 |
| Copyright Shutterstock. |
Writing stories about myself wouldn't be complete without this confession: by the time I was 25 years old, I was cured of two useless emotions--guilt and embarrassment--but it took another 25 years to begin getting over another useless emotion--blame. The three are as useless in our emotional palettes as the appendix is in our bodies. They can also destroy a person as easily as the appendix can, when they burst and flood the body with corrosive, toxic feelings. They consume our energies, and we gain nothing in return. They push aside or disguise themselves as useful emotions, but in the end they are useless and time-wasting.
The First Useless Emotion: Guilt
The practice of guilt is especially damaging and destructive, but it is also chosen, whether we choose it for ourselves or it is chosen for us. John Steinbeck wrote, "Guilt is a selfish pastime...." in his novel, Sweet Thursday. I certainly have indulged myself in various selfish endeavors, but never, ever has it been the emotion of guilt. I was born a very logic-driven person, sometimes to my detriment, so guilt never made a single bit of sense to me. If anyone ever said to me, "You should feel guilty about that," I heard them saying, "You should rub cream cheese in your hair and poke your eyes out with a fork." Really? You think I should do that?
I figured out the guilt thing when I was very young, like five years old. A big part of it was that neither one of my parents was a guilt-inducer or guilt believer. I was raised in the Reform branch of the Jewish religion, which taught us many things we should do, like "Honor thy father and thy mother," but there was never an appended "or thou shalt burn in hell." More importantly, there was an implicit, but clear distinction between good and bad actions--and why it was important to own up to the bad ones.
When I did something wrong, my parents would explain why it was wrong, and they always used the concepts of right and wrong according to moral laws rather than religious doctrine to back them up. In that manner, I also learned the immense difference between guilt and regret. I learned to say "I'm sorry for doing that," but not ever to say, "I'm sorry for being a bad person."
As I got older and thought about it at length, I understood the exact difference between guilt and regret. If I intentionally did something bad or if I was willfully and grossly negligent, like not feeding a dog for three days or causing a traffic accident because I was fiddling with my phone, then I deserved to feel guilt--and probably a lot of it. If I inadvertently did something bad that caused someone pain, then regret was the right emotion, not guilt. If I conduct my life in a careful way and am not grossly negligent, then guilt plays no part in admitting I did something wrong. We all occasionally do wrong things. Regret is an opportunity to be a better person; guilt is an emotional prison sentence that mostly prevents us from being a better person.
Hand in hand with this distinction is the commitment to make things right, or at least better, if I do something wrong. If I regret something, then I should apologize and somehow attempt to correct the problem. People who exercise guilt rarely make things better in their indulgence, because they're too preoccupied with themselves. I can deeply regret the results of a choice I've made (and I have felt that many times), but I give myself some leeway. Since my practice and habit is to do my best in making a choice, being responsible about the time and effort I put into it, then I'm fine with the process of that choice. It's the results I regret, not the process. That separates and clearly defines the difference for me regarding regret and guilt.
Guilt has, however, affected my life--in my relationship with others when they felt their own guilt or had guilt heaped upon them. If a person is taught to feel guilt and is prone to feeling guilty when any adverse result occurs, or when they allow themselves to be judged by others irrationally, having a relationship with that person is always fraught with risk and volatility. I think of it as two people walking the same tightrope; when one person is tempted by the self-defeating allure of guilt, time after time, the other person's stability is challenged--or the relationship pulls apart.
I am forever bewildered by the importance of guilt in the Catholic religion. I've encountered its presence in many relationships I've had, many people I've known--both women and men. As a distinction, this isn't a discussion about the types of sin, of which I have little interest, but a comment about how the threat of feeling guilty governs people's actions. My mom was raised Catholic and had her methods of manipulation with my sister and me--anger, bribery, reasoning, soliciting my dad's help--but she knew guilt was out of the question as a means to manipulate us. In fairness to her, she had relinquished any attachment to guilt she may have had as a young woman by the time I was born.
By my early thirties, I'd discussed the subject of guilt with many people, especially the subject of Catholic guilt compared with Jewish guilt. If I told someone that I didn't think they should feel guilty about something, invariably they'd say, "Well you grew up Jewish. Didn't you experience guilt?" Yes, occasionally, but there was a big difference between Catholic guilt and Jewish guilt! Catholic guilt is turned inward on the person: "You did this action, and you're a bad person for doing it." Jewish guilt includes the rest of the world: "You did this action; what would your mother say?" or "You did this action; what does the Talmud state?" The Catholic version judges the person, while the Jewish version judges the action. Frequently Jewish guilt also includes an element of humor, as you see time and again in Woody Allen films. I have yet to see humor as part of Catholic guilt.
