Mindfulness of the Benign Could Reveal the Goodness of the World
It’s the simple things that help restore my faith in humanity.
I love people. I love human beings. And I’m always pleasantly surprised by this because it’s a realisation I have every once in a while. Let me explain.
It might not surprise you that, given my job (I am a Forensic and Clinical Psychologist, in case you were unaware), my view of human nature can sometimes be skewed. In my day job, I work with people who have done various objectively bad things. At the same time, my job is a sliding scale of experiences: on the one hand, I can work with clients and systems that have questionable ethics and morals, while at the same time, those same clients and systems can be trying their best to improve themselves, and by extension, be more beneficial to some aspects of society. However, even with those glimmers and fragments of humanity within judicial and forensic settings, it’s still a hectic, chaotic, and emotionally charged context in which to work. So much so that I can sometimes forget about how the world functions outside of that context; forgetting is not quite the right word, but as I said earlier, my view of human nature can become somewhat narrowed.
Additionally, my work on my Instagram account and podcasts (my own and Manosphere Debunked with Aileen Barratt) further influences how I see the world in some respects. By my choosing and in my spare time, I focus on how certain groups of people (admittedly, my usual focus is women) are impacted by the actions of others (again, admittedly, this is usually men who perpetrate violence against women). But because this is an area of interest and something I want to learn more about and educate others about, I’m quite invested in it and dedicated to it. Therefore, coupled with my day job, it is little wonder that I can be swept along with the bad things that people do. Also, when I say all of this influences how I see the world, that’s also not quite right. My basic stance is that I think people and the world are good (read here for some further expansion on this), but based on everything I have just highlighted, I am less able to hold the goodness of the common person and the world in mind as often as I might if I did not do the job - or have the hobby- that I do. (At this point, some might think I need to find different interests, and you would definitely have a point).
Therefore (and this is rather quite nice when it happens) I love it when I am reminded of the goodness of my fellow human beings. What is even more lovely (for me, at least) is that these reminders are not necessarily significant or grand. Instead, they are subtle and could be considered innocuous. Most recently, this happened this weekend. On Friday, while my eldest and I were ordering fish and chips (for fish and chips Friday, obviously), we were engaged in a delightful conversation with the server sorting out our order. She was a slightly older woman with a warm face and kept looking up at me over the top of her glasses or down at my eldest through them. And while the particulars of the conversation were nice, it was the warmth of her enjoyment of the conversation with the two of us that felt good. There was wonderfully simple ease to the interaction, but this was coupled with genuine interest from the server to engage with my child and get their views on things, all while she put together our takeaway order. And when it was done, we waved goodbye and wished each other a pleasant evening. There wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was just nice. And in that moment, as I always do, I found myself re-confirming what I believe to be the standard but can momentarily forget: there are nice people in the world.
Similarly, but somewhat differently, I was out with my youngest on Saturday, and we were walking through a car park on the way to the library. On one side of the car park sat a man in a chair in a gap between two cars, in front of a set of open doors. The gap must have been a loading zone of some kind. Initially, I didn’t pay the sitting man much attention as my focus was drawn to the activity I could see between the open doors as my youngest and I walked past. Inside was a hum of activity, and I realised that it must have been the model train exhibition I had seen advertised a minute before on the high street while we made our way to the library. I thought it was cute, but then didn’t pay it and the seated man much more thought, and we carried on our way. On the way back, however, when we walked back past the man sitting in the loading zone gap in front of the open doors to the model train exhibition, I looked up from watching my youngest traipse through the car park and looked at him; and he looked up in my direction, and we clocked each other in that way people do when they become aware of each other as they enter one another’s respective peripheries. And for a fraction of a second, we locked eyes. He inclined his head and smiled ever so slightly. It wasn’t a beaming smile, just a subtle acknowledgement from one person to another. And in that moment, I realised he was likely a train enthusiast, here on a Saturday to take part in and welcome guests to the model train exhibition. And I have no idea why – but I sometimes have these existential moments – but I was endeared by the simplicity of this man’s existence. Not that his life was simple. I didn’t know anything about his life at all, apart from this little part of it that I saw while walking through the car park. Even my little epiphany of what he was doing there was an assumption. He could, for all I know, have hated being seated on that chair, in that gap between two cars, in that loading zone off to the side of the car park. What I mean is that I was suddenly just awed that he was having an experience that (in my head at the time) he was happy to be a part of. He was simply existing in that moment. As was I. And we were two people whose own existences coincided in the briefest of ways, then and there.
Then, as I tend to do in those moments, I had a further moment of realisation that we’re all – all of us, me, him, you, the person reading this blog – are here, on this rock that we didn’t ask to be on, that has become known as Earth. And we’re all doing our best to live our lives with as little strife as possible (although I am acutely aware that the amount of strife people experience varies greatly), and (and this is another assumption) without wanting to cause others too much strife in the process. And I can’t really explain why, but when I have these existential musings, I’m filled with awe and amazement. I just think about how incredible it is to be a human being on Earth. It’s just wild if you think about it. And when I have these moments, I feel quite happy. Go figure, right? It is these moments, however, as benign and innocuous as they may seem, that help take me out of the bleaker reveries I can unconsciously find myself in. And I’m grateful for them. I think they help prevent me from becoming jaded about the word. And I’m grateful, too, m to the random people who are part of those moments. Some of whom I may never see again (although I’m quite likely to see the fish and chips lady fairly frequently – we’re new to the village if that helps you understand why I might be unfamiliar with our local fish and chip shop employees).
I’m conscious that this might all sound a bit, I don’t know, “happy-clappy” (I can’t quite think of a suitable term). At the same time, if I were to apply a therapeutic/psychological spin to all of this, these two scenarios could be examples of using mindfulness in everyday interactions. And I don’t mean the kind of mindfulness that asks you to do square breathing or a body scan. I’m talking about the truer spirit of the Eastern Buddhist practice: to be aware of the present moment, one-mindfully (i.e., focused and without distraction), and without judgement. To just be in the here and the now (or the then and the there, as it were).
There are many benefits to mindfulness, which can be summarised as follows (I taught this on Friday morning in the DBT skills group I deliver, so it is fresh in my brain). The first is that through consistent practice it can help reduce distress and increase happiness. Secondly, it can help you take better control of your thoughts. And lastly, it helps you to experience your reality as it is, with less influence from the past and the future, which often makes itself known through our thoughts. As noted above, it is the third benefit that I think I experienced most this weekend, and this allowed me to feel an increase in happiness and appreciation for the basic good and decency of my fellow human beings. And, really, that’s pretty fucking cool.
Therefore, I suppose the reason I’m sharing this is to highlight that it’s possible, if you just take a moment, to find small pockets of joy and happiness – and possibly meaning – in the seemingly benign and mundane. For me, it has the benefit of helping me take a step outside of the intensity of my work and my hobby and consistently renewing my faith in humanity (which can also happen within my job, just to add – it’s not all bleak). And possibly, it might also have some benefit for you.