How Can We Better Trust Ourselves?
Trust, such a common word. But such an important ingredient in a “good” life, a fulfilling life, a full life. But what is trust? What’s going on in ourselves and in our relationship with the world when we feel it? How do we even know it is what we feel?
In the introduction to poet David Whyte’s wonderful book, Consolations: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words, author and poet Maria Popova observes that words are not artefacts, not our possessions, not things, not static, but alive and always evolving. They feed on us as we feed on them; as we use them, we are used by them. In his book, she says, Whyte repatriates us in the land of language and thus repatriates us in ourselves.
For example, take the word courage. It tempts us to imagine bravely facing opposing forces in a military or physical or maybe even a political battle. And above all, to be seen as doing so. To reap the rewards.
But the roots of the word reach back to old Norman French, to coeur, heart. Courage is what we feel and show when we live life, relate to our community, to friends, with heart. To seat our feelings and actions deeply in our body and world. It is a type of love. Courage, Whyte says, is what love looks like when we’re tested by the everyday necessities of being alive and respond with caring, with surprise, with belonging. We realize an awareness of vulnerability is a necessity in taking a step forward. On the inside, it might seem like confusion. Only from the outside, or looking back, does it appear like courage.
And it seems to me, trust shares a related etiology. According to the Encarta: World English Dictionary, its roots are in the Old Norse traust, meaning confidence, and treysta or trust. And even further, to an Indo-European base, meaning to be solid, which is the ancestor of the English true, tryst, and tree. An interesting grouping. The word is normally used to mean confidence in and reliance on the good qualities, fairness, truthfulness, honor or ability of someone or something. It assumes responsibility, caring, even hope, or giving credit to somebody or something. It’s part of being daring. And maybe, it includes a bit of the love expressed in courage.
It’s such a wonderful thing to say, “I trust you”. At some times and places, trust was signified by a handshake. Pre-COVID (and hopefully, post-COVID), we might hug. We might say, someone is trusting, or worthy of trust. Just recently, I realized so much of my life depends on trusting myself. Even meditation requires trust, in the process, in ourselves.
When a thought arises in meditation or elsewhere, or a fear, or insight, we might respond by feeling jumpy or excited; our belly, hands, or leg muscles might clench. We feel life speeding up. And we think we can’t afford to miss this thought, can’t afford not to respond. We must shift our attention to it, shift our life to possess it. A milder sort of FOMO, or fear of missing out. For example, we might feel that if we don’t write it down or act on the thought right then, we’ll miss out on an opportunity, or we’ll forget and lose it. We won’t reap some reward or avoid some future disaster.
Just the moment by itself then becomes not enough for us. Life itself becomes not enough. Seeing, feeling, being aware of the thought is not enough. We might think every moment must lead to something else and be transactional. We might treat our own mind like an investment bank, where we deposit our thoughts so we can cash in on them later. Always, for a later moment. But when we do feel trust, then life itself, these people we relate to, are enough. This moment is enough.
In one Betty Boop cartoon from the 1930s, accompanied by great jazz, they’re walking along a sidewalk when suddenly it disappears beneath them. They no longer know where or if they can step. And we all feel this sometimes. We all face moments of great confusion, fear. Where everything we once thought we knew loses its substance. We no longer know what’s true or reliable⎼ no longer know what’s worthy of trust.
Because to trust is to feel the reality of something, the reality of our own life. To feel ourselves as an individual, evolving point in the web of interconnections that is the universe. To feel this right here. This moment and all that makes it up. And to care. We feel the vulnerability of our lives, even the limitations of our own understanding, yet this somehow helps us embrace the power, the capacity, the courage for action.
When we’re in pain, the physical pain is often quite enough to live with. But what makes it worse, what turns it to suffering, is when we don’t know, or feel we can’t face its cause. Or we feel wrong, inadequate for even feeling it. We feel we’re lacking or disconnected from something important in our lives. We feel we can’t trust ourselves or our sensations, trust our feelings or mind. So, we need to study and test ourselves, test our understanding, our capacities and interconnectedness, take actions, step as forward into the world as we feel we’re ready to step.
One wonderful thing about meditation is when we trust it, when we do it just to do it, with openness and focus, it allows us to take that step with more clarity. And we feel such a relief, such gratefulness.
When we begin a meditation or similar activity, we might feel a long way from home. We might feel lost in a crowd of thoughts, memories, plans, and sensations. But returning in each moment to a pre-selected point of attention⎼ to our feet on the floor; the sounds around us; to our shoulders expanding when we breathe in, and letting go, relaxing as we breathe out; or to some object we’re looking at or just counting each breath⎼ then the inner crowds thin out. The noise stops. Instead of wanting to turn away, we turn towards our life. We trust it, trust ourselves. And we return home.
Returning to the sense of being home in ourselves and the world is such a crucial dimension of trust.
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