Living with Uncertainty; Electing Mindfulness

It is no surprise that many people—patients and acquaintances—have been talking with me about the anxiety they feel in response to the rhetoric of the current election cycle.  Indeed, the divisive language that is daily bandied about, coupled with very real domestic and international challenges, contributes to creating a perfect storm for anxiety and worse.  Many people report that they both obsess about and feel compelled to follow the latest declamations of the candidates, which heighten their discomfort:  anger, a common response to the day’s rhetoric, activates further anxiety.  A friend told me that her anxiety is so high that she believes it is affecting her health.  Regardless of where you stand on the political spectrum, the heated rhetoric is certainly having an effect not only on social discourse, but on our mental and physical health. 

I’ve been encouraging patients to limit their exposure to the news cycle on television and the internet.  Social media, with all its memes, often creates an echo chamber where we are constantly exposed to political messaging which activates and reinforces anger, feelings of helplessness, and anxiety.  The purpose of self-limiting choices is not to bury your head in the sand but to manage anxiety.  Find a balance that works for you.

However, there is a deeper challenge that arises:  how to live with uncertainty?

The reality is that none of us knows what the outcome of this particular election cycle will be.  Indeed, none of us knows what the next moment will bring.  None of us has sufficient power alone to control for a particular political outcome.  We are all subject to forces that are much larger than any one of us. 

In my view, there are psychological strategies—attitudes and ways of thinking—that can help you manage the anxiety concomitant to living with uncertainty.  At the foundation of them all is an honest assessment of your personal power and your place within the larger scheme of life. 

Each of us has personal power, although it is not always easy to discern where it lies at any given moment, nor how best to exercise it.   And when you’re feeling anxious, it is easy to forget that you have personal power—or misuse it. 

Your power lies in your ability to choose your response to what is arising in this moment.

Simple, but easy to forget.

Mindfulness is a very useful means for responding to uncertainty.  Mindfulness focuses attention and helps you develop clarity about what, if anything, needs to be done right now.  (See my blog, “Do What This Moment Requires” [July 12, 2016] for more.)   Mindfulness brings laser-sharp attention to this moment—here-and-now.  Further, mindfulness can help you become aware of what you might be adding to your anxiety.

There can be a number of impediments to mindfulness, though.  Old patterns of thinking, old beliefs (especially your beliefs about your power), substance use, and trauma all impact your ability to develop clarity and mindfulness.  Psychotherapy supports mindfulness by identifying and working through those impediments.

Beyond this, it seems to me that there are a number of decisions or actions you can take not just in this moment but over the next few months.  Several acquaintances have chosen to channel their anxiety into activism for social justice.  A couple of artists I know are channeling their responses into creating art that gives voice to their values and beliefs.  Another acquaintance is volunteering for a local political campaign.  Taking committed action can be a very powerful response to living with uncertainty. 

How will you choose to respond?

Step Back

On September 13, 2001, I boarded one of the few subway trains running in NYC and tried to get to work from my apartment in Brooklyn.  The mostly empty train left Brooklyn and was on its way to the Wall Street station when the train suddenly lost power and lurched to a stop in the tunnel.  The lights went out, and emergency lights flickered on, eerily illuminating four other passengers spread throughout the car.  From my seat in the second car of the train, I could hear explosive popping sounds several cars away.   Memories of the towers collapsing flashed in my mind’s eye, and I quickly began to feel very anxious and uneasy.  I could feel my heart racing faster and my blood pressure rising.  I looked across the car to the other passengers and sensed that we were all having similar thoughts:  another terrorist attack; we’re going to be blown up or drowned under the river.  My thoughts careened ahead, and I began thinking of how I might escape, wondering exactly how far we were from Wall Street. The more I entertained these catastrophic thoughts, the harder my heart pounded, and the more anxious and panicked I became.

But then, I caught myself, and saw how crazy my thinking was.  I became aware that my anxious thinking was making the situation much worse.  With effort, I was able to step away from the story, back into the present moment. 

I had created a story about what was happening and what might happen. By doing so, I no longer accurately perceived what was actually occurring.  I did not know what was taking place several cars away. I was speculating, imaginatively filling in the blanks to make sense of what I was hearing.  And the story I wrote in my head created suffering.  The reality was this: the train stopped in the tunnel, the lights were out, there were sounds—the origin and cause of which were unknown to me—and I was alive. Nothing bad was happening in the car where I sat.  For the moment, I was OK.

I consciously decided to stay focused on what I knew at that moment, and what I knew was that I was OK.  Being OK was enough.  The awareness of being OK was followed by a second thought:  there was actually nothing more to do. There was no action to take, given the knowns and unknowns of the situation.  If some new development arose that demanded a response, I would take action then.  But for the moment, I simply held to one thought:   ”Right now, I’m OK.”  Doing anything else would be foolhardy and unnecessary—and potentially disastrous.  Waiting with alert awareness was the best choice. 

Although it seemed an eternity, the train’s conductor soon announced that the train had lost power, and that the sounds I heard were caused by the train trying to generate power.  He stated that he would try to power up the train and get us to Manhattan.  After a few more moments, the train began to move and we soon safely arrived at Wall Street. 

I’ve thought about that morning a great deal over the years.  I’ve shared my experience with many people to illustrate how our minds can generate potent but unnecessary stories that distance us from the truth of the present moment and create anxious suffering.  We create stories during moments of uncertainty that, in turn, can generate powerfully aversive feelings.  Aversion then generates an incredibly strong impulse to flee the situation. Indeed, we may react prematurely, creating more discomfort and distress. 

Although stories tend to arise in stressful situations, self-generated stories ultimately have deeper roots.  They arise from unexamined, dysfunctional beliefs about ourselves—beliefs about one’s sense of agency and power, beliefs about our ability to tolerate uncertainty and strong feeling states.  Too often, dysfunctional beliefs and the stories that arise from them lead to the adoption of dysfunctional coping behaviors.  Addictions and other compulsions often have their roots in dysfunctional beliefs about one’s self and the world.

In any event, the stories we create about situations (and the feelings that arise with the stories) filter and distort our experience of reality.  And we conflate the feelings that arise in response to situations with reality itself.  A vicious spiral of anxiety and dysfunctionally reactive behavior may ensue. We make ourselves miserable as a result.

It need not be so.  Indeed, when you can step back from the stories, you can have a new experience.

Identifying the stories you tell yourself is an essential part of therapy.  Taking a critical look at the stories, how they function in your life, understanding their purpose, evaluating their utility are all aspects of therapeutic work. 

Stories and feelings will arise in any given situation.  Such is life.  Life unfolds; feelings arise and fall.  Feel the feelings.  Let the feelings be, but do not add to them by creating stories about them.  Be aware of the stories that might be generating feelings.  Learn to step away from the stories.  Step back into the reality of the present moment—with all its knowns and unknowns.    Your responses will be freer, clearer, and life-affirming.