The Reality Slap

by Russ Harris

  Now as you continue reading, notice how your hands so effortlessly hold this book. When you get to the end of this paragraph, pick up the book, turn it upside down, flip it gently into the air and catch it. Spend a good minute or so playing with the book in different ways. Toss it from hand to hand, or flick through all the pages, or raise it up high and let it drop, catching it before it hits the ground. And as you do these things, pay attention to the movements of your hands. Be curious about them: notice how they know exactly what to do; how the fingers and thumbs work so smoothly together. And be open to the experience; be open to learning from it, even if you really don’t want to do it.

  ***

  So, how amazing are your hands? How difficult would life be if you didn’t have them? When you reach the end of the paragraph, use your hands to do something pleasant to yourself — gently stroke your scalp, massage your temples, rub your eyelids, or massage a shoulder. Do this for a minute or so, slowly and gently, and again, bring that childlike curiosity and openness to the process; notice how your hands move, and the sensations they generate, and the way your body responds.

  Once you’ve done this, consider how much your hands contribute to your life and how much they enable you to do.

  ***

  Now try another exercise, which focuses on the breath. As you continue reading, slow your breathing. Take a few slow deep breaths and let your shoulders drop. And as you appreciate the simple pleasure of breathing, reflect on the role your lungs play in your life. Consider how much you rely on them. Consider how much they contribute to your wellbeing. Millions of people all over the world have heart and lung diseases that make breathing very difficult — and if you’ve ever had asthma or pneumonia, you know just how difficult and scary that can be. And maybe you’ve visited someone in a hospital or a nursing home who was suffering from severe heart or lung disease; their lungs filling with fluid, the only way they could breathe was via inhaling oxygen through a gas mask. Imagine if that person were you. Imagine being in that situation and looking back over your life and remembering when your lungs once functioned well and how much easier your life was way back then. How much do we rely on our lungs and on our breath? And how often do we take these things for granted? Can you, just for a moment, notice your lungs in action and notice the breath flowing rhythmically — in and out — and appreciate how privileged you are to have this experience?

  ***

  If we take the time throughout the day to slow down and appreciate what we have, we soon develop a greater sense of contentment. We can do this at any time and in any place. We simply take a few seconds to notice, with openness and curiosity, something that we can see, hear, touch, taste or smell: perhaps the smile on the face of a loved one, or motes of dust dancing in a beam of sunlight, or the sensation of breath moving in and out of our lungs, or the sound of a child laughing, or the smell of brewing coffee, or the taste of butter on toast.

  Now I’m not suggesting for a moment that this will solve all your problems. Nor am I asking you to pretend that everything in your life is hunky-dory and that you have no needs, wants and desires. The purpose of this practice is simply to increase our fulfilment. ‘Finding the treasure’ is a radically different psychological state to our default mindset of lack and discontentment and being fixated on trying to close or avoid the reality gap.

  So, next time you drink some water, why not slow down a little and savour the first sip? Swill it once or twice around your mouth and notice how it instantly eases the dryness.

  And next time you’re out walking, why not take a few moments to notice the movement of your legs: their rhythm, strength and coordination, and appreciate the job they are doing of moving you around.

  And next time you eat a delicious meal, why not savour the first mouthful and marvel at how your tongue is able to taste the food, and how your teeth are able to chew, and how your throat is able to swallow?

  We all have a tendency to take life for granted, or to forget about all the wonder outside the reality gap. But it doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t have to wait until we’re lying on our deathbed to appreciate the simple pleasure of drinking water. We don’t have to wait until our legs stop working to appreciate how they carry us around. We don’t have to wait until our eyes and ears fail to appreciate the gifts of vision and hearing. We can appreciate all these treasures, here and now.

  Chapter 21

  TO STAND AND STARE

  When I was about twelve years of age, I had an English teacher who was fond of asking the class to memorise poems. At the time, I absolutely hated having to do this, as I considered poetry to be the most boring thing on the planet (after maths, that is). And out of all the poems we had to learn, there is only one that I remember. I didn’t think much of it at the time but, somehow, it stuck in my head and over the years I have really come to appreciate it. It was written by the Welsh poet and writer, William Henry Davies (1871–1940), and I invite you to read it carefully and notice the effect it has on you:

  Leisure

  What is this life if, full of care,

  We have no time to stand and stare.

  No time to stand beneath the boughs

  And stare as long as sheep or cows.

  No time to see, when woods we pass,

  Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

  No time to see, in broad daylight,

  Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

  No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,

  And watch her feet, how they can dance.

  No time to wait till her mouth can

  Enrich that smile her eyes began.

  A poor life this if, full of care,

  We have no time to stand and stare.

  In this poem, Davies cuts to the core of the human condition: we get so caught up in our busy, stressful lives, that we miss out on much that is wonderful. Of course, life also holds plenty that is awful and dreadful; let’s not pretend otherwise. However, as Steven Hayes, the creator of ACT, often says: ‘There is as much life in a moment of pain as in a moment of joy.’ And presence helps us make the most of our living; to find fulfilment in each and every moment: both those full of wonder and those full of dread.

