Intentional Light
You Don't Know What You Don't KnowAwareness, the Observer, and My Knee-Jerk Life
You don't know what you don't know.
That sounds almost too simple, doesn't it? But the longer I live, the more meaning I find in those words.
Looking back, I recognize that I spent much of my life living what I now call my knee-jerk life. I was aware of what was happening around me. I had thoughts, feelings, physical sensations, opinions, and reactions. Plenty of reactions. LOL.
What I hadn't recognized was that I could observe those experiences without automatically becoming caught up in them.
I was aware, but I wasn't aware of awareness itself.
And I didn't know there was a difference.
The Toolbox
I don't spend time on shoulda, coulda, woulda regrets. I simply didn't have that particular tool in my life's toolbox.
You can't use a tool you don't know exists.
It wasn't until I began my inner journey that I started recognizing something I hadn't understood before. I could notice a thought without having to follow it. I could experience an emotion without immediately acting on it. I could become aware of physical discomfort without automatically trying to escape it.
That was new territory for me.
I didn't suddenly become an expert at any of it. Sometimes I recognized what was happening while I was reacting. Other times, I didn't recognize it until afterward.
And sometimes I made poor decisions anyway.
Imagine that. LOL.
But gradually, with practice, something began to change.
The Pause
The pause became my cue to remember.
At first, I had to practice it deliberately. Observe what was happening. Pause. Discern what was actually going on. Then choose how to respond.
Observe. Pause. Discern. Choose.
Simple words. Not always simple to put into practice.
I began to recognize that having a thought didn't necessarily make it true. Feeling something strongly didn't mean my interpretation of the situation was accurate.
My feelings were real. My assumptions might not be.
And assumptions can be nasty little creatures.
Give them a few scraps of information, and they'll build an entire case. They'll collect whatever supports their conclusion, overlook what doesn't, and present the verdict as though the evidence were overwhelming.
The ego makes a remarkably enthusiastic attorney. LOL.
One of my most important realizations was that protecting my self-image could become more important than examining my assumptions.
That's when things could get interesting, and not necessarily in a good way.
Eventually, questioning became part of my internal alert system.
What?
That little question could create a pause of its own.
Of course, not every situation calls for stopping to contemplate. If my hand is in a fire, I'm moving it. Instinct has its place.
But many uncomfortable experiences aren't emergencies, even when they feel urgent.
And that brings me to something I believe is especially important.
The Revolving Door
How many difficulties do we create, or make worse, simply because we want relief from discomfort?
An upsetting thought appears. A feeling becomes uncomfortable. Something frightens us, angers us, embarrasses us, or hurts.
And somewhere inside comes the demand:
I want relief. Now.
So we react.
Maybe we argue. Maybe we withdraw. Maybe we make a decision we haven't thought through. Maybe we reach for something that promises to make the feeling go away.
Sometimes we get temporary relief.
But the consequences of our reaction may create another uncomfortable experience, and around the revolving door we go.
Rumination, emotional reactions, impulsive decisions, attempts to escape discomfort. I wonder how many people recognize themselves somewhere in that cycle.
I certainly recognize parts of my own experience.
What I began discovering was that discomfort didn't always require an immediate response.
Sometimes I could allow myself to experience it without trying to change it. Sometimes, given a little time, my nervous system would settle. Sometimes I would discover that the story I had told myself wasn't even accurate.
And sometimes I still reacted.
Practice doesn't make me something other than human.
The Observer
Some people call it the observer. Others call it the witness to self. I think of it as awareness of awareness.
Whatever words we use, I'm talking about recognizing that we can notice our own thoughts, feelings, and physical sensations while we're experiencing them.
Not denying them. Not suppressing them. Not pretending they aren't there.
And certainly not floating two feet off the ground proclaiming some holy position.
Good grief. LOL.
I'm talking about an ordinary human experience.
The difference, for me, was learning that I didn't have to become entangled in every thought or be controlled by every feeling.
I could experience something fully and still have a choice about what to do next.
That doesn't mean I always make the best choice. It means I have another possibility available to me.
One I didn't recognize before.
Was It Just Me?
This is something I've wondered about as I look back over my life.
Was it just me?
How many other people have experienced difficulties because they didn't recognize this capacity to observe themselves?
How many have lived inside their thoughts without realizing they could step back and examine them?
How many have mistaken assumptions for facts, or urgency for necessity?
I don't know.
And I wouldn't presume that everyone's experience is the same as mine.
Life's difficulties have many causes. Awareness isn't a magic solution, and recognizing the observer doesn't make anyone immune to pain, loss, poor judgment, or the unexpected.
But I wonder how many people might benefit simply from discovering that this tool exists.
Not because they should have known sooner.
Because you don't know what you don't know.
Still Learning
My inner journey didn't change my past. It changed how I understand my experiences and how I sometimes respond to them now.
Looking back gives me perspective, not a reason for regret.
I still have thoughts. I still have feelings. I still encounter discomfort, uncertainty, and situations that test my patience.
The difference is that sometimes I recognize what's happening before I react.
Sometimes the pause arrives in time.
Sometimes it arrives afterward.
And sometimes I find myself thinking, Well, that was interesting. LOL.
I'm still learning.
Perhaps that's the point. Not to become someone who never reacts, never struggles, or never gets caught up in a story.
But to recognize that there may be a little space between what we experience and what we choose to do with it.
I didn't know that space was available to me for a long time.
Now I do.
And I wonder whether someone reading this might discover something they didn't know they didn't know.
You don't have to escape the human experience. You can learn to recognize what's happening while you're having it.
Still learning. Still observing. Still experiencing.
Perfectly imperfect. Just like this tree.
The never-ending journey. Until it is.
LOL.