When I was given life's lessons by my parents, lectures on "right" and "wrong," harsh words about stupid or thoughtless things I'd done or decisions I'd made, most of the one-sided conversations ended with, "Go to your room and think about what you did. Then come back and tell me." There was no guilt associated with the exchange we had. It certainly didn't mean that I wasn't punished for my actions, but guilt played no part in that punishment. So, it was natural for me not to carry guilt into my adult life.
The Second Useless Emotion: Embarrassment
Embarrassment took longer to abandon, because every kid goes through a thousand embarrassments as they grow up. To me it's a much more complicated emotion, because it involves an action or trait and the active participation of other people. At least, that's the perception we have to justify the embarrassment we feel.
As a teenager I had a lot of acne, which probably embarrassed me more than anything else. I still remember the smell of Clearasil vividly. Each morning I would worry about whatever outbreak may have shown up overnight, and I would labor to try to cover it up. In truth, I probably didn't have any more acne than the average kid. It never occurred to me that other kids' acne was my concern, nor that it was anything to make fun of, but I didn't apply that to myself. My focus was on my face, not anyone else's.
That's the essence of embarrassment. It is you judging yourself and imagining that others are judging you in a similar or worse way. Getting rid of the tendency to feel embarrassed is a matter of changing your perspective. Our first instinct when an embarrassing situation happens is to feel embarrassed, of course, but what if you opted for a different reaction? What if you surprised everyone? There are actually several alternatives, and by understanding them, I realized embarrassment to be a useless emotion, absolutely useless.
The first alternative is to do what you think everyone else is doing: laugh at yourself.
I remember an episode from 8th or 9th grade when I went to sit next to the school's top athlete at lunch time. I knew him from math class, where we'd always been friendly. He was surrounded by several other guys who were popular athletes and friends of his. I sat down with my lunch, tried to open my potato chip bag, and gave an extra hard pull to open the top. The bag burst open and potato chips flew everywhere, raining down on people even at the next table. I was so embarrassed that, without a word, I picked up my tray and went to eat at another table (without my potato chips). Never did I attempt to have lunch with him again.
An alternative way to handle the situation would have been to laugh as hard at myself as everyone else was laughing. Besides, it was terribly funny. I could have lightened the episode even further by saying my potato chips had flown the coop and then carefully collecting each chip from the trays of others. It was a perfect opportunity to have a good laugh at myself--to put myself in their place and enjoy the amusement. What I learned much later in life is that, when given a chance to laugh at yourself, it's not only to be greatly valued but is also usually the last reaction anyone expects. In effect, you join their side in the laughter. Of course, laughing at yourself only works if what you did was funny. We get embarrassed for other reasons.
The second alternative is to explain your predicament while looking directly at those who are looking at you.
The remarkable effect of this tactic is that it often turns the tables in the embarrassment game. People will quickly assure you that there's no need to feel embarrassed, whereby you can say (hopefully, truthfully), "I don't feel embarrassed. I'm just clumsy (or forgetful or distracted or experiencing an acne outbreak)." Most people will, at that moment, be startled by that fact and turn their attention on themselves, wondering if they also would not be embarrassed. Their assumption that you'd feel embarrassed is incorrect.
When I first began to realize embarrassment was a useless emotion, I became curious about others, and I would ask a single question if a person ever said they were embarrassed by something. I'd say, "If you're walking down a street where other people are walking in the opposite direction, are you more aware of yourself looking at them or of them looking at you?" At the point in my life when I was never conscious of others looking at me, I knew I had kicked the embarrassment habit.
There is a third alternative to feeling embarrassment, when people are outwardly rude and try to embarrass you to gain something for themselves. It's rare, but it does happen. Give it right back to them by drawing attention to something that is more embarrassing about them. This alternative requires some self-control and quick thinking, but it usually works.
While attending a professional tennis match once in Oakland with my girlfriend, who had been a professional tennis player and knew the players, we sat in very good seats near the court. Several of those in the section had chosen a seat close to their assigned seats but not quite in them. I was sitting in the seat next to the one I was assigned, because my seat was occupied. In the middle of the match (which involved the great Martina Navratilova), a young woman showed up and demanded that I get out of her seat. I asked her to sit in a nearby seat (two seats away) until the game was over, so we could settle the seats between games. She responded by getting really belligerent and swearing at me.
She depended on me being embarrassed and, therefore, moving, and I could tell that everyone around us was interested in what would happen. It was the perfect opportunity to reverse the tables, and I said, clearly but quietly, "Your manners are almost as bad as your perfume. Now sit down." It was true--she must have used a bottle of the stuff that morning. Everyone around us started to laugh, and she sat. My girlfriend was beside herself, trying not to look at me for fear that Martina (a good friend of hers) would hear her laughing. After the game we sorted out the seats, but the woman was too embarrassed to stay.
It's very rare the third alternative needs to be used, but I'll resort to it rather than allow myself to feel embarrassed or unjustly manipulated.
