What do you do when you find you've spent the last hour staring out a window? Do you reach for a bottle, or for some other avoidance? Do you reach out to a friend, or to strangers? For the remote? Or the controller? Do you reach for a book? Do you just start walking? Or do you stare some more? What are you looking for out there? Are you looking at all? Are you looking for you out there? Are you looking out or are you looking in? Are you looking out to avoid looking inward? Are you afraid to look for whatever might be staring back? Do you wonder what’s wrong with you? Do you wonder if you've wandered onto the right path by mistake? What do you think when you're wondering about your wandering? About what to do next? Or what to think? What do you feel? Do you know? Do you want to know? Do you run?

Tonight, we asked each other these questions, among others. We ask about the real us inside us. We asked if we've really lost ourselves or if we know exactly where we are, but are merely afraid to follow. We asked if it's possible that we really don’t know who we are, and if maybe the real us scares us to much to keep knowing. So many questions. But only one answer.

In “The Matrix,” we learned about the choice between the red pill and the blue pill. The red pill symbolizes the painful truth of reality and its uncertain ramifications, while the blue pill is the symbol for the blissful ignorance of illusion, distraction, and believing what we want to believe.

Let’s say for a moment that we want to understand ourselves better, that we want to get to the bottom of all our repetitive, self-deceptive, self-destructive, and self-denying behaviors. It takes courage to try and discover who we really are. It takes real determination and stamina. It takes being fed up with what we've grown accustomed to. Do you think that's why there are so many stories about heroes and heroines going on journeys to only return home in the end? They didn't set out to change, but they couldn't have have even started off without changing some to begin with (either by choice or by force of circumstance). And they couldn't have continued the journey without keeping on with the personal changes. And they certainly couldn't have gotten home without making the biggest changes of all. Changes in thinking, changes in how they interpret their perceptions of things and people and ideas, and changes in their feelings about everything else.


In the Matrix saga, the more Neo changes, the bigger his battles get, and so the more he has to grow. And all his growth is inward. His mind and heart create the physical changes represented in that imaginary world. Here are more words of dark wisdom from Morpheus, or was it the Keymaker?

If all of this sounds familiar, yet you haven't seen the Matrix movies in a while, or at all, maybe you recognize these themes from "The Lego Movie!" Or from 100 other movies, or a thousand books. Same story. Over and over.

In literature, and in our dreams, and in our deep discussions with those we care about, doors often symbolize our transition from one course to another, from one room within ourselves to another—or to a passageway. We construct our inner houses out of many compartments, many identities, many versions of us. Is only one of them the real one?

Another existentialist, Prague-born Franz Kafka, wrote a story about a gate. It's called "Before the Law." I sometimes talk about it with my clients because of the important archetypes and symbols it explores. There is a man from the country, uneducated in the sophisticated ways of government, and there is a public servant, a gatekeeper, who prevents our hero from making any progress in his pursuit of his goal. The man tries every trick he can think of, every bribe, for the remainder of his life. He want access to the law, to justice, to answers, to be heard. We don't really know what he wants. Do we know what we want? The story is about obstacles. If you've seen the Zen poster in my office, you know that "The obstacle is the path." Such a powerful truth. If you find it discouraging, remind yourself that all the best lessons come after mistakes. Just as the best version of you is the result of many trials and many errors.

I hope you know that you are not the only one who stares out of windows for hours at a time. How else can we learn anything about ourselves but by shutting up and listening? If you feel compelled to look into the distance that separates us from everything and everyone else, to look into the distance that connects us, that defines us, then look. Look long and hard. You don't have to look at something to look for something. This is how artists create: by creating space. This is how writers write: by listening to their inner voices. This is how we grow: by not stopping the unsettling processes but by sitting with them. Remember, it's not what happens that matters, it's what it's about that matters. We are drawn to those in-between times. Because, deep down, the real us knows that that's where we really live.

We got a little practice with compliments on Wednesday. Some of us were pretty good at accepting them, and even at giving and receiving self-compliments. Others of us had to wrestle with the idea a little.

