control is part of our mindset on investment – of our time, emotion, and money. It’s also closely tied to our sense of success and failure as well as our insecurities. We take pride in our homes and our relationships and our jobs. We project those things out, sometimes humbly, sometimes ostentatiously (big houses, trophy wives, fancy titles).
There is a belief that desire leads to suffering. Among the great causes of anxiety and depression is the sense that one has little to no control over their life. How much of life is spent making the physical world around us more comfortable? How much time is spent trying to control against the relentless passage of time? Looking for the perfect relationship? Looking for the right job? Planning the best vacation? I suspect that for most of us, living a life in which we cede control is nearly impossible. And this is where the notion of choice comes in. Sometimes, maybe not often, we can choose what we pay attention to, what we try to steer and control, and what things we let go of or allow to become the natural currents of our life. It’s taken me a long time to recognize that control is a constant balancing act in which we all participate. We all pursue our needs and wants, some more vehemently than others. Sometimes it’s called passion, other times it’s called controlling… and we’re all guilty of passing judgment on how other people try to exercise control. I read a passage shortly after my last relationship ended. It seems like a good way to close this post out.
Yes, I am selfish, arrogant, demanding, impatient, controlling, insensitive, irritable, and self-centered. Everyone is (depending on who is doing the judging). We all are until something shakes us up.
… and enables us to live in the moment with life exactly as it is.
-Be the Person You Want to Find