Making Friends with My Mind

I used to search for happiness
I used to follow pleasure
But I found a door behind my mind
And that’s the greatest treasure.”

Robin Williamson (from “October Song”)

Someone I used to be very close with once said to me: “You have a hard life. And the reason why is that you have a very mean mind.”

What she meant is that my mind habitually gravitates to worry, self-criticism, regret, and resentment. I have tried for years to “redirect” my mind from such thoughts when I’m mindful enough to witness them (as opposed to just having them), but then I generally just wind up feeling helpless and ashamed and ridiculous, because my dug-in thought patterns are far stronger than my willpower. And they do control my moods. (Have you ever noticed that what you’re thinking about determines your mood?)

I mean, it’s not always that bleak. I enjoy pleasant moments every day. But overall, my internal weather systems are harsh and punishing, and this has had some unfortunate consequences for me over time. 

I was dispassionately reviewing this phenomenon with a good friend recently. Specifically I was talking about “FOMO” – or fear of missing out. “I’m an insane FOMO addict,” I stated truthfully. “About all kinds of things. Like, a few weeks ago, I saw an interesting looking novel in one of the free library boxes in front of someone’s house, and I didn’t pick it up because I felt like I’d been being too greedy lately around grabbing free books that look good. But then the next day I realized that I really wanted to check out that particular book and I went back to that free library, but it was already gone, and I don’t remember its title or author … and I STILL haven’t let it go! It’s driving me nuts. I know this is a crazy way of thinking – my reasoning mind at least thinks it knows that – but the controlling part of my psyche is absolutely convinced that it’s incredibly important, and that that was THE book I need to read – soon!”

This friend is a terrific listener. She lets me vent about all manner of things, and largely stays non-judgmental. In this particular conversation, she even gave me space to share ancient FOMO history:

I remember once when I was 17, and I was taking a plane from Ft. Lauderdale to Oakland, CA, and I was so excited to have reserved the window seat, so looking forward to looking down on my beloved stomping grounds (at that time, South Florida) from the skies, with all the lights lighting up the night, and trying to see if I could recognize anything from the air. But when I got to my row, there was a mom and her four-year-old daughter, and the little girl had taken my window seat, and she wanted to keep it. I felt too guilty and embarrassed to ask the kid to move. And then she didn’t even look out the window! I’m telling you, I had wanted that window seat so bad, I could not let it go for months! Seriously.”

My friend has known me for many years. There have been times when my relentless self-tormenting has evoked reactivity from her, understandably. But thankfully not on this occasion. Instead she suggested calmly, “Rather than fighting with your FOMO, have you ever thought to ask it what it really wants from you? Or what’s really behind it?”

Now I’m Asking

I wonder why I never thought of that before myself.

And actually, I can apply that same question to all my negative thought patterns – obsessive worry, guilt, resentment, etc. – not just FOMO.

I can ask my thoughts what they want from me. I can try and feel into what’s behind them. What are they trying to do – to me or for me – and why?

The answers, I’m sure, are all accessible, if not instantaneous. 

But the point is – and this may be even more important than the answers themselves – I don’t need to fight my mind. I can bring curiosity to it instead. That’s not hard. And it changes everything.

It makes life a lot more interesting too. 

“What is behind that thought? What impulse or desire or belief motivates this type of thinking?”

Thank you, friend. That was helpful. I’m working on it. It’s fun.