A Reliable Framework for Change

I’ve written before about the distinction between a formula and a framework. As I begin this piece I’d like to reiterate that distinction lest what follows be misconstrued.

In the former the individual blurs into the anonymity provided by the placeholder of the variable. Although any individual could find its place in the stead of the variable, the fundamental relationships remain the same. y = x + 7 is a formula. Regardless of what individual is found in the place marked x, we know the constancy of the relationship in advance. There’s no room for surprise in formulae.

A framework on the other hand affords us the opportunity to be surprised. It makes use of a set of principles, whose application to the individual situation does not prescribe a set outcome. Therefore I have no clue where this piece leads you, which seems to me to account for the bulk of its value. After all, an overreliance on known outcomes makes for an all-too-predictable life.

Let’s now proceed to this framework for change.

Consider three truisms:

1. You play a role in the situations that characterize your life (i.e., you act relative to the environment in which you find yourself).
2. There are particular means whereby you play your role (i.e., how you do what you do).
3. Although you may not recognize it, you are not compelled to play a particular role or to make use of particular means whereby (i.e., there is always a choice).

These may seem like abstract concepts, but with a bit of thought it becomes clear that they are amongst the most concrete elements of our day to day experience.

For example, I was recently working with a client who had flown out to work with me because of excruciating pain in his hip. He’d found that after a long drive he was unable to stand up fully, so he was hobbling or crawling through his house. As we began working together I asked him to move from a seated to a standing position several times as best he could.

It became apparent that through a certain range of motion he completely lacked control. When standing up, he would rely on momentum and an “oomph” to get himself past that particular range of motion, and when sitting down, he fell through that range with a “thud” against that chair.

Here we have an opportunity for several questions: what is occurring in this situation? How is it taking place? What else is available?

In the initiation of the movement my client found that he was moving his knees forward in space, which upon examination revealed that his weight was moving downwards as he began to stand up (I encourage you to experiment with this. Sit on the edge of a chair or stool and begin to initiate the movement that would bring you to a standing position. As you do so, be sure that your knees move forward in space. Notice the sense of strain associated with this). He also noticed that as he initiated the movement his head remained level with the horizon, that is to say that he extended his back as he leaned forwards. As we began to flesh out the aesthetic of his movement pattern it became clearer and clearer to him how he made these particular shapes. He could develop an appreciation of the means whereby he contracted his muscles. We might think of this as the mechanism of his habit. With the what and how of his activity becoming clearer, the opportunity arises to ask what else is available?

This is a difficult moment, not because we don’t know the answer (we don’t) but because we loathe not knowing. Most of us have an incredible amount of our sense of security invested in knowing what’s going to happen next and how things are going to go. To find oneself in a position of nescience can be quite anxiety provoking. Here we see the link between anxiety and creativity. Both hinge on our relationship to the unknown. Anxiety is a signal that the new and potentially disruptive is waiting in the wings. Creativity is the welcoming in of that new.

As my client began exploring, his inclination was to continue rushing through the range of movement in which he lacked control. I encouraged him to slow down and pause when we sensed that he was beginning to lose control. As he did so he exclaimed, “I don’t know what else to do!”

I believe it.

So we wait. We interrupt the familiar habit that contributes to so much of the experienced strain. We clear a space for some new option to present itself. We soak in the discomfort of not knowing what will emerge or how long it will take.

And then we celebrate.

We celebrate because the person who is able to be patient with himself is never lacking for options. A new strategy always begins to emerge so long as it is not choked by our succumbing to anxiety. In that moment we can easily understand why Kierkegaard referred to anxiety as “the dizziness of freedom.” It is disorienting to find that a new, unused road had been available to us all along. It is harrowing to find ourselves in a position of choice where before we had felt ourselves under the yoke of compulsion. All of a sudden, rather than simply reacting, we have the ability to respond. We then find ourselves in a position of response-ability.

Our actions now become significant. What I mean is that actions taken from a sense of compulsion or coercion are effectively meaningless. But actions chosen from a set of options become meaningful. Hence why a movement practice that increases a sense of optionality has the peculiar tendency to make life seem much more meaningful.

Again some may find that these seem like abstract concepts. Of course, it’s hard to fault them. Western epistemology, in which we’re all mired, has a way of sneakily inverting our sense of abstract and concrete. I once heard a famous proponent of “flow science” say that all psychology is just a metaphor for neuroscience. We’d be forgiven for mistaking this as the mindset of one who, doing no more than generating sufficient friction for the excitation of reflex arcs, is too busy thinking of dopaminergic circuits to notice the orgasm.

The phenomenological view (here referring to phainein and logos in “the speech of that which shines forth”) brings us back to the experiences themselves. It anchors us into life in a way that cannot be found otherwise.

When we find ourselves mired in a situation in which our intention does not seem to manifest in our actions, it ought to make us curious. Said another way, when our actions do not line up with our espoused intentions, there is a gap. When you intend to write that email and somehow manage not to, it’s an opportunity to investigate that “somehow.” When you intend to stick to your training plan and don’t, there too is an opportunity to investigate.

There is no magnitude of problem too great or too small to which we might usefully apply this framework. When you somehow fail to land the crumpled up paper in the wastebasket, where was the deviation and how did it occur? When you somehow fail to remain faithful to your partner, what took place and how?

Of course, the risk is that we may find enacted intentions that run contrary to those we espouse. It may become apparent through this sort of inquiry that we are at odds with ourselves, a living contradiction. There is a delicate balance when we find ourselves in such a situation. We must not squash the “other” intention, nor should we allow ourselves to be squashed by it. Enduring the tense harmony between the two we muster our resources and spur ourselves to find a creative resolution through the emergent dialectic.

In summary, I’ll reiterate that when you desire a change in a problem situation that persists, it’s important to make three distinctions:

1. What are you doing (and what are you not)?
2. How are you doing what you’re doing?
3. What else is available if you stop and wait?

This framework does not promise an outcome that you can know ahead of time. However, it offers a praxis for reminding yourself of the spontaneity that awaits you in each moment. It offers a means whereby you can begin to better align your actions with your intentions. Remember: the sovereign individual is one who finds the minimum loss in translation between intention and action.

Originally published on The Ecosomatics Institute blog