The Monkey on Your Back
I think a lot about something Elizabeth Gilbert wrote in Big Magic.
Gilbert talks about fear for a good portion of the book - fear as an obstacle to making or doing the thing you really want to make or do. But Gilbert doesn’t tell us how to dispel fear and kick it out of our lives for good. Why? Because that’s impossible. Fear exists as a survival instinct, and while it doesn’t always show up in ways that make sense… the fact is, fear isn’t going anywhere.
Instead, Gilbert recommends that we embrace and accept the fear. We allow fear to come along for the (creative) ride, but fear sits in the back seat, it does not touch the radio, and it most definitely does not tell us where to go.
In my mind, if you practice this strategy long enough, the vehicle you are driving changes shape and size. You start out in a tiny smart car where fear is breathing down your neck from the backseat, and then you move up to an SUV where there is more space between you and fear - maybe there’s even a third row where fear can lay down and take a nap. Eventually, you’ll be be driving a school bus where fear is all the way at the back and you can barely hear it sneeze. Life isn’t perfect though, and some days you’ll find yourself back in that smart car with fear breathing down your neck, but you can handle it - you know the drill. Validate and acknowledge the fear, but keep your eyes on the road and continue driving.
A similar analogy would be a monkey on your back. The monkey on your back is an emotion you are carrying around, and your job is to grab that monkey by its scruff, set it down compassionately on the ground, and when the monkey jumps back up - you rinse and repeat.
The reason I like this analogy is because of the physical intimacy you have with that emotion. You never get more distant from the emotion, and the repeated setting down of that emotion can be exhausting, but you have to be relentless about doing it.
The monkey might tire of the game eventually, but monkeys like to play! And that monkey may even be encouraged by the game at first, increasing the resistance and requiring more and more persistence from you initially. If you are lucky, the monkey will get bored at some point and slow down. Maybe the monkey will jump up less often. The monkey could go to sleep, giving you peace for weeks at a time, and then all of a sudden wake up re-energized, ready to ruin your day.
Have you ever worked through some challenging feelings and then happily watched them dissipate as a reward for all that hard work? Then - out of nowhere - the feelings just show up again like a long, lost, distant relative - ready to hijack your day and move in with you?
I don’t really feel this way about fear. I have accepted that fear will always be present - whether in the back seat or at the back of the bus. Fear isn’t a monkey on my back that I wrestle to the ground each day. Fear is more like a voice that speaks at different volumes.
The monkey is all of the other uncomfortable feelings as a result of life’s experiences. I used to think that with enough processing power and hard work, those feelings would eventually go away entirely. In other words, I thought the monkey would lose interest and leave me in peace. (Please note: I am not talking about PTSD - which is a very serious condition and requires something more than just “processing power and hard work”.)
Turns out, old feelings can still re-surface and show up at your house - because they totally know where you live and they totally keep track of you. So rude.
My point is this… I think a lot about Gilbert’s advice and I think a lot about monkeys. A person needs multiple strategies because emotions have multiple strategies. Emotions want to be heard and acknowledged and they have multiple ways of making you pay attention.
Our job is to observe, examine and reality-check those emotions, and then make mindful, healthy decisions. You are the boss. You are the driver. No personified emotion (or monkey, for that matter) can tell you what to do.