Do They Even Know?

To Create an Enemy, Sam Keen

Start with an empty canvas

Sketch in broad outline the forms of

men, women, and children.

Dip into the unconscious well of your own

disowned darkness

and, with a wide brush

stain the strangers with the sinister hue

of the shadow.

Trace onto the face of the enemy the greed,

hatred, carelessness you dare not claim as

your own.

Obscure the sweet individuality of each face.

. . .

Exaggerate each feature until man is

metamorphosed into beast, . . 

Quite a nasty recipe!

A few words on projection. An online definition summarizes this process as follows: "a psychological defense mechanism wherein a person subconsciously denies his or her own attributes, thoughts, and emotions; then ascribes them to the outside world, often to other people. Thus, projection involves imagining or projecting the belief that these aspects of oneself originate in the feelings of others." Freud, the originator of the term in its modern use, maintained that projection's primary 'use' was that of helping the ego split out emotions which the individual finds disturbing or unacceptable as personal attributes; thereby reducing one's anxiety. A rather unusual variant of 'not in my backyard'!

If we accept Freud's contention that projection develops as a 'defense mechanism' in aid of making our lives a little less harried, it can't be all bad. Right?  After all, some other of these 'mother's little helpers' include sublimation (shifting socially unacceptable motives to a more benign form: better to play out international differences on a World Cup pitch with a football, than on a field of battle with guns!); identification (modeling oneself on the admired attributes of another's behaviour or character); even humour and rationalization often make the 'helpful cut'.

Evidently, from Sam Keen's take on this process, the answer to the above question would be: 'well, not necessarily -- helpful, that is'.  As is so often the case with matters addressed in a regular mindfulness practice, the pivotal issue here is one of awareness.  Sam's sardonic piece portrays what can (and so often, does) happen when we distance ourselves from our own process, fail to own our own issues and, for the sake of our own comfort, project them safely away from 'our own backyard'. The sequence he lays out is common enough:

1.    pick a neutral and generic target;

2.    identify (unconsciously) those issues with which we regularly struggle and are perhaps the least satisfied with in ourselves;

3.    attach a pejorative label to our (previously) generic figure -- befitting the content we're about to assign him/her;

4.    remove our intimate connection with this person; making him/her less the individual and more 'representative' of a 'group' or type;

5.    and finally, engage the 'black and white', all or none process of polarized thought -- leaving only the negatives and conveniently forgetting or downplaying the mitigating positives.

Last week's blog suggested a simple meditation of self-exploration: Who Am I? A variant on this exercise as we sit is to become aware of subtle signals that may foretoken a bit of projection at work. The signs are simple enough: those issues or people who most trigger us; those individuals we most readily identify as representative members of a particular group / point of view -- and feel most compelled to vilify and paint (a la Keen) with a single colour, removing all the nuances that necessarily comprise the 'complete individual'. The awareness in this case: turning one's vision inward (again); and 'catching' oneself in the act of projecting. Making oneself conscious -- always preferred to being 'unconscious'.

Audio Version: http://db.tt/AWZEP44u 

Who Am I? podcast link from Sounds True: http://www.soundstrue.com/weeklywisdom/?source=podcast&p=6327&category=AGM&version=full

Of Integrity and Ego

When I search the etymological roots of integrity, I find its origins are from the Latin, integer, translating as whole, intact, untouched, complete -- and it started me thinking. Even in English, integer carries a very similar meaning: 'a whole number, not a fraction; a thing complete in itself'. How rare!

I suppose what pushed this concept fully into consciousness this past week was the sinking awareness of how 'spinning' finds its confusing and unhelpful presence so frequently into our days.  In the selective retelling of an exchange with a third party, with the casual exclusion of a detail or two; the adoption of a point of view, stressing 'facts' that support, downplaying those that don't; the reshuffling of story elements, to minimize an anticipated confrontation; or simply reversing oneself -- as the situation 'demands'. Rarely are these 'spun versions' rooted in malice or the intent to deceive; often rationalized as 'just good story-telling', perhaps a memory lapse; the need to save face, self-enhance, or just to 'not look the fool'. All at relatively little cost -- save personal integrity.

