Was it a Good Idea? Dialectics again

In a similar vein to my recent post Difficult ≠ Disaster, I have been practising challenging my tendency to black and white thinking. 

Last weekend I took part in a dance performance, the first I have done in nearly four years. It involved lots of weekend rehearsals, time away from Lil' Peggy and Mr Peggy and one extremely long and stressful day for all of us! I deliberated for a long time before committing in August because I couldn't decide whether it would be a Good Idea or a Bad Idea to participate.

It's a particularly autistic thinking style although obviously only too familiar to most non-autistic people as well. We just seem to lean especially towards categorising things into two extremes: Good or bad, possible or impossible, nice or horrible, right or wrong.

For me, it makes the world easier to navigate: if I know what is what then I know what to expect, how to respond correctly to things, and it's clear what is safe, good and acceptable and what needs to be avoided. Grey areas are confusing and require a lot of processing, for which I don't always have capacity (or which takes away from my capacity for other things).

So it's a logical, sensible thing for my brain to do, to economise on power by simplifying things and ultimately to keep me "safe" by making sure I don't run into trouble of any kind (anything from physical accidents to social rejection).

The problem is, there are a couple of side effects.

• Things don't just fit into those categories. Most things in the world are a mixture of positive and negative, and there are situations where rules change and need to be flexible. Things can fit in more than one category or switch categories depending on context. 
• It can result in the "safe" option shrinking and shrinking to make sure I'm really certain it's safe.
• You can miss out on or eliminate things that would bring some benefit because they also have negative aspects.
• You can appear judgmental or critical (or overly liberal!) if you draw your lines in the wrong places. Which in itself is an example of what I'm talking about! There usually isn't a "right" or "wrong" place to draw the line - different people draw their metaphorical lines in different places!

So how to avoid these pitfalls if you are a naturally black-and-white thinker? Firstly just realising that you see and interpret the world through that lens can help. Once you realise and notice yourself doing it (as I did above!) you can start to enquire as to whether that's the only way it can be seen or whether there might be more options.

For myself, I think I've found three alternatives to a black and white view:

1. Perhaps most obviously but perhaps most difficult for a habitually and naturally binary thinker, is to see a continuum. Although there is an extreme at each end, states exist in between. To be honest, I think as well as being hard to do this one may not be the most helpful because even a continuum suggests the relationship between the two extremes is a linear scale - more to less, good to bad - which it may not always be (it may vary dependent on context, for example).

2. Get dialectical about it: both of these things can be true! I have waxed lyrical about this phrase before so I'll keep it brief, but if you can get your binary head around entertaining the coexistence of opposing states it will truly change your internal landscape (in a good way).

3. If that's a step too far, sometimes a manageable first step for me in shifting my thinking or perception is just to subtly relabel my categories. Instead of possible and impossible, I might choose likely and unlikely or easy and difficult. Bad and good might become upsetting and enjoyable. The lines soften, possibilities other than the extremes begin to exist.

I did the project and of course, it wasn't a Good Idea or a Bad Idea. I kept having moments where I thought I'd definitely done the Wrong Thing by doing it, or the Right Thing. When really, I had just done A Thing. There were positives and negatives. Moments where I remembered and relished in my love of dance and was so glad I hadn't let myself move further and further from that world, and moments where I wished so hard that I didn't have to put my small person through so much upset and spend so many of my resources and down time being sociable at the weekend when I am usually recharging. Swings and roundabouts. It doesn't have to be one or the other.

I'm glad I did it, and I'm glad it's over.

I love the hat!

I'm so proud of this hat! 

I decided to make rather than buy because I enjoy knitting and I haven't knitted anything for ages, and I'm trying to make sure I do some activities just for me that I enjoy when I can. So I'm proud I prioritised me rather than just buying. It also feels more personal and special than any old hat and more sustainable than buying (though that might just be my simple perception!).

