A crisis is an invitation to grow

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Crises come at critical points in our lives. Usually they make it painfully obvious that the previous world view or attitudes of consciousness are inadequate to encompass the new situation. Accordingly, the crisis requires the development of new attitudes, however disdainful the ego may be. Often these crises are tied to the exhaustion of the dominant attitudes of consciousness and are indications that neglected portions of the psyche need to be brought into play. Any crisis bring the limitations of conscious life to the surface and reveals the need for enlargement….The meaning of crisis for us all [is] the invitation to sort and sift, to discern, to move to enlargement, to outgrow the sundry comforts of the old vision of self and world

James Hollis, Creating a Life

….and of becoming our true self

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As soon as a man tries to escape every risk and prefers to experience life only in his head, in the form of ideas and fantasies, as soon as he surrenders to opinions of ‘how it ought to be’ and, in order not to make a false step, imitates others whenever possible, he forfeits the chance of his own independent development. Only if he treads the path bravely and flings himself into life, fearing no struggle and no exertion and fighting shy of no experience, will he mature his personality more fully than the man who is ever trying to keep to the safe side of the road.

Jolande Jacobi, Jungian analyst and author

The most common regret at the end of life

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Over the past weeks I have been facilitating a support group for the volunteers who work in the Maison de Tara Hospice in Geneva, and I listen with them to the different conversations brought up by being close to people at the end of life. Because of this,  I was interested to read about the most common regrets which people have as they are dying. Australian Bronnie Ware began recording people’s last thoughts and now has written them down in a book called The Top Five Regrets of the Dying,  published last August. In it she says that she noted common themes emerging in the discussions she had with those who were dying and she lists the top five of these.

The most common regret which she found was “I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me”. This is not a surprise for me. One of the most important questions we can ask is  “Whose life am I actually living?”, thus ensuring as we go along that we are deepening our own sense of purpose.  However, what we can find is that we are actually stuck in a series of adaptations to others which may have made sense once, but which have outlived their survival value. In Winnicott’s description of child development,  if the parent is not present to the right degree for the child – maybe due to anxieties,  stresses or challenging moments in their own life -  the infant can lose touch with his or her  own needs and take on  the needs  of the parent or tune in excessively to the environment. In other words, we form  a “false self,” which is shaped in response to the demands and expectations of others,  which become for our young psyche more urgent and demanding of attention than our own needs, our “true self.”

As we move into adult life we can still have these internalized demands of other people, and shape our life,  our work, or even the relationship we choose  in response to them. For example, if the dominant concern or worry of the parents’ life centred around security, financial or otherwise, it is possible that the person’s adult life is somewhat guarded, seeking an elusive guaranteed safety. Initially this false self personality may be successful, as it finds energy to build up a career and a lifestyle that fulfills the inner demands. However, these ultimately fail to satisfy because we have become caretakers of another person’s development and  needs rather than truly following our own path. It is for this reason that many people wake up with a sense of emptiness and  loss and are led to question what they are missing. Their lives and lifestyle are not supporting their inner life. They have not set aside the necessary space to listen to their own deepest self, and a modern lifestyle does not support this reflection, with its emphasis on speed and external achievement. Thus a person can arrive at the end of life realizing that  they have not  “honoured even a half of their dreams, as Ms Ware recorded, or spent part of their time living another persons life. Their lives will remain uneasy, leading to an ongoing lack of satisfaction or to distractions in the way of over-activity, or addictions to drinking, television the internet or relationships. Engaging with the deeper questions – setting aside space and time to reflect on our own deepest needs – is central to  arriving at the end of a life without regrets, in order to establish a more courageous relationship first and foremost with ourselves.

To ask every day “What matters in the end” is to create the possibility of a differentiated choice, the potential to overthrow the tyranny of our history, so as to honor something that has been always there, waiting for our courage. If we limit our aspirations to good health or making money, then we might as well, in Jung’s words, “quietly shut up shop”. …If we make the effort to become conscious of our fragmented nature, we need not blindly act it out. We may thereby also be empowered to decide as grown ups, what , in the end, really matters to our soul

James Hollis, On this Journey We Call our Life

Stepping into a larger life

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We get to this point in our life [where] we see that stepping into a larger life is intimidating because it requires that we risk being who we really are, that is, what wants to come to the world through us – rather than serving our ego comforts or whatever instructions came our way. We cannot expect someone else to give us permission. The parent complexes, or the culture complexes, are embedded in our history and will never stop saying what they always said. So it is up to us at this later point, when we have served those voices so long, to realize that our own psyches have a unique point of view, that each one of us is different and that we are bound for different destinies. Stepping into largeness will require that we discern our personal authority – rather than the authority of others or the authoristy of our internalized admonitions – and live this inner authority with risk and boldness.

James Hollis, What Matters Most: Living a more Considered Life.

Being stuck in the past

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Whenever the disempowering lens of history falls over our eyes, the present reality is subverted to the dynamics of the past, and one remains a prisoner….once again. Learning to find ones own truth, hold to it, and negotiate with others seems easy enough on paper. In practice, it means catching reflexive patterns while they occur, suffering the anxiety caused by living more consciously, and tolerating the assault of anxiety-driven “guilt” afterwards. (This guilt is not genuine; it is a form of anxiety aroused by the anticipated negative reaction of the other person). Such reactions for the child were enormously distressing and are still debilitating for the adult. Over the years we tend to believe that this old familiar system is who we really are, and, by and large, such a system so frequently presented to the world becomes how the world sees us, Being nice has, however, ceased being nice.

James Hollis, Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life

Replacing our myths

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Society today prides itself at times at having thrown out some of the outdated myths that guided our forefathers and grandparents. We have progressed and base ourselves on more rational forces now. However, we are always guided by some myths, whether we are aware of it or not. We simply replace one philosophy by another, and worship in a different type of temple.

The collective fantasies of the modern world are that the old myths can be revived by acts of will, or that by acts of will new myths will be generated. While we have suffered the loss of the old, tribal myths, by and large,  we cannot generate new ones – though for sure many have tried. We transfer the need for the experience of the transcendent onto persons, objects, and causes and wonder why they disappoint.

Another way of putting this is that when the gods are not experienced inwardly, they will be projected outwardly. The energy we project onto the things of our world – objects, causes, ideologies, relationships – possess a kind of autonomy, for they momentarily carry spirituality for us. As Jung warns “Our consciousness only imagines that it has lost the gods; in reality they are still there and it only needs general conditions to bring them back in full force”.  Whenever the level of personal attention is lowered…the tendency of the ego to project what is not addressed in the inner life increases its fascination with the outer.

James Hollis, Finding Meaning in the Second Half of Life