Casting about for a little 'light entertainment' a few days ago, my wife and I streamed an episode of a recent BBC sitcom, 'In The Thick Of It', a satirical look at the politics and personnel of a marginal ministry in the British government. And its daily challenge of justifying its own existence, its programs, what it supports and what it eschews; and most particularly, the irrelevance of fact and truth and the preeminence of appearance and press- and public-friendly postures -- even if it means reversing itself multiple times in a day. My wife's summary comment was that this perhaps would have been amusing -- if it wasn't so close to the truth.  

Which may be why The Ides of March caught our shared attention as our 'home movie of the week' choice.  More politics -- but with a 'spin'. As the title suggests, the film is a contemporary re-examination of the motivations that fueled the political assassination of Julius Caesar, set against the backdrop of an Ohio Democratic primary with the victor an almost shoo-in for the presidency. The spin in this case is, ironically, found not in the political rhetoric, which would be just too cliched to be interesting; but in the morality of brinkmanship, party and campaign loyalty (or, more properly, the lack thereof), and the chess games that measure, position, and re-position -- always with the eye on the long term 'win'. To the extent possible, everyone 'wins' in the short-run, save the single character who maintains a position of personal integrity throughout. The cost of victory, in typical Faustian fashion, is one's soul, as the hollow-eyed 'winners' suit up for the next round; and the loser, accepts his 'prize': a dignified exit from the world of politics (and spin), and gets on with his 'integrated' life.

What is evident is the 'end justifying the means' stance that informs most choices in the film. And most compellingly, the compartmentalization within self, the 'fractionation' of the individual if you will, that allows this process to continue. Carl Jung describes the process of maturing psychologically, somewhat tellingly, as one of growing individuation. In this process, elements of the immature personality, typically at that stage kept more or less in the dark, one from another, gradually begin to coalesce into a unified whole -- to integrate, become acknowledged and accepted by the individual as 'parts of him- or herself' -- for good or ill -- and begin to inform his/her choices in a fully conscious fashion. In short, the individual develops integrity -- both psychologically and morally. To the extent that this process is truncated or incomplete, our thoughts and actions are guided, at best, only by a part of self, generally one driven by ego -- and its self-enhancing, self-aggrandizing motives.

Mindfulness practice approaches this integrating process from 'the other end' -- but with the same, essential goal. Regular meditation is, among many things, an opportunity to become very well acquainted with our ego, its wants and needs, goals and demands. The intention is to better recognize the grasping and rejecting, the attachment and avoidance that instruct our choices -- and to let go of these. In meditative language, to develop an 'egoless awareness'. In his seminal book, A Path With Heart, Jack Kornfield describes a meditation he entitles: Who Am I? In it he suggests, either alone or with a partner, to repeatedly pose this question to self during a meditation as a vehicle for discovering the elements that most define your 'I' -- your ego, your identity. He suggests, that, as the answers arise ('a man', 'a teacher', 'a mother', 'a . . .' ) they will typically move from the superficial identifiers, labels, roles to deeper levels of values, emotions, intentions.  The answers themselves are less relevant than the process: that of openly -- and courageously -- examining the elements that comprise your self, your ego. The end is not to judge the goodness or badness of aspects; not to decide which you will 'toss out' and which to keep; which to openly 'own' and which to 'spin'. But to cultivate an awareness of their presence -- no different really than Jung's individuation process, becoming an integrated whole. 

Trial by Facebook

"This is crap!": the indignant, very public and mid-act summary pronouncement (on a production of Two Gentlemen) from a 'patron' at the Studio Theatre a few years back. Followed by a welcomed, albeit attention-grabbing and disruptive departure from the building by said patron -- not without a little staff assistance. I daresay we've all had similar (thankfully sotto voce) opinions of the occasional staging over the years -- when our particular vision is challenged; when we're a little cranky for whatever reason; or it's just not great theatre. But do we stand up and 'share' our view for any and all to hear? Not usually. That's generally the province of the critic.

