Pick a New Line

My advice to you is not to inquire why or whither, but just enjoy your ice cream while it's on your plate. - Thornton Wilder in the Zen Calendar (March 27, 2002)

Day **. Anyone who knows me at all knows about my avoidance of - well - those two numbers. If any assistance is needed regarding which blog this is, please refer to the one immediately before and (after tomorrow) immediately after. It should be fairly self explanatory.

My work allows intriguing opportunities each week to think new thoughts, develop new metaphors and draw new connections. I have my clients to thank for this; they deserve all of the credit. They also deserve a word of appreciation for the infinite patience they exhibit at this time of year - when the majority of the metaphors involve a bicycle of some sort. What can I say - cycling is life!

One day this week I was relating details of a mountain bike metaphor from which several clients say they have benefited. I have previously blogged about my tendency to make mountain biking incredibly difficult - as though the sport is not implicitly dangerous enough. When I approach a technical section of trail that requires split second decision-making regarding how to navigate it, I inevitably pummel through the most treacherous trajectory possible. The path I take is utterly absurd. This has earned me an interesting reputation that is generally captured in the phrase, "Don't take her line!"

When several people are mountain biking together, the one in front is sometimes treated as a reconnaissance rider. The goal for this front person is to select a path through the difficult sections that is: a) successful and b) possible to duplicate. I rode alone during the first few years I took up mountain biking. I don't recall consciously deciding this, but I do know that I genuinely thought the goal in difficult sections of trail was to intentionally ride the utmost challenging route imaginable. Obviously, this method made me a better mountain bike rider. It is also a metaphor for my life.

My analyst would say this stems from being the "hero" child in an alcoholic family; I think my compulsive wiring also contributes. Whatever the etiology, my autopilot is to do things the hard way. I got my undergraduate degree in three years. I had a Ph.D. when I was 27. I had my nine-pound baby through natural childbirth. I loathe to cook, and my child was born with Celiac Disease, which required (at least in the 1990's) endless hours in the kitchen, meticulously hand preparing his food. I bought my house alone, raised my child alone, started my business alone. These are not sections of my life vitae I am especially proud of; they are simply the facts of my history. It is not at all surprising that I surmised I was supposed to steer my bike along the path most likely to result in bodily harm. I came to the sport well equipped to habitually choose the hardest line.

Imagine my bewilderment when I began to ride behind other mountain bikers, all of whom consistently chose the most efficient and least difficult way through hazardous sections of trail. I thought this was wimpy - they were quick to point out how less frequently they crashed. I wondered if it was cheating. They answered that it was just smart riding - and much less painful. The obvious had to be stated: When you fall less, you spend more time on the bike and, when racing, stand a greater chance of winning. Ah ha.

Many of my clients exhibit a similar, habitual predisposition for contributing to their own suffering. Together in sessions, we wonder about the cause for this debilitating predilection. The underlying answer is always this: we gravitate toward what is familiar - not what is optimal. If we have home lives that recurrently create problems, barriers, and impediments to ease and contentment, we arrive at adulthood ill equipped to "pick the easy line." We repeat what we know: Life is difficult so I must suffer.

After ____ (I'll never tell!) years in analysis, I managed to radically alter my pattern of contributing to my own suffering. The key was awareness, and still I am occasionally astonished at how automatically I err on the side of the difficult. This fascinates me when I contemplate my commitment to study and practice Zen Buddhism, which is specifically centered upon alleviating human suffering. I was the best human sufferer in the galaxy. It feels like poetic justice to have stumbled upon Buddhism.

You can almost see the light bulb shine over my clients' heads when I share the metaphor of "picking the hardest line" in mountain biking. Their mental wheels begin to whirl as it dawns upon them that they can learn to select a different route. An easier, more efficient path. A line that is successful and can be duplicated. The realization is life changing. When I chose to sit zazen on my birthday, I picked a new line. I don't crash near as often, and I suffer a lot less, too.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc