Finding Contentment

I put the postcard-size prints of the photos I’ve taken on the desk for the photography teacher to look at. It’s the end of class and most of the people have already left. 

As she looks at them, Emily comes up. She wants to ask her a question. She notices one of the photos – the silhouette of leaves on a tree. 


The sun is behind them and two leaves stand out in relief, their calligraphic curves swishing towards one side.

      

She says something mildly appreciative and then, “And they reflect your culture, don’t they?” Emily has white hair mixed in with black. She also has the air of a little girl. I find this question irritating. What does a photograph of a leaf have to do with my culture? Emily points to her hand, says something. “You mean mehandi, henna,” I say, slightly dismissively. Then, I go back to shuffling through the photos with the teacher.

They were mostly photos I didn’t like. Most of them were the product of my mind. I clutched my camera tightly and completed the assignment for the week. They looked just like my thoughts – tangled up, busy. Thoughts I had thought before. Photos I’d taken earlier.

But a few of them stood out. I’d walked around in my neighborhood, slipped out of my mind into the present. Later on, when I came home, it felt like I’d had an infusion of energy. Things were easier to do, even things I don’t like such as cleaning the house.

After the initial easily gliding months of my move from India, there had been days here when there was a creeping cold around my heart. Was I to blame? For being so reserved, so slow to warm up to people?  But even with people, there were times I felt utterly alone and unable to take in any nourishment they could provide.

Maybe I’d bitten off more than I could chew. Maybe shifting countries wasn’t the kind of change I could navigate. These were moments when I swung low, before I recovered. It was hard to predict when I would feel like that again. I kept on depleting my stores.    

Sometimes, you come across things that you recognize as answers, but things you haven’t lived yet, things that are still not wholly real. And then, by some great luck, you take one small initial action, which leads to another, then another and you start embodying that truth without knowing how exactly you got there.  

In a book by Nathaniel Branden, I’d read a line which said that often what we are most lonely for is a connection with ourselves. And that connection can’t be found by looking outside, looking at other people. I didn’t see how that was possible, how I could actually replenish myself, give myself what I need.

Then, for the first time in my life, I found that the things that I’d been struggling with all my life – doubting whether I was really a writer, whether I was really an artiste – were the things that I needed to have faith in to come home to myself. Whether anyone read my writing or praised my photographs was a secondary thing, the process itself created a space inside me that I owned, that I could stand inside.

I discovered this because doing these things was possible here. I could take classes, writer’s workshops, let myself experiment. I’d serendipitously landed in a place that has many opportunities for creative people. 

I’d also landed up in a relationship with someone who believes in me and loves me. This love creates a space in and of itself. It creates the safety I need to move forward into the unknown territory that’s essentially an artiste’s life. While my mind clings to certainty, this space is really my home, the self I am aspiring to, the self that I am slowly becoming.

In the middle of a growth spurt, I have often only looked at the displacement, focused only on the loss of identity that happens when you let go of an old life. But displacement also does something else. It churns our soil, lets us incubate. After a while, little shoots and leaves start appearing. 

An HSP Writer: A Declaration

I first started writing about being sensitive (an HSP) after reading this post on the HSP Notes blog. In it, Peter talks about the fact that, as a group, HSPs are conspicuous by their absence in the online world even though there are approximately one billion of us on this planet. He says that he was “amazed at just how invisible we are. And in the few places where we are visible, how little we participate.”

Why is that? One reason might be that a lot of us are simply unaware that we are HSPs. But if we look at the numbers that Peter gives us, we know that can’t be the only reason. I think, what it really comes down to, is that a lot of us are very apprehensive about coming out and declaring that we are highly sensitive.

For me, I know that telling people (through my writing) that I am sensitive has felt extremely vulnerable. It’s felt like putting a precious part of me on public display. It’s felt like I am giving people ammunition that they can blow me up with.

I have been scared of being judged. I have been afraid of being discounted. I know very well that many, if not most, people equate sensitivity with weakness. Declaring myself highly sensitive is almost like declaring myself weak. I’m also afraid that someone will tell me, “Come on, get over it. Stop being so sensitive” as if it’s something that’s wrong with me, something I can change if I just put my mind to it.

I can’t. And I don’t want to either. I value my sensitivity even though it’s hard to live with in a world that doesn’t value or respect it. I value sensitivity even though I have made many mistakes in dealing with it. I value it even though I’ve tried to get away from it, struggled against it.

For people that say that being sensitive is weak, I say, sensitivity can manifest as many things. Most of us are not taught how to handle being sensitive. As children, we don’t often learn practical ways to manage the discomfort and anxiety that comes with feelings of being overwhelmed, of being so open.

And when we don’t know how, it’s easy to adapt in the wrong ways. It’s only with time that I have started understanding myself better and learnt to re-frame the cultural narrative of sensitivity being a weakness. No, it’s not my sensitivity that makes me weak, but not accepting it for what it is. Yes, I do get over-stimulated easily. Yes, I do need a lot of down-time. Yes, I don’t handle things like external pressure as well.