Ah, Facebook, (or Twitter, or . . .) -- the social media. In a conversation with a twenty-something recently, I was not a little surprised to hear of his resolve to close his Facebook account. Seems, among some other rather good and defensible reasons for his decision, he was fed up with this forum wherein issues that were essentially between himself and another individual found their way into the public courtroom of the social media. Remember our old high school grammar: between is used when two things are involved; among when we're referencing more than two -- like the rest of the digital world. I believe the straw that broke it for him was the respective other's pronouncement (not unlike our Studio Theatre attendee) that it was a 'gutless' move to deal with their differences in private, via a one-on-one communication. What a novel concept: if I have an issue with someone, to address it with him/her face to face (or at least email to email), without inviting the opinion, input, or judgment of several (hundred, or thousand) outsiders of whose business this is none (awkward avoiding that preposition at the end).

I was reminded (to the extent that the movie, Social Network is a reasonably faithful account of the origins of Facebook) of just how this viral vehicle all came to be. If memory serves, the then undergrad at Harvard, Mark Zuckerberg, thwarted in his attempts to establish a relationship with the object of his affections, turned his considerable programming skills to creating an online 'rating system' for female students at the university. The intent of course was hardly that of providing a 'helpful dating guide' for other undergrads. Rather it was petulant, vindictive, decidedly pathetic, and mean-spirited. Essentially, to publicly shame the individual with whom he'd been unable to establish a 'real' relationship. Facebook was born. . . for better or worse.

An article appearing in this week's Globe (Dating Violence on the Rise, June 8, 2012) examines the 'appropriateness' of utilizing a social media forum with potentially much higher stakes -- but with quite similar parameters to my conversation above. What has historically been viewed as 'intimate' (aka, private, personal) in relationship is increasingly exploited on one hand and trotted out as 'proof' of one's world-readiness on the other. What used to furnish 'Monday morning bragging rites' at the back of high school home room is readily 'published' in a medium that is neither containable nor reversible. The report assigns a measure of responsibility to the very public aspect of social media as, once again, 'shaming' individuals into more extreme behaviours than their personal value systems would countenance; bullied into 'saving face' by putting out.

In the spirit of babies not being tossed out with bathwater or guns not killing people, people killing people, I suspect the essence of the problem is not with the instrument, the medium. Clearly public accountability, Arab Springs, the assorted 'Occupy. . .' movements, and innumerable other socially progressive forces would be hugely crippled were Facebook and its ilk to be put back in the box -- even if that were remotely possible. What my young friend was making a plea for was the sensible and selective use of a more intimate forum for addressing issues that are clearly 'between' (not 'among') differences. He had plainly begun to despair that such was even possible within his particular social group.  The 'conversation' (if that's even an appropriate descriptor) in his group had become so dependent on and exclusive to social media vehicles for communication, that it had come to be viewed as somehow 'cowardly' to eschew Facebook in favour of a good old fashioned one-on-one. That he was somehow attempting to avoid public scrutiny and commentary on private matters.

Back to guns and babies. And a final word to mindfulness roots. Buddhist teachings caution against being motivated in our daily lives by Eight Worldly Winds (or Influences). Consisting of four pairs of opposing forces (pleasure / pain; gain / loss; praise / blame), the fame / shame dimension has some very real applicability in the present case. An indisputable conclusion around the viral growth of the social media is that they provide potentially very public exposure for anything and everything that finds its way into this digital space, for good or ill -- the 15 minutes of fame hook. Sadly, the 'fame', as it were, is most decidedly not limited to 15 minutes. It is perpetual. Posting an ill-considered comment, photograph, or account of an exploit, may be cute or witty in the moment -- but the 'half-life' of these postings approaches that of Strontium 90 (that would be in the hundreds of years!).  Equally, comments motivated by intention to hurt, shame, judge, reactively hurled into cyberspace instantly become fodder for public debate. The 'pseudo-support' garnered from the endorsements of disinterested parties (that old 'thumbs up' for a particularly cutting comment) is really pretty meaningless -- not much use in resolving personal issues.

