The Cluttered Gap

When I first caught the concept of “the gap” (Viktor Frankl actually calls it a “space”), I envisioned a pristine vacuum. In my mind I saw the electric spark of choice jumping through this tiny void between stimulus and response. All I had to do was to make sure the spark did not fly unexamined. I believed I had total freedom to redirect or even short-circuit that spark. Wasn’t this where Frankl said our freedom lay? (spark picture source)

“What are you doing about security at this school?!” the mother accused more than questioned me. I asked some good “listening” questions to clarify her concern. The more she talked, the more I concluded she had unrealistic expectations of the school. And the more agitated I became.

I was aware of the gap; on the far side stood a strong threatening stimulus and my fully-conscious response came out something like this: “Yes, we could provide that level of security if we just moved our students into the penitentiary!” She looked shocked and offended. I smiled weakly indicating that she should quit being angry and take it as a joke. No luck.

It got worse. A few days later, I penitently shared that incident with the faculty in a “tell-it-all-Brother” pep talk. Maybe they could learn negatively from my example. A few days after that I used withering sarcasm again… with the same woman! This time she called me on it and I offered a sincere, heartfelt apology. I don’t want to use that sarcasm again, but I know I likely will.

So what’s with this “pristine gap” where we can attend to the spark arcing through crystal clarity? I’ve come to conclude that the gap is not empty! It’s not a vacuum. It looks more like my storage room downstairs which is full of memorabilia, outdated stuff, and things I can’t quite yet discard. Our gaps are cluttered with all the memories, expectations, and values we’ve accumulated over the years. Each one provides a superconductor for that spark/choice, leading it to responses we’re not always proud of. (clutter picture source)

To truly “mind the gap” I have to be open to examining each piece of my stored stuff. And that stuff is really in there. Other people often see it better than I do. My wife used to realize when I was retreating before I did.

“Jim, I think you’re going into your cave.”

“I am not; just leave me alone!”

Notice that her statement ended with a period, mine with an exclamation point. I believe it’s the unexamined stuff crowding the gap that adds the emotional punch to our responses. When we see what memory, value, or expectation drove our unhelpful response, it is easier to let it go and to forgive ourselves. We’re not stupid, only partially-sighted.

Occasionally, in a pinch, we can suspend our emotional dis-ease and confusion by delegating the decision to our rational mind. It analyzes the situation, adds up the points, and chooses a response. But we can act on that decision only as an act of faith in logic. Then we use self-control to suppress the emotions for a limited time. Sooner or later we still have to deal with the stuff by discarding, rearranging, or accepting it. And our choice of responses will be as much richer as my storage room is than a vacuum.

Desperate or Heroic?

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” wrote Henry David Thoreau in his 1854 book Walden. One-hundred-fifty years later it may still be true. However, that quote does not help me know what to do about it.

I prefer to say, “All people lead heroic lives.” This is not a denial of the pain and loneliness in real lives. Instead it is an affirmation of all lives; the pleasant and the petrified. It reminds me, too, that each person is the leading actor in their own reality; they are not mere supporting cast for the movie of my life. (That should take my narcissism down a notch or two.)

Some people may lead lives that are truly heroic; while others may only appear heroic to me. I can’t tell the difference. On the other side of the coin, some may be suffering at depths I can’t fathom; while others may look pathetic but possess greater resources of mind and money than I. I can’t tell the difference… and I suppose it doesn’t matter.

Just as work expands to fill the available time, so do joy or despair. Any individual I question tells me their life is overfull! And it’s generally overflowing with whatever they continue to focus on and expect. Some speak from hospital beds about God’s blessing. Others fret about the future while signing another multi-million dollar tract of houses.

The decision still lies within the individual. What I allow to fill The Gap determines the quality of my life. It also determines the quality of my responses to the random events of life. But more sobering, it also determines what will pass my filter to become permanently lodged in my memory as one more proof that “This is just the way life is.”

When I think of all people leading heroic lives, either victoriously or tragically, I am able for a moment to watch “their movie”, and to dimly sense the contents of their Gap. Then I am usually more inclined to applaud their successes, mourn their losses, and encourage them to aim higher.

(The masks are from http://www.lcsc.edu/ )

The Grand Provider

I was speeding to work not because I was late, only later than I wanted to be. Rounding the corner I spied the school parking lot… totally EMPTY! This was great! Not only had I earned a bit of quiet work time, but I’d also beaten Clare. Clare is the early bird and today I was earlier! That made me happy. Nothing wrong with being happy.

I merrily grabbed my bag from the back seat, locked the car, and strode to the front door hoping to get inside before Clare pulled up. She’d think I’d arrived even earlier! Desperately patting all pockets I realized I’d left my school keys at home. That would cost me another 12 minutes at the least. I was sorely disappointed. Crestfallen, I drove home for the keys.

My disappointment seemed too big for the 12-minute loss of work time. As I drove, I wondered why I had such a sense of failure. Yes, I had much to do, and initially that’s what I railed about. But 12 minutes wouldn’t set me back that far. And besides, I had actually thought of leaving my bag at the front door so Clare would know I’d been there already.

Ouch, the truth began to dawn. And I wasn’t just wanting to beat Clare, I was mostly wanting to look like the early bird and the night owl—always working to provide for the school’s people. I wanted to be—or even worse, to look like—the grand provider of all, one whom no one could fault for slacking off. That led me to realize how vulnerable I was feeling in my work, and how needy I was for recognition. Wanting to be seen as the Grand Provider, is getting too close to blasphemy. When I recognized that, I was able to let it go. I could tell I had let go when I quit praying that Clare would be slow this morning so I could still beat her!

As it turns out, I did beat her, but the desire had been released. Whether she was there or not upon my second arrival was totally irrelevant to what I needed to do, and I had quit needing to fuel a false image.

Needless navel gazing? Don't think so. The day before, a fellow principal had dropped into my office weary with the burden of the sudden death of a faculty member. He needed a good nap. I recognized that, but jabbered on about two interesting challenges I was facing (and, of course, skillfully managing). He didn’t need either story. He wandered in looking exhausted and needed a listening ear not an entertaining mouth. If I had known then what I know now, he would have been better served.

Minding the Gap can be painful, but if I want better outcomes, I have to go in there and take an honest look around.