Compliments, the idea of them, the concept of hearing them for what they are, harks back to our discussion of impostor syndrome. It's a subset of our issues surrounding our self-image and self-esteem. When we hear from someone—someone who ought to know—that we've done a good job (and that someone can be ourselves if we’re honest), or that we’re on the right track, or even that we’re a good person (or a good-enough person), it can sometimes be confusing. It can be more than confusing, it can be downright disorienting; that is, if our orientation is based on false beliefs, false assumptions, or on a false self.

After our meeting, as I struggled with these struggles and worked at defusing the confusion, I was reminded of a quote from Søren Kierkegaard. He was the 19th Century Danish philosopher who helped invent existentialism. Our therapy group is an existential group. That is, we don’t use workbooks or follow a curriculum. Instead, as we support and nurture each other, we try and figure out all the worlds we bring together and what our places in them might be. Simple, right? All we need is each other and our experiences and we've got all the questions we need to make our journey together an enlightening one. “What about our symptoms,” you ask? An existential philosopher might contend that these are the signals that steer us. They steer us away from the obstacles that hinder our journey, and toward the obstacles that enrich it.

Here is that Kierkegaard quote: “There are two ways to be fooled. One is to believe what isn't true; the other is to refuse to believe what is true.”

We often talk about fooling ourselves in group. We even call it “lying” sometimes, or the softer version, “dishonesty.” Many of us have gotten so much practice at fooling ourselves, at believing things about ourselves and the world that just aren't true, that our self-impression, our very identity, is so grossly distorted as to be unrecognizable by others. I see you as a competent, profession, intelligent, creative, kind, nurturing, man; you see yourself as a boy with crippling social anxiety. How can my subjective truth about you be so different than yours? Because of old habits, cruelly programmed into your thinking and feeling by ignorant and damaged caregivers. You combine both forms of the self-fooling Kierkegaard cites. You believe what isn't true (that you deserve to be afraid of people who respect you) and you don’t believe what is true (that you are an amazing wonder).

One group member actually does believe she’s amazing. She calls herself the most positive depressed person she knows. And we're all happy to see she's taking this belief and imposing it onto her self-defeating behaviors. First we believe, then we act, then we grow.

In "Don Quixote," Cervantes asks, “Which will you have: wise madness or foolish sanity?” Foolish sanity, has been around a long time. And there will always be a lot of people who prefer to fool themselves into thinking life doesn't get any better. We can call it anxiety or depression or addiction or infidelity, but it’s all about the same self-delusions. Untrue beliefs, and false denials. This is what passes for sanity nowadays. And so our ideas about madness take on new dimension. Don Quixote believes what he wants to believe. If only we could be so mad as to control our thoughts and see in us what other see!

In the Broadway musical, "Man of La Mancha," written by Dale Wasserman and directed by Arthur Hiller, the existential theme of the story is expressed in the song, "The Impossible Dream." Don Quixote advises us, through Joe Darian's heartbreaking lyrics, that impossible dreams must be dreamed, that unbeatable foes must be fought, that we must bear unbearable sorrow, and right unrightable wrongs; that we must try when our arms are too weary, to reach the unreachable star. That we must be willing, if we are to be true to ourselves and ignore the limitations imposed by our past, to march into Hell for a Heavenly cause.

At the end of his story, our exhausted, scarred, bedraggled Spanish hero never gives up hope in the impossible. He sums all of his struggles up by saying, "Too much sanity may be madness! But maddest of all—to see life as it is and not as it should be." Let's remind each other to see ourselves as we appear to the subjective gaze of those who really know us. And to see ourselves as the heroes of our own journeys. We are good enough at the very least, worthy of high praise, commendation, and abundant, sincere compliments!

We all want to feel better, do better, get better, be better. We talked about achievement tonight. Working hard in school, or partying hard; getting through, getting ahead, getting by. Working to live, living to work. We followed up last week’s discussion of impostor syndrome by talking about the anxiety that comes from being in our own skin. And from being compared to others. What is our role at school, at work, in our family, in our group? Where do these roles come from? Who handed them to us? Did we choose to be the way we are? Can we chose a different way?

