Failure. I wrote the word “Failure” in large block letters just beneath the cheery cursive greeting: “Hello my name is”, peeled off the label backing and slapped it on the left side of my chest as I stood up to begin walking silently among a hundred strangers.
We were all walking silently as if we were at a fish funeral swimming single file “in our lane” among the tables and chairs back and forth in the long conference hall. We coursed along in a kind of languid, looping figure eight, tracing our way as our fellow “fish” flowed back past us on our left.
Dr. Hayes instructed us to find a prominent negative thought in our minds that captured the shame or sorrow that too often lays siege to our mental peace. He said boil it down to its essence – a single word if possible – and write it on the nametag and wear it. Own that word. Display it for the world to see.
And so we did. That is the thing about psychologists who spend hundreds of dollars to attend such trainings. We are an obedient and compliant lot. Tell us what to do and we will obey. We are here to learn, and like our clients, that often means risking and trusting. If we are willing to fail, we won’t, Hayes told us. If we are unwilling to fail, we will.
As a fellow traveler approached, we were to read their “name” and then look them in the eyes and acknowledge them without altering our pace. Meanwhile, they did the same. They saw me as “Failure” and I saw them as “Unloved”, “Inferior”, or “Inadequate” as the line kept moving. One said “Bad father” and another said “Unforgiving.” None of us judged. We just saw, noticed, absorbed, accepted, received and understood and continued on our way.
I had just spent the last 24 hours failing continuously. I failed to bring my passport which meant I failed to catch my plane which meant I missed my connecting flight and found myself wandering like a vagrant about the cavernous Sea-Tec Airport at two, and then three and then four in the morning instead of sleeping. I then failed to catch the right cab which meant paying twice to arrive at this conference an hour late.
Comparing myself with my well rested, freshly showered companions, I was a grimy loser in need of a shave and clean clothes. My inner critic was kicking my sorry butt for being so pathetic while another voice insisted it wasn’t my fault. I wanted to stand up and say, “I am a victim here!” Someone else is to blame for all this. Not me. Not me. (The miserable failure. Stupid, stupid, stupid.)
Hayes’ exercise reminded me of several trainings I had with Dr. David Burns in the 1990s. He accomplished a similar task by asking about 200 mental health professionals to anonymously write down our most intimate fears about ourselves as therapists and pass them in. One admitted she struggled with suicidal thoughts on a regular basis. Another agonized that she might be more ill than many of her patients. A third confessed he suffered with panic attacks due to all the pressures he faced.
We are human beings, not machines, but our parents gave us their language-based disease. Steven Covey tells us we don’t see the world as it is. We see the world as we are. And until we see how we see and how our minds create reality, we are trapped.
There is the world. It is what it is. And there are the seven billion versions of reality that each of us creates every day. And then there is all that suffering caused by our mental representations. And finally, for some of us, if we are lucky, wise or mindful, we break out of our mind-prisons and see ourselves from a healthier place. A place of willingness and welcome. Compassion and acceptance. We see the judging without judging.
If I am in mental or emotional pain right now, most likely it is due to my thoughts. Am I willing to make mistakes? Am I willing to lose? Am I willing to fail? Mistakes, loss and failure are not our real problems. Resistance, avoidance and rejection are.
When we are flexible, not rigid, with ourselves, we accept what this moment brings. It may be bitter and it may be sweet but either can cause us pain or peace. We decide which it is. Our ability to control our experience has its limits but at this moment now we are always in charge of our response.
Step back now and see. Be mindful. Dwell in the quiet place within where nothing moves. See the thoughts arguing for attention, staking their claim for what they insist is true. Now smile. And just let them be.
Doug Craig graduated from college in Ohio with a journalism degree and got married during the Carter administration. He graduated from graduate school with a doctorate in Psychology, got divorced, moved to Redding, re-married and started his private practice during the Reagan administration. He had his kids during the first Bush administration. Since then he has done nothing noteworthy besides write a little poetry, survive a motorcycle crash, buy and sell an electric car, raise his kids, manage to stay married and maintain his practice for almost 25 years. He believes in magic and is a Sacramento Kings fan.