Far from a 'gutless act', my young friend's choice reflects discretion, courage, sensitivity, and respect for the other.  Rather than loading up his '357 magnum' and blasting off a few shots, he chose to holster his Facebook -- maybe permanently -- and talk, really talk.

Audio Link: http://db.tt/KyfIQHte

Courtney Shea's 'Weekly Challenge' in the Globe offers a very accessible alternative to digital communication:
http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/my-week-of-talking-to-every-single-stranger-who-crossed-my-path/article4243594/?cmpid=rss1

Living in Paradox: Matchmaker Heaven

When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be;

When I let go of what I have, I receive what I need.

(Tao of Leadership, The Paradox of Letting Go, ch. 22)

All behaviour consists of opposites or polarities. If I do anything more and more, over and over, its polarity will appear.

(Tao of Leadership, Polarities, ch. 2)

I'm not sure whether Barnaby Tucker might be a closet Taoist. What I'm reasonably certain is that both Dolly Levi and Malachi Stack are. I accompanied a generous (more on why this is relevant in a moment) friend to a performance of Thornton Wilder's Matchmaker this weekend and met all of the above characters -- granted not, as they say, 'up close and personal'; but close enough to have some of their folksy wisdom and life perspectives penetrate.  

Among a number of themes Wilder explores in this entertaining (if somewhat OTT) production is that of the costs associated with living at the polarities of our experience; holding that an extreme of anything (money, caution, propriety), as another friend and author of the two quotes at the top of this piece would say, is not a very satisfying or sustainable posture. Barnaby first. This hugely naive, scared rabbit of a young man, is charged with the responsibility (by Dolly, the matchmaker) of providing the audience a summary of the 'importance of the play'. Having been compelled by his co-worker to venture to New York (from rural Yonkers) for the day in search of 'an adventure', Barnaby certainly gets his money's worth. The wisdom he gleaned -- and what he wishes for all of us -- is 'just the right amount of adventure, not too much, but, then again, not too little'.  A lovely restatement of living in balance, the mindfulness equivalent of equanimity.  That is to say that calm, composed place we are encouraged to cultivate each time we sit, the middle ground between attachment and avoidance, a composed observer rather than the reactive participant.  For Barnaby, pudding is great -- just don't eat too much (you have to see the play to get this one).

And then there's Malachi, brilliantly presented by Geraint Wyn Davies. Malachi spends the early part of the production firmly establishing his slick credentials -- not the right fox to be left in charge of the hen house. As the play builds to its denouement, our garrulous con man finds a dollar-stuffed wallet and -- steps out of character (or so we think) for a little tete a tete with the audience. 'I suppose you thought I'd just keep this'. He goes on to explain that this is not in keeping with his 'value system' (an apparent oxymoron if ever there was one). His 'logic': that to cultivate multiple vices -- and equally no vices -- is a recipe for disaster. His advice, predicated on his own rocky road of experience, is to indulge one at a time, lest eschewing all would make one a tightly constrained, about to explode vessel of self-denial; while throwing oneself indiscriminately into self-indulgence will almost certainly come to a bad end. Already a committed drunkard, he therefore cannot be a thief at the same time. And he gives the wallet to the man he suspects has dropped it. Another lovely statement of 'moderation in all things'.

And finally, Dolly. Again, not just what she seems on first blush. Professing to be the 'selfless matchmaker', she clearly has designs on the wealthy (and decidedly unhappy) antagonist of the piece (Horace), alternately whetting his appetite for the next candidate and salving his disillusionments with the next in line -- all leading relentlessly to her own doorstep. And this is where Dolly's Taoist leanings begin to shine through. She harbours a philosophy of money that it is only of value when 'it's spent' -- keeping the system well-oiled and mobile -- rather than being an end in itself (as is typified by Horace's miserly style).  At core, she personifies our first quote: letting go of . . . enables the attainment of. In this production, loosening one's grip on one's 'wallet' allows one's heart-desires to thrive. Simple and oft-stated but. . . Dolly, the paradox.

