A Reminder To Slow Down
“I would never wish to take away from or generalise those who experience cancer, yet, I believe we can learn a great deal from them in times like these, as it highlights to us all the inescapable factuality of our own fragility”
— JAMES B. R. HARTLEY
Imagine you were on a hamster wheel and all you’d ever known since the day you were born was perpetual motion. Imagine now that one day that wheel suddenly stopped. Stillness would feel foreign, the ground would feel unsafe, like the sea-nomads; the Moken people on the Andaman Sea, who spend so much time on the ocean they experience ground-sickness, stillness to you would be nauseating.
The systems that surround us, the structures that prop us up, the routines we have, the ideas of who we think we are, our roles as parents, partners, workers, the stories of our past and the hopes and dreams for our future all interweave into one Great Big Wheel. That wheel gives us comfort in the form of a purpose and structure, and a felt sense of security but, it is in itself just a wheel. Times of crises stop the wheel and cause radical shifts in perception as we become aware of a world often missed by incessant activity.
This is no new story or shocking insight. People experience this all the time in all manner of ways; a sudden terminal diagnosis, a life-changing injury, a trauma, the sudden death of a loved one, and/or a spiritual awakening. At points of crises, breakdowns or breakthroughs, our first response is often panic and clinging. For example in the coronavirus pandemic, people aren’t panic buying toilet paper and tins of beans as resources at risk of depletion (which they weren't), people are panic buying the archetypal things that give their life a sense of meaning and security. They are clinging to their hamster wheel desperately hoping for it to keep going so they can forget their own fragile impermanence - sadly for no other reason than fear at the sacrifice of the wellbeing of others.
There’s a lot of wisdom to be gained by those familiar with crises. People who experience terminal illness often report many great benefits from what can only be the worst experience ever - being told you are going to die much sooner than you expected. After having their world obliterated people who live with terminal cancer can experience a simplifying of life by a sudden shift in their values (Manne et al, 2004). As they shed themselves of habits, jobs, things and people that never really meant as much to them as they originally thought, they begin to build lives of depth rather than breadth, in meaning rather than contrived-meaning in what little time they have left (Stanton et al, 2014). People living and dying with cancer often report a better understanding and peace with the unavoidable closeness of impermanence which is present to us all, at all times (Heffron et al, 2009).
“Small acts will nourish us in what is a famine of love and a frenzy of fear.”
— JAMES B. R. HARTLEY
I would never wish to take away from or generalise those who experience cancer, yet, I believe we can learn a great deal from them in times like these, as it highlights to us all the inescapable factuality of our own fragility and that since the day we were born each and every person, big or small, rich or poor has been given a terminal diagnosis that will ultimately be fatal. It’s times like these where the vulnerable become the great teachers. We can learn from those who suffer from a terminal illness or long term health conditions how to live full lives in the face of great adversity. Things like isolation, lockdowns, and the incapacity to do the very things your heart desires are an everyday reality to some people in a society and have been for a very long time. What exists now is the humbling insight into what it’s like for those who are often undervalued, forgotten or hidden from view, while the rest of us are going about our day doing as we desire.
Regardless of what crises each of us faces at this time now more than ever, it is important to slow down. Now is a great opportunity to reacquaint ourselves with the benefits of presence, to stop fighting and filling it with everything for once. During this time silence and stillness may be nauseating as we are faced with our very own impermanence yet, we are going to need to slow down whether we like it or not because this crisis is not going anywhere any time soon. There’s no point filling our scary hole now with food, booze, and social media hoping that it will replicate the wheel or somehow get it going again. It’s time to start leaning into the dis-ease we feel on an everyday basis that we can no longer hide from so easily. I can assure us all that when we do, when we lean and breathe into the difficulties we face from moment-to-moment we will be rewarded with genuine equanimity, love and peace like never before, even in the midst of uncertainty and crises. It will arrive like a long lost friend whom we had forgotten about.
It's important to give ourselves first the permission to ‘be’ before anything else during this time. Be still, be patient and breathe into the uncertainty and we will remember, like riding a bike, what it was like to be a human be-ing first. You, me, we, as a result, will become creative and discover things we never thought possible. We will begin to see love everywhere in the small acts of the day that are often lost in the motion of the wheel. These small acts will nourish us in what is a famine of love and a frenzy of fear. With permission to be, the awareness of subtle acts of love will fuel our capacity to extend our own kindness and the care of others as we feel more connected and compelled to help those in need (including ourselves).
It’s no illusion or trick how the people who drive trucks, work on checkouts, deliver goods, empty bins, care for the elderly, the sick, these often insignificant and forgotten souls of our society, are now our everyday heroes whom our very existence depends and has always depended upon. Consider how things like ques for food have become gateways for connection, where strangers become compadres in crisis. How we have begun suddenly caring more, ringing round to friends and family to check how they are doing and ask ‘does anyone need anything?’. One friend told me: “I’ve been for a run 3 times this week - I feel mint!” as if someone suddenly created a place called ‘The Outside’.
Millions of people across the country stopped at 8pm on a Thursday night, went out on the street to shout, yell, and applaud their appreciation to the undervalued, underpaid and overworked staff of the NHS who put their lives at risk. What changed between then and now? Nothing, other than we stepped - off - the - wheel and took a look around. Love is and has always been everywhere if we slow down and care to look. Suffering is and has always been everywhere if we slow down and care to look. Don't miss this rare opportunity - especially in the midst of crises - to be present, to be still, and to breathe. We will have the chance to see how the wheel itself is only part of the story and that you are, we are, life is, and can be, so much more.
BLOG DISCLAIMER
I feel it’s important to acknowledge the limitations of a short blog post such as this as it lacks the space for the necessary inclusivity of a fuller picture. My aim here is to highlight that love and suffering were as present prior to this crisis as they are during it, however, events cause shifts in awareness and perception and as such, provide us with the opportunity to course-correct our values, change our behaviour and create a world in which suffering is less for all.
References
Hefferon, K., Grealy, M. and Mutrie, N., 2009. Post‐traumatic growth and life threatening physical illness: A systematic review of the qualitative literature. British journal of health psychology, 14(2), pp.343-378.
Manne, S., Ostroff, J., Winkel, G., Goldstein, L., Fox, K. and Grana, G., 2004. Posttraumatic growth after breast cancer: Patient, partner, and couple perspectives. Psychosomatic medicine, 66(3), pp.442-454.
Stanton, A.L., Bower, J.E. and Low, C.A., 2014. Posttraumatic growth after cancer. In Handbook of posttraumatic growth (pp. 152-189). Routledge.
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