I once heard a comedian say this as a put-down to a noisy heckler: ‘One hundred million sperm — and you had to be the one that got through!’ When you think about it in these terms, that it only takes one in a hundred million sperm to fertilise an egg, you realise you are pretty lucky to be alive. When you think about it even more broadly, and consider the chain of events that had to take place in order for you to be here — how your mother had to meet your father, and how their mothers and fathers had to meet each other, and so on, backwards to the dawn of life — it seems almost miraculous that you exist at all. In other words, you are privileged to be alive.
A ‘privilege’ means an advantage granted to a particular person or group. And an advantage is a condition or circum -stance that puts us in a favourable position, or provides us with a valuable opportunity. You are one of a particular group that scientists refer to as Homo sapiens, and the fact that you are alive when so many members of your species are dead, puts you in a favourable position. It gives you a valuable opportunity to connect, care and contribute; to love and learn and grow. To treat life as a privilege means to seize that opportunity; to appreciate it, embrace it and savour it.
This is, of course, easy to say, but how do we actually do it? Well, if you’ve been applying the principles in this book, you’re already well on the way. For just as wood and fire combine to give heat, purpose and presence combine to create a sense of privilege.
Let’s come back to the idea that life is like a stage show, and on that stage are all your thoughts and feelings, and everything that you can see, hear, touch, taste and smell. The ‘reality gap’ is only one part of that stage show. However, when the whole stage goes black — except for one big spotlight on the reality gap — then it seems as if there is nothing to life but our pain. (This is what happens when we fuse with the ‘not good enough’ story.)
So what if we bring up the lights on the rest of the show? What if we illuminate every aspect? What if we notice both the reality gap and all the life around that gap? (For no matter how large the gap, our life is larger.) What if, from that space of expansive awareness, we notice the ways in which life is not lacking; we notice the aspects that do meet our needs and desires? And what if we should discover something very precious? What if we should find some hidden treasure — something that gives us a sense of fulfilment even in the midst of our great pain?
Of course, your mind may say, ‘While I have this problem/loss to deal with, nothing else matters’ or ‘Without X, Y, or Z my life is empty/meaningless’ or ‘I don’t care about anything else’. But if you get hooked by these thoughts, you will get lost in the smog: you will stumble around, scarcely able to breathe. If you want some relief from this smog, you’ll need to get present: unhook from those thoughts, cultivate an expansive aware ness and notice the whole of your life, not just the ‘bad’ bits.
What might happen to your life if you were to notice all those things that most of us take for granted? And more than just notice them: appreciate them, savour them and treasure them? Remember B.F. Skinner, treasuring his last mouthful of water? What if you were in this moment to treasure your breathing, or your eyesight, or your hearing, or the use of your arms and legs? What if you were to treasure your next encounter with friends, family or neighbours? Have you ever been for a walk and celebrated the beauty around you? Have you ever breathed in the air and rejoiced in its freshness? Have you ever relished the warmth of an open fire or a comfortable bed? Have you ever savoured a home-cooked meal, delighted in freshly baked bread, or ‘loved every minute’ of a long hot shower? Have you ever found joy in a hug, or a kiss, or a book, or a movie, or a sunset, or a flower, or a child, or a pet?
At this point, your mind might be saying, ‘Yeah, Russ, that’s all very well, but what about those people who are stuck in truly horrific circumstances? Surely this isn’t relevant to them?’ My answer is: first things first. When reality slaps us in the face, first we need to drop anchor and hold ourselves kindly. Next we need to take a stand: if we can’t or won’t leave, then we change what can be changed, accept what can’t be changed, and live by our values. If we’ve done all that and the situation remains horrific then, yes, it’ll likely be very hard to find anything to appreciate, savour or treasure. But it won’t be impossible.
For example, in his autobiography Long Walk To Freedom, Nelson Mandela describes how during his many years in prison on Robben Island, he was able to savour his early morning marches to the quarry; to appreciate the fresh sea breeze and the beautiful wildlife. Or take the case of Primo Levi, an Italian Jew who was sent to Auschwitz concentration camp for the last year of the Second World War. In his moving book about that experience, If This is a Man, Levi describes how he endured backbreaking labour, day in day out, in the freezing Polish winter, wearing only the thinnest of clothes. But when the first days of spring appeared, he was able to truly savour the warmth of the sun. Finally, consider Victor Frankl, another Jewish prisoner in Auschwitz. In his book, Man’s Search For Meaning, he reveals how even in the midst of all that horror, he was still able to treasure the sweet memories of his wife.
Notice I’m not suggesting we try to distract ourselves or pretend the reality gap isn’t there. I’m not saying we should look at all the other parts of the stage show and ignore the bits we don’t like. I’m not proposing that we try to think positively and tell ourselves that this is all for the best. (You can try these approaches if you like, but they don’t usually work very well — at least, not in the long term.) What I am suggesting is simply this: let’s bring up the lights on the whole stage show. Let’s see the gap clearly and what’s around it and also appreciate the privilege of seeing the show. And then let’s find something in the show that we can treasure.
Of course, like many of the things in this book, this is much easier said than done. Why? Because the default setting of the human mind is to focus on what we don’t have; on what’s not good enough; on what needs to be fixed, solved or changed, before we can appreciate life. And although we were sometimes told as children to ‘smell the roses’ and ‘count our blessings’, we grew up in a culture that far preferred to focus on the negative, painful and problematic. (If you’re in any doubt about that, just open any newspaper and notice what percentage of stories are predominantly negative, painful and problematic.)