Excepting Dolly herself, each character occupies a polarity, is largely unhappy, unfulfilled, and resigned. Dolly's 'matchmaking' is less of the external relationship kind and much more of putting each of these individuals in touch with their 'other side': Horace with his generous, loving aspect, Barnaby and Cornelius with their adventurous sides, Ermengarde with her emotionally risky face. Living in balance, in equanimity -- fully aware.

Seeing the Forest and the Trees

A mule and a camel were put in the same stall. The mule began, "Why do I come stumbling down the mountain frightened, with my pack saddle crooked, and the driver beating me, while you glide over the same grade in pure felicity? Have you been given a special dispensation? Why don't you ever fall on your face like me?" The camel: "Every smooth descent is a gift. But also there are differences between us. Unlike yours, my head stays high, so that from the top and all the way down, I see the foot of the mountain and every hollow and rise, fold on fold. A true human being does this in life. Your animal eyes see only the next step, what is directly in front of you."

(Rumi, Book IV, IX; translation by Coleman Barks)

Having just spent a truly nerve-wracking, wrist-whacking, bone-rattling five minutes descending a 20% grade on gravel on a bicycle better designed for flying down twisting, paved roads, I just had to ask my companion's secret for his having taken half the time with twice the enjoyment accomplishing the same descent.  "Freedom". Hmm, that was helpful! So I posed the same question to our third friend: "Trust". This was not getting any better.

Begging a few more details, one took mercy on me and elaborated. 'You pick a line and let the bicycle carry you down. You're fighting every inch of the way, riding the brakes, and missing the flow.' To be sure, both of my friends are avid mountain bikers, downhill heli-skiers, and, if their pocketbooks would support their fantasies, formula-1, race car enthusiasts -- all sports where speed, split-second decision making, balance, and probably a hundred other variables mean the difference between an exhilarating rush and a rock, tree, or wall. Nevertheless, the comment resonated --  and I was reminded of Rumi's story.

It seems to be very difficult indeed to 'raise one's head' and see the larger picture. Back on Italian gravel, I was intently focused on the foot or so in front of my wheel (certainly not the 'foot' of the mountain!). Watchful for the next loose stone or eroded rut that might send me 'endo' as the parlance goes (polite biker talk for 'ass over tea kettle'), tight, anxious, and decidedly resentful of having to endure this stretch of road. Relentlessly checking my cyclometer to see just how much longer it would last -- not a recipe for enjoying some of the most beautiful, idyllic, and arguably bicycle-friendly (for all but those damned gravel roads!) landscape through which I'd ever cycled.

As coincidence would have it, this weekend my wife and I were discussing a book she's currently reading, Harvard academic Clayton Christensen's How Will You Measure Your Life?  In it he explores very similar ground: principally how to stay open to 'the forest' (in essence, seeing the whole way down the mountain) while remaining cognizant of 'the trees' (the next rock in front of the wheel). A particularly relevant section examines the differences between deliberate and emergent strategies in decision-making. The former refers to 'the plan' we all typically bring to a situation -- from structuring our day to deciding on a career path. The latter to the serendipitous, accidental, unintended twists and turns that we might take on that path that really serve to determine a life direction.

For example, I'd accepted a one-year position with our local school board in 1974, fresh out of grad school and grateful for anything smelling like a job. The intention ('the plan') was to make a few bucks while I finished my doctoral research. In that year, I met Nancy Wilson, a psychologist who happened to be setting up a new department at Stratford's hospital and happened to be giving a 'lunch and learn' presentation at the board office. We chatted briefly; she offered me an interview and 38 years later I'm still in town. No doctorate -- but contentedly ensconced in a city many people retire to reside in!  The emergent strategy, the 'unintended path', had it been disdained or interpreted as a 'departure' or interruption, would have likely been ignored at my peril (perhaps).

What Christensen describes is a stepping back from the compelling, consuming immediacy of a situation -- to become more the 'observer', open to possibility; and less the overly vigilant 'participant', caught up in the control of and reaction to those irritating, distracting departures from our 'deliberate direction' -- the one we've carefully chosen versus explored or allowed. Rather like John Lennon's famous line about life -- that thing that happens, often just 'out of sight' (awareness), ignored, unappreciated, while we're doing other things.