  Suppose you are in a lovely, cool, air-conditioned hotel room. You look out through the windows and gasp in admiration at a pristine white beach and the clear blue ocean, as far as the eye can see. The waves are sparkling in the sunlight and palm trees are swaying gently in the breeze. It’s a truly spectacular view. But . . . you cannot hear the pounding of the waves, you cannot feel the sunlight on your face, you cannot feel the breeze caressing your face, and you cannot breathe and smell the fresh sea air. This is what it’s like to be ‘half-present’. You take in some of your experience, but you miss out on a lot of it.

  Now suppose you leave your room and step out on to the balcony. Instantly, you feel more alive. You can feel the kiss of sunlight on your skin, the wind gently tousling your hair, and the fresh salty air filling your lungs. This is what it’s like to be present: to engage fully in life as it is in this moment and soak up the richness of life; to drink it in and savour it. In the earlier sections of this book, we looked at presence mainly as a means to cope with suffering: to drop anchor, to make room for painful emotions, and to facilitate effective action. But hopefully now you can see that it also allows us to experience life as a privilege.

  Moments of Presence

  Moments of presence are natural. When we first meet someone we admire or find attractive, we are likely to be very present: we give them our full attention and we hang on their every word. And when we say someone has a ‘strong presence’, or that we find them ‘engaging’, what we mean is that they readily and naturally attract our attention. But what of those friends, family and colleagues whom we see all the time: how often do we take them for granted or only half-listen to them? We may even complain about how hard it is to stay present when they ‘go on about things’ and we may label them as ‘boring’.
r />   Similarly, when we taste the first mouthful of a delicious meal in a restaurant, or we smell some delightful new fragrance, or we set eyes upon a spectacular rainbow, for a moment or two we are likely to give it our full, conscious attention. But all too soon, our attention wanes. After three or four mouthfuls of that meal, we start to take it for granted. Yes, we still taste it, but we are no longer savouring it: teasing out the tastes and exploring the textures. Instead, we are eating on autopilot, far more interested in the conversation with our dinner companions than in the sensations inside our mouth. And as for that beautiful fragrance: within minutes it fades into the background, until we hardly notice it any more.

  Let’s create some moments of presence right now. In the exercise that follows, carry out each instruction for five to ten seconds before moving on to the next.

  Mindfulness of Sounds

  First ‘open your ears’ and take a few moments to simply notice what you can hear.

  Notice any sounds coming from you (e.g. your body moving in your chair, or your breathing).

  Now ‘stretch out your ears’ to notice the sounds nearby.

  Gradually expand your hearing range until you can hear the most distant sounds possible. Can you hear the sounds of the weather or the distant traffic?

  Sit still in the midst of all this sound and notice the different layers: the vibrations, pulsations and rhythms.

  Notice the sounds that stop and the new ones that start.

  See if you can notice a continuous sound of some sort, such as an electrical hum, or the whirring of a fan, and listen to it as if it’s a piece of wondrous music. Notice the pitch, the volume and the timbre.

  Stay with this noise and notice how it’s not just ‘one sound’. Notice there are layers within layers, rhythms within rhythms, and cycles within cycles.

  Now notice the difference between the sounds you can hear and the words and pictures that your mind tries to attach to them.

  ***

  How did you go? Were you able to stay fully present with the sounds, or did your mind pull you out of the exercise? Most of us find the latter. Did your mind perhaps distract you with thoughts like: ‘This is boring’ or ‘I can’t do it’ or ‘Why don’t I skip this bit, I don’t really need to do this’ or ‘What’s for dinner?’. Or did your mind perhaps conjure up images of the sounds you could hear — of people, cars, birds, or the weather, for example? Or perhaps your mind had you analysing the sounds — ‘I wonder what’s making that noise?’ — or had you identifying and labelling them — ‘That’s a truck’. Or maybe it just pulled you back to your reality gap: got you worrying about your problems or dwelling on how bad you feel, or wondering how this exercise can possibly help you. Whatever your mind did, it’s quite okay; just notice that reaction and let it be.

  Lisa and the Frogs

  ‘I can’t stand it’, said Lisa. ‘If I have to listen to those bloody frogs for one more night, I swear I’ll go crazy!’ A week earlier, Lisa had moved into a lovely new house. Unfortunately, her next door neighbour had a large pond in her back garden, which was home to a family of exceedingly loud frogs. As Lisa described it, the frogs made a noise like two blocks of wood banging together, and they made it all night long. She found the noise intensely irritating and it kept her awake for hours. She’d tried three different types of earplugs, all to no avail, and she confessed — very guiltily — that she’d even started to think about poisoning the frogs.