I try to be sensitive to other people's embarrassment, unless a person is really rude and needs quieting. Just as there are alternatives to feeling your own embarrassment, there are alternatives in helping others not feel that useless emotion. The best and easiest method to allay the feeling is to immediately change the subject. (This can work for yourself, but not as easily.) If you detect that someone is sliding into embarrassment, say or do something that is totally off-subject. "Hey, I meant to tell you about a new show I saw on TV. Have you seen such-and-such?" If you're part of a crowd, another astute person in the crowd might jump in at that moment to help redirect the focus and ease someone's embarrassment.
Another technique to reduce or eliminate another person's embarrassment is to share the moment with the other person. If you're at a party and someone drops their plate of appetizers on the carpet while conversing with a crowd, my instinct is to say something like, "I did the same thing the other day, although mine also included a glass of red wine. Here, let me get a cold sponge to clean that up." Others will also automatically pitch in at that moment, to help the person get through the allure of embarrassment. We all know how it feels.
The fact that embarrassment is so easy to dissipate or dilute demonstrates how useless it is. What purpose does it serve? I don't think it serves any purpose.
The Third Useless Emotion: Blame
I have realized blaming others is a useless emotion, that it can be as destructive as guilt and can stay even longer. When you harbor blame for someone, you can hold onto it for decades. It was not until I did in-depth work with psychologist Gail Montgomery that I learned the ropes of blame and decided to let it go.
During discussions with Gail (who I profiled in one of my Meetings With Remarkable People essays), I would often mention I blamed my mother, for instance, regarding something that had happened over thirty years before that--and I could still feel it. One day, Gail, in her inimitable style, said, "Well, let's fix that. You've blamed her long enough."
She told me that, in order to blame someone, you have to use your energy and keep using it, over and over again. There is no limit or end to that expenditure, even after the person dies. She had me imagine placing the reason for the blame into a little box, sealing the box, and placing it on a table between where my mother sat and I sat. Then she had me imagine my mother picking up the box, sitting back down, and holding it in her lap.
Then Gail had me imagine, in all kindness, telling my mother that the box was now hers to hold, that she was forever responsible for it and could do whatever she wanted with it. She could hold it, place it back on the table, or throw it away, but she couldn't give it back to me. It was no longer mine. In effect, I was permanently letting go of blame by acknowledging it was someone else's responsibility to hold. I didn't care what the other person did with it; that wasn't my concern.
Immediately I started to feel less of a weight on me, as I relinquished boxes of blame. Carrying blame is like carrying a box of rocks through your life, and I could choose to not do that anymore. I never had to think about those things again. This probably sounds like a self-help lecture, but it's a bit of wisdom from a very wise woman. The key for me was to "box" the blame, all of it, into a container that could be transferred to someone else. You simply acknowledge who was responsible for something and stop putting energy into blaming that person. The result of that exercise not only made life easier for me, but it allowed me to view blame as another useless emotion.
There’s a coda to that lesson, an extra benefit. It was one of those “AHA” moments with Gail. Blaming someone may very well hide the fact that you’re partly or entirely responsible for what happened. If you’re honest with yourself, you identify what portion of responsibility is yours and what part is the other person’s. It may even result in your apologizing to the other person and getting an apology in return. Blame, like guilt and embarrassment, often obscures true actions and feelings.
A Few More Thoughts
I haven't been able to identify any other useless emotions, but there may be a few. Maybe jealousy and envy are useless. I haven't felt jealousy in decades and only recall my reaction as being one of distaste and self-ridicule when I felt it, as if to say, "I may have a reason to feel jealous, but that's an indication of something wrong in the relationship. It's a warning sign."
I feel envy very, very rarely. If you envy someone, you want something they have--a material object, a good job, good health, good circumstances. I felt some envy of people in my twenties, when I was very poor, but it never really set well with me, because it required that I not be happy for the person, which I invariably was. I might envy a person’s car, but there was time to earn money and buy my own car. Still, I haven't worked hard at getting rid of envy; sometimes it spurs me into action. That happened a couple years ago when I envied other people who had dogs that were well-behaved. I'm sure my wife felt the same envy, so it spurred us on to get help in training our big, rambunctious dog. He's now quite well-behaved and is the envy of others, after hundreds of hours of dedicated work by all three of us.
Guilt, embarrassment, and blame occupy your life if you let them. They take up your energy and focus; they tire you out. They get in the way of good emotions. When a friend says they feel guilty about something, I usually probe a little to find out why. Very often it's a matter of them feeling regret, rather than guilt, but the word "guilt" is used reflexively. It's a matter of habits learned from parents, religion, and social environments.
My old friend, Steve Porges, always used to say, "Be good to yourself." So, be good to yourself: work through and release whatever guilt, embarrassment, and blame you might feel. They're really useless things to carry around.