I was struck by the overlap in this approach with mindfulness practice. When we meditate, the extent to which we become absorbed, caught up, attached to the thought, the emotion, the feeling (the 'rocks' if you will), the less available we are to the 'flow', as my friend called it -- less conscious of 'what is' and more concerned about 'what isn't'. We become constricted, agitated, resentful, preoccupied with how far we've 'departed' from the prescribed (desired or deliberate) path; less attentive to the actual. Our choice I suppose. Are we camels or mules? Do we 'glide down with felicity', heads high, seeing the grand display, the 'line' through our lives that's always been there -- but perhaps went unnoticed? Or do we stubbornly ignore the implicit 'rhythm', intent on 'getting back on track' -- even when that track is full of wheel-grabbing rocks?

NOTE (to self): Start mountain biking.

NOTE 2 (to self): Take (or, at least take note of) the road less-travelled

Karma at the OK Corral

In the few days' run-up to his visit to Canada this time round, HRH Prince Charles published a letter in this week's Globe entitled: Service to Others Builds Strong Communities. He defines service variously as 'thinking about how we can use our own positions to help others'; and later underscores that 'the most effective way to foster cohesion (amongst ourselves) is to build partnerships (generating) community capital -- that invisible but vital element that holds communities together'.

Somewhat ironically, and standing in marked contrast to HRH's lauding of 'best practices', modeling of community cooperation and sharing of 'good ideas' as the basic tool set for overcoming skepticism and deadlocked standoffs, is a saga unfolding in our own newspaper: the 'dirty little story' of the Haig St. joust. For those of you that may have missed it, dueling dentists lined up at 40 (or so) paces distance, armed not with picks and drills but with backhoe and entitlement, letting fly in the local press. At stake evidently is the right to 'farm' on Stratford's waterfront row and, equally, the opposition to same cloaked in issues of child and public safety, trespass, noise-law violation, and all around dare met with double-dog-dare retort. My, my, my . . . what a mess (to borrow from a Tommy Lee Jones' favourite line). 

Begged is the question: where did the violation and/or thwarting of the respective rights of each stop and the need to oppose, challenge, and dominate begin? With no intimate knowledge of either individual (or their entourage), I turned to first hand quotes of slashed tires, roofing nails (that ne'er saw shingle), and toxic cocktails in fuel tanks on one hand; and property infringement and denial of access on the other for some sense of history backgrounding this OK Corral tableau. And came away with a feeling that perhaps the current shootout had deeper roots; and that a pile of sand may just have been the straw that broke it (to allow some mixed imagery). Indeed it seemed that opposition to vs. cooperation with and accommodation of were more central issues with some longstanding precedent lurking in the shadows (of late night high jinx).

Be that as it may, and as this is purportedly a blog on mindfulness practices, I cast about for some alternate ways of proceeding -- not all that different from HRH's sentiments; and came upon this lovely little quote in Lama Surya Das' Awakening the Buddha Within. 'Karma means that you don't get away with anything; we all reap exactly what we sow. . . (T)he word actually translates as action and reaction; there are no accidents (like nails or slashed tires). In very simple terms, the Buddhist Law of Dependent Origination means that every cause has an effect and every effect has a cause' (p 109).

In a very similar vein, Bhante Gunaratana, as part of his commentary on Lovingkindness meditation, describes this process as an 'antidote' to two principle distractions to effective practice: greed and hatred (aka, attachment and avoidance; grasping and rejecting). He is quoted as: 'if you sit down to meditate while in the grip of some strong obsessive attachment (my right to 'farm') or if you are in a black fury over some recent insult (tractor tire evidence on my property), mindfulness will have a very rough time' (p. 90; Mindfulness in Plain English).

I found myself pondering the future of our little community and the choices with which we are frequently presented -- when, as a friend used to query, what does one do when Captain Karma comes a callin'?  Well I suppose we could strap on the leather one more time, wait for high noon, and stride out into the street; bent on righting the wrong of some presumed insult. Or perhaps we could, in the spirit of HRH, model behaviours spawned in cooperation and service to others, compassion, forgiveness.

