Often we've been told "trust your instinct," to "go with your gut", act on what "feels" right. However, we immediately start masking it with seemingly rational, logical explanations, dismissing what we already know subconsciously to be true in favor of some outside option instead of listening to ourselves, the best source of what's real for us. Why is it so hard to trust that we know our own minds better than anything or anyone else? Our bodies are wonderful alert systems - if we let them be. The basic "fight or flight" response depends on it.
Early cavemen knew that. They likely didn't to stop and think and analyze if there were truly butterflies in their stomach or if they had perhaps put too much spice on the woolly mammoth steak they'd had for dinner the night before. Their instincts were all they had and it was vital that they trust them or they would quite literally be eaten by that which would otherwise become dinner. Though the stakes are no longer quite as high, since we are no longer in danger of killing our prospective meal before it makes a meal of us, we still have plenty of other decisions to navigate without complicating that process by consulting self-help books, Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz, therapists, support groups or psychics when we already possess the most reliable decision making tool available. Yet, too often, we ignore it.
When our brains push the override button, that mechanism to discern shuts down, buried under a pile of logical justifications, mental red tape, obscuring what's real. As with any muscle, without use, atrophy sets in. It becomes as hard to to get a straight answer out of ourselves as it is to get honesty out of a politician. And just as convoluted. In all of our consulting of "reliable" sources, we wind up with no real trustworthy information at all. And how do we know that? Our gut tells us. Because the butterflies are still restless. So we chalk it up to indigestion and take an antacid to shut them up. And wonder why we still don't know. And unrelentingly, they continue to nag at us, trying to deliver their message. Thank goodness they don't give up on us as we've given up on them. But it doesn't have to be this hard.
Early cavemen knew that. They likely didn't to stop and think and analyze if there were truly butterflies in their stomach or if they had perhaps put too much spice on the woolly mammoth steak they'd had for dinner the night before. Their instincts were all they had and it was vital that they trust them or they would quite literally be eaten by that which would otherwise become dinner. Though the stakes are no longer quite as high, since we are no longer in danger of killing our prospective meal before it makes a meal of us, we still have plenty of other decisions to navigate without complicating that process by consulting self-help books, Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz, therapists, support groups or psychics when we already possess the most reliable decision making tool available. Yet, too often, we ignore it.
When our brains push the override button, that mechanism to discern shuts down, buried under a pile of logical justifications, mental red tape, obscuring what's real. As with any muscle, without use, atrophy sets in. It becomes as hard to to get a straight answer out of ourselves as it is to get honesty out of a politician. And just as convoluted. In all of our consulting of "reliable" sources, we wind up with no real trustworthy information at all. And how do we know that? Our gut tells us. Because the butterflies are still restless. So we chalk it up to indigestion and take an antacid to shut them up. And wonder why we still don't know. And unrelentingly, they continue to nag at us, trying to deliver their message. Thank goodness they don't give up on us as we've given up on them. But it doesn't have to be this hard.
Some call it intuition, sixth sense, or simply the common sense of heightened awareness of one's surroundings, but there's no denying that something is happening, physically. Our skin starts to tingle, the hairs on the back of our neck start to rise and something in the air seems sharper, something almost tangible. Similar to the feeling of walking down a dark alley, late at night when the air feels charged, awareness is on high alert and we can "feel" the presence of a stranger behind us. Why? Because we "know" if we whirl around unexpectedly we could touch it. We know this, for fact, because our body cues us with a sense that is keener. Primal, even. It's like we can smell that something is....up. And it scares us. So we hind behind our mind again and start consulting our sources. We've become so far removed from ourselves we know longer recognize it, let alone trust it.
The answers are already there, if only we'd look. If it feels bad, it's a good bet that it is. If it feels dangerous, better consider looking over your shoulder and be ready to pop the threat in the head with a good right hook. If it feels good, it probably is or we'd have sensed the "wrongness" of it - there's no need to second or third guess it, and immediately assuming we don't know our own minds so need proof before we believe ourselves. When did we become our own enemy? The mind has nothing to do with it. The mind tries to rationalize the irrational. But our gut knows. And doesn't waste a lot of time in philosophizing or justifying. It just states the facts. And we tell it to stop being rude.