But being sensitive makes up the core of all that’s right about me. It’s what makes me perceptive. It’s what makes me compassionate. It’s what makes me creative.

So, where did I get the idea that it was wrong? As people, we become visible to ourselves when we look outside and see ourselves mirrored back. Maybe someone praises us for how caring we are. Maybe someone can see not just the challenges that come with being sensitive, but also the gifts.

But we generally don’t get these positive messages in today’s world. Instead, we get messages that shame us for feeling too much. Yes, feeling too much can be very hard, but is feeling too little the answer? If, as a society, we consider being sensitive a weakness, do we also consider being insensitive a strength?

We need sensitivity. We need to question the cultural belief that being sensitive is a weakness. I think it’s being insensitive - well-defended, closed to vulnerability - that is weakness. Maybe the question we should be asking in today’s world isn’t “Why are you so sensitive?” but “Why are you so insensitive?"

What do you think?

Life in America -- Linking versus Ranking

In her endlessly instructive Introvert Power, psychologist Laurie Helgoe talks about the differences between cultures that value deference and those that do not. She says: “In America, deference is a very unpopular notion. Why would you put yourself “one down” when the whole point is to move up? Why would you back off when you are supposed to get ahead?”

This American emphasis on ranking versus linking is something I’ve been extremely uncomfortable with from the time I’ve moved here. I’ve noticed a pattern with some Americans (definitely not all) where the goal of conversation seems to be self-promotion, instead of forming a meaningful connection.

I discuss this with my husband. I mention how I’ve noticed that Americans say “I” a lot more than Indians do. To me and the Indian friends that I have here, this feels like praising yourself. But my husband (who has spent a large part of his life in Canada and America) thinks differently.

Sometimes, it’s just a cry for attention, he says, not self-promotion as such. That makes me pause and think. Also, there’s another thing. Since I come from an Eastern culture, my perception of someone saying “I” is negative. When an American says “I,” it’s usually just a statement of his or her opinion, my husband says. And there is no hierarchy, no external rules about who can and cannot express their opinions.

There is a lot of truth to what he is saying. One of the reasons that I feel uncomfortable with people expressing an “I” statement is because in India, there is a hierarchy when it comes to expressing what you think. For example, children are expected to obey, not question and think for themselves, unlike here in America.

As I mull over all my experiences, I realize that both my husband’s perspective as well as Laurie Helgoe’s thoughts are valid. In some situations, I have perceived an “I” statement as negative even when the other person might have simply been expressing what they think. Then, there have been those interactions that underline that competition is a prized cultural value in America. If you are not one up, you are one down.

As an HSP (Highly Sensitive Person), this is problematic because my primary value is cooperation, not competition. So, separating these two strands in American culture – deciding if someone is being self-promoting or simply self-expressive – becomes very important.

James W. Pennebaker offers some clues on how to do this in this post in Harvard Business Review. He talks about how function words, such as pronouns, reveal people’s personality. He says: “Here’s a simple, pronoun-heavy sentence: I don’t think I buy it. Ooh. You just revealed something about yourself in that statement. Why did you say “I don’t think I buy it” instead of “I don’t buy it” or even “That’s ridiculous”? Pronouns tell us where people focus their attention. If someone uses the pronoun “I,” it’s a sign of self-focus. Say someone asks “What’s the weather outside?” You could answer “It’s hot” or “I think it’s hot.” The “I think” may seem insignificant, but it’s quite meaningful. It shows you’re more focused on yourself. Depressed people use the word “I” much more often than emotionally stable people. People who are lower in status use “I” much more frequently.”

So, using “I” excessively, in mundane conversations, when you are not expressing a specific opinion, is a clue to a person being self-promoting. As HSPs, once we are aware that ranking is happening, we can start figuring out alternatives to handle power-driven conversations. The beginning is hard. Should we act like the other person – playing ourselves up – because we don’t want to feel one down? But such a conversation will feel extremely draining to HSPs, much like a verbal performance. And in the end, we do not get what we need – connection. It feels like a Catch-22 situation.

But it need not be if we start accepting that everyone does not play by the same rules. If the other person is focused on ranking instead of linking, we need to stop blindly “linking.” I can imagine that for many HSPs, this means that we have to start disassociating with merely being “nice,” and start taking care of ourselves in small, concrete ways – like limiting interactions where we feel invisible or unheard. This also means that we stop acting in automatic ways – smiling politely even when we disagree. Taking back power can be as simple as that.

Since values of sensitivity are perceived as a weakness today, many HSPs rank themselves low, while automatically ranking other people higher. If we can reframe our thinking, and understand that everything has a pros and a con, we can see more clearly that rank-based interactions don’t always work.

Although it feels like someone who is always “top-dog” is getting away with it, in reality that might not be the case. Talking all the time about yourself or being endlessly self-promoting is an extremely annoying trait at best. At worst, it means that you lose out on opportunities to understand where the other person is coming from.

As HSPs, linking is what we do best. We need to practice that while at the same time being discerning about which situations actually offer opportunities to connect. This gives us a ground to work from, and we can make a real difference instead of remaining addicted to idealism.