For me, the abiding image of this whole affair -- and quite possibly the only redemptive element therein -- was that of an eight-year old child, broom in hand, sweeping up the remnants of 'the dirty little pile on Haig'. Helping daddy -- perhaps; or just finding the middle ground and doing her small bit to heal the rift that older (and presumably wiser??) players had insisted on widening.

Congruence: Fitting with Yourself

To thine own self be true.

While Polonius is not perhaps the most stellar of role models, his advice to his son has some resonant value in this piece -- despite both father and son ending up a little worse for wear at Hamlet's hand. I suppose my interest in 'being true' (not to be confused with 'telling the truth') surfaced for me in a definitive way in early grad school. I'd been approached by my supervisor to examine some possible reasons for a disproportionately high attrition or drop-out rate amongst first year engineering students -- when compared with their parallel numbers in other faculties. Once the more obvious factors were accounted for and statistically removed (differential difficulty of the course material, academic ability of applicants, too much beer and partying, etc.), I was left with an interesting variable: congruence. 

Back in the bad old days, when math made sense (for me, in mid-high school), I had the, at the time, questionable good fortune of studying plane geometry. Of all those propositions and corollaries, the proof that stuck was one dealing with 'congruent triangles'.  And so my fascination with how two things -- be they geometric shapes, statistical distributions, or people and their chosen paths -- show compatibility one with the other began to emerge.

For our less than fortunate engineering ingenues, I speculated that the expectation a particular student brought with him or her into first year might have some bearing on the measure of success they experienced in the early going of the program. Specifically, I'd identified two very different views (well three, if you include the opportunity to party hardy!) of engineering as a discipline: one being that of the hard core scientist (lots of chemistry and physics!) and a second, that of a glorified auto mechanic or draftsman, closer perhaps to a designer. It seemed that those newbies with the former orientation tended to do better than the latter group -- quite possibly because they were greeted with course work that was more consistent with, more congruent with their preparation and expectations coming in. The latter group tended to be left with a 'that's not what I thought I'd be getting into' kind of disillusionment; with an attendant measure of increased dissatisfaction (which I also measured as a part of the study) and decreased interest and motivation in applying selves to the material. The 'blind-sided' crew didn't necessarily fail -- but they were more open to the idea of shifting to other areas of study -- and out of engineering.

The material I'd considered in an earlier blog around solitude in general and the introversion - extroversion dimension in particular finds its way into the congruence issue as well. When we identify ourselves as living in a particular way (alone rather than in partnership) or experience our measure of social comfort and mode interaction as 'less valued' (shy or introverted versus ebullient and outgoing), a tendency can be to become disenchanted with, even critical of that way of living or that style of connecting -- and 'buck the system'. In short, entering some form of denial around 'what is' and investing large amounts of energy into being something or somebody we're not. I don't suppose there is a 'law of congruence' in the sense of a 'law of gravity' or other universal, physical truths. But if there were, it might read something like Polonius' words to Laertes. First figure out who and what you are -- no mean task in itself. Secondly, cultivate an attitude of compassion and acceptance of that identity. And thirdly, identify those places where you best fit -- that lovely and elegant sense of congruence between self and environment; self and choices.

Having spent a good many years assisting people with 'job 1' -- bless all those wonderful personality tests and typologies -- I've come to realize that that might just be the easy part. Job 2, as it were, is the real challenge. Helping people with self-acceptance, particularly when the 'news' is not what they, a parent, or a partner, might want it to be, can be an unpopular task. The obsession is much more directed at change, re-invention -- not that these are undesirable ends in the right spot -- but always accompanied by a measure of denial of an existing (and just maybe, immutable) 'truth'.

My oft-referenced mentor spent a great deal of his professional life facilitating the search for congruence. In his language, helping individuals identify when they were on 'their path' -- and equally, when not. And eschewing the negative emotion attaching to, once again, discovering that 'I'm not where I want to be -- but I am where I am'.

A mindfulness practice provides a number of invaluable tools in this endeavour: awareness, acceptance, compassion.