Have you ever met someone that, on immediate introduction, your body just recoils and you cannot get far enough away from them. And it has nothing to do with whether they ate garlic for lunch. They say the right words, are perfectly polite, don't do anything considered offensive yet, for an inexplicable reason you want nothing to do with them and feel a seemingly irrationally threatened? But how irrational is it, really?
Have you ever met someone that, on immediate introduction, your body just recoils and you cannot get far enough away from them. And it has nothing to do with whether they ate garlic for lunch. They say the right words, are perfectly polite, don't do anything considered offensive yet, for an inexplicable reason you want nothing to do with them and feel a seemingly irrationally threatened? But how irrational is it, really?
Instead of trusting our gut, we chastise ourselves for being impolite, lecture ourselves why we shouldn't feel that way - "you have no PROOF!" we argue with ourselves, "Stop that nonsense and be nice - what's wrong with you?" ("Not a damn thing" smirks our indignant gut. "It's so CLEAR!"). "Hush!", we say. So we feel guilty at our uncharitable attitude and resign ourselves to smile and make nice, all the while still not sure. And the butterflies nag at us some more.
Pretty soon, we no longer know what we think, why we think it, all we know is something's not jiving. We start to wonder if it's us and we redouble our efforts to rationalize or explain why we should instead of accepting what is. We let fear and mistrust win. The mind taunts us, while the butterflies get buried by layers of logic. We start seeking therapists to help us understand why these relationships don't make sense. We start to listen to our friends, well meaning, but not qualified to inform us about what we are really feeling. They are, after all... not us. And even if we could hear them, the butterflies are no longer talking. Their wings are laden down with the weight of too much logic and rationalization, tangled in circular arguments until they too, have a headache and given up. Our faith in the truth, misplaced, no longer rests with ourselves. In our quest to fit in and not appear selfish, or worse, irrational (gasp! What would people think if I did that?!) in our choices, we follow advice of what others think we should do and ignore our own instincts. We tolerate that which we don't want and makes us uncomfortable and run from that which we do, all for the sake of appearances and misguided trust wires. Along the way, we've forgotten to trust ourselves as navigators of our own lives.
Maybe we can try to remember that the next time the butterflies do their dance in our bellies. Instead of reaching for the nearest antacid and the therapist's number, maybe we can just listen and not try to censor them. Because they won't let us rest until their message is delivered, anyway. Might as well just listen to them in the first place, and save ourselves a lot of time and angst. If we can do that, our instinct muscles will strengthen and we won't need so much validation - and maybe we can finally remember that we already had the answers in the first place if only we'd asked ourselves and actually listened, without judgement.
Pretty soon, we no longer know what we think, why we think it, all we know is something's not jiving. We start to wonder if it's us and we redouble our efforts to rationalize or explain why we should instead of accepting what is. We let fear and mistrust win. The mind taunts us, while the butterflies get buried by layers of logic. We start seeking therapists to help us understand why these relationships don't make sense. We start to listen to our friends, well meaning, but not qualified to inform us about what we are really feeling. They are, after all... not us. And even if we could hear them, the butterflies are no longer talking. Their wings are laden down with the weight of too much logic and rationalization, tangled in circular arguments until they too, have a headache and given up. Our faith in the truth, misplaced, no longer rests with ourselves. In our quest to fit in and not appear selfish, or worse, irrational (gasp! What would people think if I did that?!) in our choices, we follow advice of what others think we should do and ignore our own instincts. We tolerate that which we don't want and makes us uncomfortable and run from that which we do, all for the sake of appearances and misguided trust wires. Along the way, we've forgotten to trust ourselves as navigators of our own lives.
Maybe we can try to remember that the next time the butterflies do their dance in our bellies. Instead of reaching for the nearest antacid and the therapist's number, maybe we can just listen and not try to censor them. Because they won't let us rest until their message is delivered, anyway. Might as well just listen to them in the first place, and save ourselves a lot of time and angst. If we can do that, our instinct muscles will strengthen and we won't need so much validation - and maybe we can finally remember that we already had the answers in the first place if only we'd asked ourselves and actually listened, without judgement.
Love this!
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