I'm also proud that I taught myself a new skill. I chose a pattern that I liked but it used a technique I've never learnt before that looks complicated. So instead of picking something else I remembered that I like learning so I decided to give it a go. And then I taught myself! Usually I would think that I need somebody to teach me because it's too complicated for me to figure out and easier to learn in person. But I had a look round the Internet and worked out how to cable all by myself.

I'm proud that I did it well. I made quite a few mistakes along the way but for each of them I managed to figure out where I had gone wrong and what I had done and how to fix it. Previously I've always had someone else around more experienced than me who can fix mistakes or help me fix them, but I found out if I think about it I can work it out myself. I'm a better knitter than I thought, and than I was when I started the project. Of course there was also plenty of whingeing and panicking that Mr Peggy tolerated very well!

And finally, I'm proud it's not perfect. It's good, but it's not perfect - it's not 100% even on every row and stitch, and I didn't reverse the sewing for the turnup when I was sewing it up (my sewing up isn't the neatest either!). So I'm proud that I can take ownership of it and say "Yes, I made this. Yes, it's not perfect. But it's also good, and I like it." I don't have to be perfect and not everything I do has to be perfect. It's a cute, cosy hat, I made it, I taught myself a skill, I did some problem-solving and puzzling and I love the end product, imperfections and all. Plus, it means my one-of-a-kind won't be mistaken for a production line replica ;)

Who cares whether the toddler actually likes it 🤷‍♀️🤣 

(He pulls it straight off, as Mummy helpfully made it plenty big enough for the ever-growing giant. My friend is going to fleece line it for me so we'll see whether that makes a difference.)

Lost in a helicopter (sensory-being/object mindfulness)

Another day, another sensory-being mindful walk. I don't get these so often now - my sensory-being* is usually shared, which is wonderful in its own way - so being given nearly half an hour to myself with the instruction/agreement to use it for a mindful wander was a relished treat.

And the fact that I could take up that opportunity in autumn is not taken for granted. My brain was in a place where I could lose myself in the moment where often I tend to either become overwhelmed because of associations and memories, or to avoid or dissociate for fear of that happening.

So anyway, off I toddled on my mindful wander. My feet found a spiky floor that they enjoyed feeling through my shoes, and then some benches that are pleasant to stand on. However my attention wasn't drawn after that by the Wander Path (oh pants, it looks like I still haven't written a post about that to link to!) like it often is - most times some sight or texture will invite me in to linger but none did. I didn't push it, just wandered on, waiting to see. It was the scent of the fir trees in the end that called me, but what it called me to was a helicopter - the kind that you used to spin in the wind as a child; sycamore seeds.

And so I was lost to the world for a good five or ten minutes, first feeling the flat sides between my fingers - still and moving - the veins of the seed pod making gentle ridges beneath my skin. Inspecting it closely, drawn into the visual pattern, then turning it sideways and seeing the pale, smooth line it made against the backdrop of fallen leaves on the path below, feeling that line between my thumb and index finger, smooth yet sharp, curving round infinitely. The bump of the seed at the end in contrast. Then deeply breathing in to see whether it had a scent of its own: not the sniff you do when you think you want to smell something, or you want to demonstrate that you are smelling, but the deep slow inhale through the nose that allows your sensory receptors to really do their job to the full. Helicopters have a scent. Then I have to say I was thinking about as many senses as possible and did have to find out if it had a taste too, so I did lick the helicopter. I felt the patterns from earlier on my tongue. I became more deeply acquainted with the helicopter, understanding more of its being with every new aspect I experienced and the longer I spent on each. I went back to smelling, and one side smelt stronger than the other. The first side smelt stronger after I licked it - maybe one side smelt stronger because I had licked it more? It felt different between my fingers from when it was dry. I held it up to the breeze, watched it spin to the ground and it was gone. My moment finished, it passed on to its own next moment; the fleeting crossing of our paths stretched out by my curiosity and a suspended moment in time.

*sensory-being explained here by Jo Grace of The Sensory Projects, where I first encountered the concept. Or search my previous posts for my own witterings on the subject and how it overlaps with mindfulness - you can start here.