I am grateful for The Pause.
Rudyard Kipling’s poem, “If,” is one of my favorite poems. When I read it, I feel I am given a bird’s-eye view of ways I can fall victim to my ego and character traits that dip toward self-will. I also see a list of ways I can choose to become a better version of myself by leaning into God’s will instead of my own. It is, in a way, a challenge- a call to take stock of my values and an invitation to make changes that will most certainly result in a more authentic and harmonious way of living. In essence, it is a road map to peace, honor, and virtue. Near the end, the poem specifically touches on a concept I have become intimately accustomed to on my journey through my own challenges. “If you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, yours is the earth and everything in it…” This, in my opinion, is a reference to The Pause.
The Pause has become one of the most used tools in my toolbox. It is effective when dealing with others and when dealing with myself. It has taught me restraint and self-control. At the onset, I thought it was merely a tool of patience, but on closer examination, I realized it is so much more than that. It is not just a tool that teaches faithful waiting. It is a tool that stops the momentum of my mind while quieting the noise within so that I can create space to hear direction from God.
When I first got sober, I was told that a program of recovery was a program of action. There were things that I needed to do each day if I was to have any hope of creating new habits and a new way of life for myself. I had not yet begun to implement The Pause into my daily interactions, but I had noticed that I had become increasingly impulsive, particularly when I was feeling any number of emotions that I would label as “bad.” Perhaps it was fear, or worry, or doubt, or envy, or boredom… the list is long. My solution in the face of these negative emotions was to change them. At the time, changing any negative emotion was vastly superior to experiencing that emotion. But the things I had historically chosen as ways to distract myself had only resulted in making me feel worse. So, I was again at a jumping-off-place, and I found I had become ready to try a new approach. As the saying goes, the teacher appears when the student is ready. It is at this place in my story where I was ready to practice The Pause. When I was initially introduced to the concept, I was encouraged to practice very contrary ways of thinking and behaving up to this point. Instead of reacting to whatever inner turmoil I was experiencing, I was told to examine those experiences and the emotions that accompanied them. I was encouraged to hold these emotions gently- absent of judgment and with curiosity. Instead of reacting to an emotion, I began, instead, to ask questions about them: Why was I feeling this way? What exactly was I feeling? What happened? Who was involved? After asking these questions and considering the answers, I was encouraged to do something extraordinarily preposterous. I was told to do nothing. That’s right- nothing. And what’s more, I was encouraged to simply sit with my discomfort. I was encouraged to not distract nor try to change how I was feeling. I was to simply observe. This lack of action was very contrary to how I had responded to my emotions up to this point in my recovery. It was devoid of lists, phone calls, activities or instructions. I was simply encouraged to be quiet, to be still, and to look within for answers instead of without. Initially, this was uncomfortable and I felt desperate to fix whatever emotion I was feeling that I didn’t want to feel. I wanted to tidy up all of the grossness that started in my heart and threatened to crawl right out of my throat. I wanted to scream and pull my hair. I wanted to throw a tantrum so the world might know how I had been wronged. I think, honestly, I wanted to blame the world for my discomfort and then, subsequently, I wanted the world to fix it. I resisted this urge to chaotically distract myself, and as I continued on in my contemplation, I noticed something extraordinary and unexpected. The longer I sat with my emotions, the more I realized that I was the orchestrator- not the world. Of course, others played a role in my experiences, but they were not responsible for how I reacted. Moreover, what I noticed, was that if I did not consider others responsible for how I was feeling, then they were not beholden to make me feel something different. In the most dramatic turn of events imaginable, I found myself at the helm. I was the captain of the ship! I got to determine how I felt and how I responded. I began to practice, more and more, this concept of responding rather than reacting and the tool that enabled me to do that most effectively was The Pause. The Pause is where I examine what has transpired and where I prayerfully decide how to move forward. It is where I get to practice feeling forgiveness for myself and for others, and where I get to extend a measure of grace that has, so often, been extended to me. It is, it seems, the place where I learn who I am at my core and it is where I choose who I want to show to the world. While it may seem, by nature, to be a practice of inactivity and idleness, I can speak from experience when I say it is, quite possibly, the most daring and effective action I take in any given day. It is where I set myself aside and let God in.
Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and, subsequently, our freedom. -Viktor E. Frankl
