Self-Obsession

Good morning –

At the tail end of a jam-packed Sunday in which I felt “I got nothing done,” I washed dishes while Whitney sat at the kitchen table feeding our son and my mom scrubbed olive oil off the grates on the stove. As I rinsed another plate, I lamented how I wasn’t sure when I’d get my writing done or what the topic should be. After some sulking amidst the domestic symphony of running water, clanging metal, and our dear son eating away, Whitney said, “Have you considered writing about self-obsession?” 

I don’t know if I was more shocked by how spot-on her idea was or how I didn’t respond in a defensive, angry way. My mom laughed and chimed in, “We’re human. We’re all self-obsessed.” 

Despite enjoying the many elements of fatherhood, I knew I’d been more self-obsessed than usual lately. With personal, familial and professional shifts happening at once, and other changes on the horizon, I’ve gone on and on (and on) about “my schedule,” “my creative aspirations,” “my pursuits to earn money for our family,” etc. When our son cries after being fed, changed, cleaned, read to, played with, I look at Whitney and tell her I can relate to the little guy: All my needs are met. I’m well taken care of. I have boundless love in my life, yet I wail away while others look on baffled – what could be wrong?

When I responded to Whitney’s suggestion (after about 10-15 seconds, which felt like a victory!), I seconded my mom’s feedback and said, “Of course I’m self-obsessed. A) Last I checked, I’m human and B) I’ve been doing work in a spiritual program for about 15 years that says all my problems arise from obsession with self. This is pretty obvious and I'm not sure if it’s even worth writing about. Thanks for the idea.” 

Whitney went to bathe our son while I toiled away in the kitchen. I scraped burnt pasta off the bottom of a pan and ran Whitney’s idea through my head while defending myself to myself: I’m trying so hard to think of myself less and do more for the family; isn’t that enough? If I didn't have to do all I do around the house, I could pursue my spiritual program more and relieve some of my self-obsession! Don’t you know how much more I want to do for myself but don’t?! 

I still had no topic for my letter and re-complained to my mom about not being able to get around to everything I wanted to on Sunday (please note that while I did spend many hours out of the house on a family outing and later helping Whitney till her garden plot, I did get to ride my bike for 40 minutes, play pickleball for an hour, and meditate for 20 minutes –  the self-obsession is real). My mom asked, “Why don’t you just write every other week?” I told her it’s important for me to keep this commitment to myself even though I don’t often enjoy the initial act of sitting down to do it. “Oh, I thought you enjoyed writing your letter. Sorry.” 

Rather than describing the inner dialogue that comes with facing a blank Google Doc, I quoted what I thought was Harold Ramis: “There’s no joy in writing. Only joy in having written.” (After a quick search to confirm this, the internet says the quote is “I hate to write. But I love having written” and it’s attributed to Dorothy Parker or Frank Norris. Regardless, it’s a brilliant and succinct encapsulation of how writing can feel.) My mom said, “That could be your topic this week!” I said that it’s been a throughline in many of my letters and sulked in self-obsession a bit more as I piled the two Sunday papers then stuffed them in the recycling bin, annoyed that no article jumped out at me this week.

Then I received a text from a friend with a link to a bunch of articles on Pocket under the heading: “You’re Not So Bad: The Case Against Self Improvement.” Earlier that day I’d spoken to this friend about a memoir we’re both reading, and I said how I was getting frustrated with the writer because I experienced their pursuit of wellness and healing as being too self-obsessed. I said something like, “No wonder they’re not finding what they’re looking for. All of their pursuits to heal are being done in a vacuum; none of them involve being in actual relationships within a community or serving other people (which is the crux and missing piece of my own spiritual program lately given my self-obsession saga above).” Granted this author experienced horrific trauma that I thank god I never have, so their pursuit and what works for them is not up to me, but I couldn’t help but judge (at least to the point I’ve gotten in the book) how none of the pursuits involve being shoulder-to-shoulder with others and seeking ways to serve and love them.

Of the many headlines on the Pocket link, the one that jumped out at me the most was “The Law of Reversed Effort: The Harder You Try, the Harder You Fall” by Jonny Thomson. While the concept is ancient, the term “The Law of Reversed Effort” was coined by Aldous Huxley. He wrote: “The harder we try with the conscious will to do something, the less we shall succeed. Proficiency and the results of proficiency come only to those who have learned the paradoxical art of doing and not doing, or combining relaxation with activity, of letting go as a person in order that the immanent and transcendent unknown quantity may take hold.” 

After teeing up his article with Huxley, Thomson immediately gives credit to the Daoist concept of “Wu Wei” as the forebear of The Law of Reversed Effort. In essence, Wu Wei means to surrender, which is anathema to someone like me when I’m trying to get whatever it is I think I want or need. Thomson writes, “To surrender to a greater power — or a nobler, righteous one — is not an act of cowardice. It is an act of profound wisdom.” He continues, “It is not some lazy torpor, or an excuse for a duvet day and Netflix binge. In fact, it is often the very opposite. Wu Wei is to appreciate, recognize, and accept the pull of forces far greater than us. It is to walk the path that opens up and push the door that gives. Call it gut-feeling, intuition, fate, divine calling, or whatever, but Wu Wei is to stop doing what you think is right, and to let yourself be pulled by some other power.”

This made me think of a story that one of my spiritual advisors, L, likes to tell me. Years ago he went white-water rafting with his family. Terrified, he watched the water race down among massive rocks in the raging rapids. The guide asked who’d like to give this challenging course a try, and L volunteered. I’m paraphrasing L’s story but the guide’s message was, “Don’t try and steer the raft. The water knows where to go and how to avoid the rocks. The more you try to steer the raft, the more likely you will wipe out. Trust me, hold on tight to the raft, but let go of trying to control where it goes. It will not end well.” 

Thomson’s short article (which takes five minutes to listen to on the Pocket app) offers practical ways to apply Wu Wei in regards to writing, technical skills, stress, anxiety, and conversations. My favorite takeaway pertains to the big life goals, the big shifts, the reminder that all the best people in my life came into it without my planning, all of my foundational interests were not “chosen by me” but as an extension of who I naturally am, that all the best experiences big and small weren’t the ones I thought would be. So what will it take for me to let go of the core of my self-obsession, aka thinking I know what’s best and that I’m ultimately in control?

As my mom said, it’s in our nature to be self-obsessed; we are human. But maybe I can be a bit more like my friend L in the raft. I can do something that excites and interests me while letting go of rigidity about how the ride will end. In the rapids of life, I can hold on to my center, have fun, and let the river take me where I'm supposed to be.

Sincerely,

Matt

P.S. I made another podcast (aka audio of me reading a previous newsletter). Listen here.

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matthewleebaron.com