This means that when someone suggests we appreciate what we have, our minds may very well be cynical. So if your mind is now protesting, please treat it as if it’s a loud voice in the far corner of a café: let it have its say, but don’t get caught up in it, or sucked into any kind of argument. And instead let’s consider: how can we appreciate what we have?
It’s actually quite simple to develop appreciation for the things we have. All we need to do is pay attention. But we don’t just do this in any old way we want. We pay attention in a particular way: with openness and curiosity. Let’s try it now. As you read this sentence, notice how your eyes are scanning the page; notice how they move from word to word without any conscious effort on your part; how they go at just the right speed for you to take in the information.
Now imagine how difficult life would be if you lost your eyesight. How much would you miss out on? Imagine if you could no longer read books, or watch movies, or discern the facial expressions of your loved ones, or check out your reflection in a mirror, or watch a sunset, or drive a car.
When you reach the end of this paragraph, stop reading for a few seconds, look around and notice — and I mean really notice — five things you can see. Linger on each item for several seconds, noticing its shape, colour and texture, as if you are a curious child who has never seen anything like it. Notice any patterns or markings on the surface of these objects. Notice how the light reflects off them, or the shadows they cast. Notice their contours, outlines and whether they are moving or still. Be open to the experience to discover something new, even if your mind insists it will be boring.
Then once you have finished, take a moment to consider just how much your eyes add to your life; consider what the gift of vision affords you. What would life be like if you were blind? How much would you miss out on?
***
This brief exercise links together all the three P’s: presence, purpose and privilege. As we pay attention, with openness and curiosity, we get present. Then we infuse this relationship with purpose: we connect with our eyes; we care about them; and we reflect on how they contribute to our lives and, in turn, we contribute our gratitude. And as we truly appreciate what eyesight gives us — as we treasure the very miracle of vision itself — then in that moment, we get a sense of privilege.
Now as you continue reading, notice how your hands so effortlessly hold this book. When you get to the end of this paragraph, pick up the book, turn it upside down, flip it gently into the air and catch it. Spend a good minute or so playing with the book in different ways. Toss it from hand to hand, or flick through all the pages, or raise it up high and let it drop, catching it before it hits the ground. And as you do these things, pay attention to the movements of your hands. Be curious about them: notice how they know exactly what to do; how the fingers and thumbs work so smoothly together. And be open to the experience; be open to learning from it, even if you really don’t want to do it.
***
So, how amazing are your hands? How difficult would life be if you didn’t have them? When you reach the end of the paragraph, use your hands to do something pleasant to yourself — gently stroke your scalp, massage your temples, rub your eyelids, or massage a shoulder. Do this for a minute or so, slowly and gently, and again, bring that childlike curiosity and openness to the process; notice how your hands move, and the sensations they generate, and the way your body responds.
Once you’ve done this, consider how much your hands contribute to your life and how much they enable you to do.
***
Now try another exercise, which focuses on the breath. As you continue reading, slow your breathing. Take a few slow deep breaths and let your shoulders drop. And as you appreciate the simple pleasure of breathing, reflect on the role your lungs play in your life. Consider how much you rely on them. Consider how much they contribute to your wellbeing. Millions of people all over the world have heart and lung diseases that make breathing very difficult — and if you’ve ever had asthma or pneumonia, you know just how difficult and scary that can be. And maybe you’ve visited someone in a hospital or a nursing home who was suffering from severe heart or lung disease; their lungs filling with fluid, the only way they could breathe was via inhaling oxygen through a gas mask. Imagine if that person were you. Imagine being in that situation and looking back over your life and remembering when your lungs once functioned well and how much easier your life was way back then. How much do we rely on our lungs and on our breath? And how often do we take these things for granted? Can you, just for a moment, notice your lungs in action and notice the breath flowing rhythmically — in and out — and appreciate how privileged you are to have this experience?
***
If we take the time throughout the day to slow down and appreciate what we have, we soon develop a greater sense of contentment. We can do this at any time and in any place. We simply take a few seconds to notice, with openness and curiosity, something that we can see, hear, touch, taste or smell: perhaps the smile on the face of a loved one, or motes of dust dancing in a beam of sunlight, or the sensation of breath moving in and out of our lungs, or the sound of a child laughing, or the smell of brewing coffee, or the taste of butter on toast.
Now I’m not suggesting for a moment that this will solve all your problems. Nor am I asking you to pretend that everything in your life is hunky-dory and that you have no needs, wants and desires. The purpose of this practice is simply to increase our fulfilment. ‘Finding the treasure’ is a radically different psychological state to our default mindset of lack and discontentment and being fixated on trying to close or avoid the reality gap.
So, next time you drink some water, why not slow down a little and savour the first sip? Swill it once or twice around your mouth and notice how it instantly eases the dryness.
And next time you’re out walking, why not take a few moments to notice the movement of your legs: their rhythm, strength and coordination, and appreciate the job they are doing of moving you around.
And next time you eat a delicious meal, why not savour the first mouthful and marvel at how your tongue is able to taste the food, and how your teeth are able to chew, and how your throat is able to swallow?
We all have a tendency to take life for granted, or to forget about all the wonder outside the reality gap. But it doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t have to wait until we’re lying on our deathbed to appreciate the simple pleasure of drinking water. We don’t have to wait until our legs stop working to appreciate how they carry us around. We don’t have to wait until our eyes and ears fail to appreciate the gifts of vision and hearing. We can appreciate all these treasures, here and now.