  I took her through the exercise mentioned above, Mindfulness of Sounds, and near the end of it I asked her to fix her attention on the somewhat irritating sound of a lawn mower, which was whirring loudly just across the road from my office. I asked her to be fully present with the sound: to let her mind chatter away in the background like a distant radio and to focus her attention on the sound itself; to notice, with great curiosity, all the different elements involved — the rhythms, vibrations, high notes, low notes, changes in pitch and volume — as if she were listening to the voice of a fabulous singer. Afterwards she reported that the noise quickly shifted from being annoying to rather interesting. She also expressed amazement that she had heard the sound of a lawnmower many hundreds of times, but she had never realised there was so much to it. So I asked her to practise this exercise in bed at night, to listen mindfully to the croaking frogs next door. A week later, she told me, with a huge grin on her face, that she had practised the exercise every night and she now enjoyed the sound of the frogs — she found it soothing and relaxing and it actually helped her drift off to sleep!

  Now I’d hate to set you up for unrealistic expectations: presence doesn’t always lead to such dramatic results, especially when we’re new to it, and the skill is relatively undeveloped. Plus let’s not forget that staying present for long is hard to do, because our mind has so many clever ways of distracting us. So if we want to get good at this, there is nothing for it but to practise. Therefore, I’d like to suggest two quick and simple exercises you could easily bring into your daily routine.

  Presence With People

  Each day, pick one person, and notice their face as if you’ve never seen it before: the colour of their eyes, teeth and hair, the pattern of the wrinkles in their skin and the manner in which they move, walk and talk. Notice their facial expressions, body language and tone of voice. See if you can read their emotions and tune in to what they are feeling. When they talk to you, pay attention as if they are the most fascinating speaker you’ve ever heard and you’ve paid a million pounds for the privilege of listening. (Tip: Choose the person you will practise on the night before and then remind yourself of who it is first thing in the morning. This way, you’re more likely to remember.) And very importantly: notice what happens as a result of this more mindful interaction.

  Presence With Pleasure

  Every day, pick a simple pleasurable activity — ideally one that you easily tend to take for granted or do on autopilot — and see if you can extract every last sensation of pleasure out of it. This might include hugging a loved one, stroking your cat, walking your dog, playing with your kids, drinking a cool glass of water or a warm cup of tea, eating your lunch or dinner, listening to your favourite music, having a hot bath or shower, walking in the park — you name it. (Note: Don’t try this with activities that require you to get lost in your thoughts, such as reading, Sudoku, chess or crossword puzzles.) As you do this activity, use your five senses to be fully present: notice what you can see, hear, touch, taste and smell and savour every aspect of it.

  ***

  Of course, there are an infinite number of practices that can help us develop presence. Why not invent some of your own? Basically, all you need to do is pick something — an object, activity, or an event — and connect with it. Observe it with curiosity. Take in all the details through your five senses. Then, to accentuate the sense of privilege, reflect on how this contributes to your life. And if you can’t think of any way it contributes, then appreciate being alive and having five senses. Or perhaps just simply appreciate having a brief moment to stand and stare.

  And stay alert for that old ‘not good enough’ story — it is always lurking in the background. And if it hooks us, it’s like a high-speed shuttle to hell. One moment, we’re appreciating life here and now, the next we’re deep in the bowels of the earth.

  I’ve taken that shuttle to hell on plenty of occasions. I don’t like to admit it, but in the first year after my son’s diagnosis, I caught that shuttle many times a day. For example, I’d take him to the playground almost daily, but often he wanted to leave as soon as we got there. He didn’t like to climb, he didn’t like to swing, he didn’t like to see-saw, and he was afraid of going down the slide. The other kids would all be running around, climbing, jumping, laughing, and my son would either be hiding in the corner, or lying on the floor, bawling his eyes out.

  Every trip was fraught with anxiety and frustration. But my mind would make it a thousand times worse by comparing my son to the other kids and judging him as
not good enough. It would point out all the ways that my son was defective, deficient or abnormal; and it would highlight all the fun that the other parents seemed to be having but I was missing out on. (Then later my mind would judge me as not good enough, for having such thoughts in the first place: ‘What sort of lousy father am I, to have these thoughts about my own child?!’) Gradually, over the space of a year, with lots of help from his ABA therapists, my son learned to enjoy the playground, but until he reached that point, I took the shuttle to hell on every excursion.

  Now as it happens, there is also a shuttle to heaven. As we defuse from unhelpful stories, make room for our difficult feelings, and anchor ourselves firmly in the present, we start to ascend from the depths and come into the light. And when we go one step further and consciously appreciate what we have, we find that our reality is transformed. The reality gap does not disappear, but it is no longer the centre of our attention; instead of focusing solely on what we lack, we acknowledge and enjoy what we have.

  For example, when I let go of all my mind’s stories about my son — who he could be and should be, and what he’s missing or what’s not right — and I love him just as he is, defused from all my expectations and judgements, then the sweetness of those moments is truly wonderful. He transforms from a ‘problem’ into a ‘privilege’. I feel fortunate and blessed that I get to share my life with this remarkable human being, from whom I have learned so much about living and loving. Truly, in those moments, I am ‘in heaven’.

  Of course, this is the same challenge for all parents: can we unhook from all those unhelpful stories and appreciate our children for who they are and be grateful for all they give us? Indeed, this is our challenge in every relationship: with ourselves, with others, and with the world around us. And let’s acknowledge that this challenge is a big one. Why? Because that shuttle to hell is always waiting. And any one of us can make that trip in a flash.