With another new year just around the corner, those of us with spiritual ambitions will probably start binging on podcasts or books about mindfulness and gratitude, or buy a new meditation cushion or yoga mat. Tis the season when even the most earnest intentions toward spiritual growth transmute into an earnest determination to reconstruct ourselves into the person we “should” be. The blissed-out meditator and unflappably patient parent. The compassionate, grateful, peaceful, evolved being that we’ve long been sure we could be with a little more discipline and grit.
For the longest time, I assumed that the ideal self I held in my mind’s eye was simply a perfected version of me, and, honestly, I was crazy about her. She was like me, but so much better, a more disciplined, compassionate, and forgiving version. If only I could bang out a few dents and give myself a fresh paint job, I thought, I could reach my goals. But after years of falling short, I came to see those aspirational images as more like fantasy. Models cobbled together from bits and pieces of (real or imagined) influences and examples I admired or envied. Rather than serving as inspiration, I began to experience them as mocking reminders of my spiritual and psychological shortcomings.
There’s obviously nothing intrinsically bad about exemplars and ideals. But in an individualistic, consumeristic, social media-driven milieu, it’s so easy to fall into a pattern of striving for vision-board perfection. At the same time, encouragement to relax, even for a moment, to let ourselves drift toward self-discovery and self-acceptance can trigger warning bells. In the abstract, “self-acceptance” may sound nice, but when we long for real change, it can feel dangerous, especially to energetic self-transformation junkies. It’s almost as if dedicated self-improvers—I’m a recovering one myself—fear that, without constant self-vigilance and self-correction, they would never get out of bed again or brush their teeth.
Some of us have run so fast and hard to be BETTER that the prospect of stopping, even for a moment, may feel like an existential threat. As many wisdom teachers have shared, such compulsive chasing may well be rooted in an implicit fear that the “I” who exists behind the self-improvement busywork is unworthy and shameful. Paradoxically, the image so many of us carry around with us of our deepest selves, perhaps unconsciously —as unloveable, unworthy, shameful, incompetent, stupid, and clumsy—has probably been conjured up by our ego precisely to keep us mucking about in the shallow, but ostensibly safe, waters of “personality improvement.”
The illusion of egoic safety, it seems, is associated with a more general illusion of control, something like: “If only you would get your act together and correctly arrange your body and circumstances, THEN you will be happy.” It’s a way of avoiding, rather than facing, the vicissitudes, accidents, and inevitabilities of existence—all that big stuff we manifestly cannot control. Instead, we are left with much to do and rewards to chase: “I will meditate. I will (grits teeth with effort) learn to be grateful, forgiving, and compassionate. I will become a fucking beacon of fucking unconditional love, and then—but not now, NEVER in THIS moment— I will be truly peaceful.”
Fortunately (sort of), the failure that ultimately follows such chronic, escapist, effortful striving can lead to self-discovery and self-acceptance. For most of us this isn’t because we suddenly recognize the wisdom of this alternative path, but because we may finally have exhausted ourselves in the circle dance of self-criticism and (failed) self-improvement. Year after year, we’ve signed up for the workshop, read the book, paid the expert. We’ve sworn to ourselves again and again, and with increasingly white knuckles, that THIS would be the year. In the wake of such repetitive, grandiose striving and failing, we may become open to a new, humbler possibility.
Of course, more fearful questions may immediately arise: “Isn’t it foolish to stop? What if I never get any ‘better’ than I am now? What if I never become braver or kinder? What if I’m never more than a mediocre meditator?” But whereas such mental activity may previously have sent us grasping for yet another self-help book or video, this time we might hold our seat. We might endure the momentary discomfort of the ego’s litany long enough to notice that these anguished, urgent thoughts too are still just thoughts. As we begin to glimpse ourselves unmediated by mental filters, constructs, and habitual chatter, we can sense the truth: the very idea of improving ourselves—our TRUE selves—is absurd.
Yes, of course, this self-acceptance teaching can, and often is, appropriated as yet more fodder for the ego. It may even be coopted into ever grander self-improvement narratives. Imagine being seduced into the viciously circular quest for self-improvement based on having recognized the poverty of self-improvement! What’s more likely, though, is that our mind will prefer to hear “self-acceptance” as self-indulgence or self-coddling. Then we may chase away our misgivings about eating more waffles or skipping meditation by reassuring ourselves that self-acceptance demands the satisfaction of every mental inclination and bodily urge.
And so long as we remain addicted to thought—constantly thinking about, rather than actually experiencing, ourselves—we remain vulnerable to such rationalizations and justifications. Nonetheless, is there anyone reading this post who does not understand that some change in their life might be desirable and skillful? And who does not also know that such change may require intention and consistent effort over time? For folks reading this post, all that is probably a given. The point here is simply that there’s nothing contradictory about our knowing simultaneously that we are both fundamentally gorgeous and that we might could use a haircut.
Not coincidentally, approaching change from a perspective of lack and unworthiness, even when we can pull it off, is often short lived. Apparently, scolding or whipping ourselves into being BETTER isn’t only unnecessary and unpleasant, but often ineffective. Fortunately, there’s a fun little self-experiment we can perform. To paraphrase one of my teachers: If you still believe that you can’t change without the scrutiny and direction of your internal disciplinarian, why not just give it a try and see for yourself? After all, if self-presence, self-discovery, and self-acceptance fail you, then, you can always return to beating yourself up again.
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