I play this game whenever I remember it. At my best it happens when I have a big response, especially anger or resentment. I pause and try it when I’m frustrated with a colleague. It is the very core of my coaching practice, and essential to working with any client. At its most powerful it has allowed me to finally see my parents and my partner. And it all started with a stone-faced man on a train.
Before Lyft, riding the BART or bus in San Francisco brought so many different kinds of people into full view of each other. Extracted from their hiding places and homes there was a moment to see the blood of the city – the river of people who flowed in its veins.
At least, they were physically visible. I could see their watches, shoes, clothes, and backpacks. Each piece of them evoked a story – sometimes different stories as different parts of myself reacted. A nice watch could be, “spoiled kid” or, “someone who appreciates artistry.”
And then there were the faces. A older woman’s face, tender with exhaustion. A child’s face, eyes soft as some wonder of her imagination played behind them. A hardened older man’s face, nearly frozen. He was the one who started it.
With all but a glance at him, my gut tightened. The physical clench of my gut arrived with dusty fear. The fear leapt quickly into iron resolve to resist. As my eyes shifted and my body toughened, a story emerged next in the rushing stream of compounding reactions: “that guy is an asshole.”
If I were to have slowed that rush down for a moment and looked more closely, I now know that I would have glimpsed an image of a similar man from many years before who used his piercing, stony eyes to stare me down, to crush me with dominance and disgust. And I might realize, if I kept slowing it down, that these were not the same men. These were not the same men.
As it turns out, that day, with enough time to look, my angry resolve to fight was kind enough to allow something new. I began to see him. This new man. This person now before me. Yes, the hardness was there. He wore the same kind of suit and watch as the man of my past. But as I stayed with him, with this real person before me, a little crack began to form in the rigid shell of “asshole” and, like a tiny, dim flicker of first light though a tall pine tree after a storm, curiosity began to soften the edges of his features. Who was he really?
Ever eager to create, my mind issued forth more stories. The world had hardened him. His wife only spoke to him in quick, terse snaps like branches cracking, about the car needing gas and the plumber didn’t show. At work he was completely alone – streams of people arriving one after the other to use their few minutes and bullet-pointed slides to extract a piece of his power or demand a decision from him, each of which could end his career. And leave him with nothing.
At last even these stories fell away, leaving more softness in their place. And a question came to me. Can I love him? Can I love even this person who evokes so much in me? Can I love even him?
And as I sat with that question, something softened. I felt tenderness grow. Whatever he was, had been, might be… fell away. Just a person on the train. And, there is only one clichéd way to describe it, my heart opened.
There are many related practices. Pema Chodron gives a quick introduction to the Tibetian practice of Tonglen.
Olivia Fox Cabane offers a visual trick that I was stunned to discover also seems to work. She suggests pausing to look around at whoever is visible. Walking down the hall. In the tiny square of a video call. Now imagine that they have big, beautiful angel’s wings. Of course you can use the spiritual image that works for you, but I was surprised to find that this worked despite my having no relationship with angels.
Now watch them for a few minutes, doing what they are doing, being how they are being, with those beautiful wings rising from behind them. I won’t even tell you what happens. Try it for yourself. And please share what you experience.
“Can I love them? Even them?” I play this game whenever I remember it. It is the core of my coaching practice. It is what makes being here among others beautiful.
Bonus
I highly recommend watching the quick mud tear-off video. This gnarly visual image really stuck with me and it’s a great reminder of this practice!
References
Fox Cabane, O. (2012). The charisma myth: How anyone can master the art and science of personal magnetism. Portfolio/Penguin.
Ricky McGough. (2013, January 8). The Importance of Tear-Offs [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O9NhtfWvvB0
Chödrön, P. (2022, August 8). Tonglen on the Spot. Tricycle: The Buddhist Review. https://tricycle.org/magazine/tonglen-spot/
