Back in my smoking days, I remember thinking that the biggest obstacle to quitting was not just the physical addiction to nicotine, but the fact that cigarettes had simply become a part of my day. Addictions slowly (or quickly) carve time for themselves in our life, so that even when we decide to stop engaging in the addictive behavior, there is a chasm left between the time before engaging in it and the time after engaging in it that needs to be filled. The hardest thing is beginning to reimagine our life as something whole even without the thing we stop doing.
I was talking to my husband’s little cousin the other day. She’s 16 and she is the typical fried-brained teenager who has been conditioned to expect that anything should be presented in small 15-second soundbites that you can scroll through if the gratification doesn’t hit within the first two seconds. By the way, I’m not saying this as a jab at the younger generations: my generation was fried-brained in a different sense, and besides, I know plenty of people older than me whose mind has been beaten to a pulp by the mechanisms of social media.
What I thought was funny, but also a bit worrying, was her fidgety demeanor whenever she had to spend more than a couple of minutes without fiddling with her phone. She was in principle no different than me after an hour of not smoking–except that the withdrawal symptoms kick in much more quickly. I asked her if she could fathom spending a day doing absolutely nothing that she didn’t have to do (e.g., going to school, help clean the house, etc.) and she looked at me as if I started speaking in tongues.
To be fair, asking this of most teenagers is asking too much, regardless of the generation, and she’s the ‘go go go’ type anyway. But yesterday I spent the day doing exactly that–nothing that I didn’t have to do. It was refreshingly hard to accomplish.
Coming to a point of stillness is difficult when we are constantly bombarded by stimuli. Plus, our conscience of other people’s awareness and attention has expanded in recent years from the couple of people around us to potentially the whole world.
The ringing silence I experienced was a reminder of how abstract this type of conscience actually is: I am not in front of an audience. I am alone, a point in the existence reflecting upon itself. It was one of the longest days I had in my recent memory, but not in a bad sense. I can start to see why so many ancient stoics said that each day can be treated as a lifetime in and of itself.
I feel this is a good exercise to do regularly, so I will incorporate it into my practice. It is not meant to be a flight from reality. It is a way of coming back to it so I don’t lose sight of its right proportions.
MQS