We talked about terrible ordeals. You can call them traumas, or misfortune, or fate, or bad luck, or karma, or demonstrations of the unfairness of life. You can call these painful, devastating events lots of things or you can just listen to them. We listened to each other tonight. It was the most important thing we did. Sure, we offered words of encouragement, words of support, even advice. But it was our listening, our just being present and holding each other’s stories for a time, that counted most.

How often do we get the chance to be listened to? Even if we don’t feel like talking, even if we’re listening to the silence we find ourselves in. If this is how we can get better, feel better, do better, be better, then why have we been bothering with all the other stuff, all the talk, up to now? Anyone can listen. You don’t even have to know what you’re listening for. The power of your silence is proof that you’re just here to be an accepting ear. Words aren't necessary. Being together is what we need.

The opposite of listening can take many forms. When I was in a period of great transition in my life, I listened to a song by Keane at least once a week. It's all about ambition and regret. It’s a bouncy song; you could dance to it if you were in the mood. A lively, zesty dance. Unless you listened to the lyrics. They’re very sad. They’re about someone who listens to the wrong things. All those toxic messages that can lead us astray. This song made me cry every time I heard it. But I kept listening.

And what about listening to ourselves? CBT, cognitive behavioral therapy, is all about listening to the untrue messages we repeat in our heads and challenging them. We practiced a little of this tonight. One cognitive distortion we challenged was "disqualifying the positive." (You reject positive experiences by insisting they "don't count" for some reason or another. In this way you can maintain a negative belief that is contradicted by your everyday experiences.)

One member asked how we can possibly challenge all the negative messages we've heard all our lives. The answer is simple but it's not easy to hear: We do it one message at a time. Whenever we catch ourselves thinking that the little bit of goodness right now in our lives isn't enough, we need to stop. We need to replace that thought with, “This is a good thing that’s happening right now. I choose to appreciate it and build on it.”

Josef Goebbels criticized Great Britain in now-famous 1941 article. He wrote that the “English follow the principle that when one lies, one should lie big, and stick to it. They keep up their lies, even at the risk of looking ridiculous.” Now, Goebbels is considered one of the great demons of the 20th Century, but we need to listen to truth no matter where it comes from. He was right about our big lies. And when I say “our,” I mean all of us modern, angst-riddled thinkers who trusted the damaged big people who contaminated our ideas about ourselves out of ignorance and fear. We tell ourselves things that are ridiculous. Things we were taught to repeat, over and over. Things like, “Nothing good ever happens to me,” or “I can never do enough,” or “I have always been like this and I always will be.”

Here is a list of untrue thoughts you've been programmed to think. Try and get in the habit of catching yourself in these lies and countermanding them. You know the opposite is true, replace that old, worn-out, destructive habit with this new one. The healthy habit of listening to what’s true.

Maybe you won’t want to dance to that Keane song. But dancing is important. It’s important therapy. Am I making this up? Ask your primitive self if there’s some deep impulse in you that wants to dance, needs to dance, with abandon. If you believe in the collective unconscious—and unconsciously you do, of course—you have to acknowledge that dancing is encoded deep within us. It’s the reason we invented music—so we wouldn't look silly dancing. I personally do look silly while dancing, regardless of the music, but I dance anyway. It makes me feel better, somehow. Because I’m being who I am down deep when I dance? Maybe. Or maybe it’s something more physical. Maybe our bodies, as much as our souls, need that rhythmic movement. Maybe we need to feel in control of the ebbs and flows once in awhile. Or maybe we need to let go of the controls for a bit. Whatever the reason, we should all do some dancing now and again. And hey, it’s something you can do while practicing listening!

Here’s a fun little song by Gotye. It's about a strange family who gets a box from Amazon that changes everything for them:

This song could be a warning about the future. It could be a commentary about the extraordinary lengths groups of people might have to go to in order to unplug the individual devices and come together and share experiences. It could be a message to our modern society, and all of us individuals, that we’re in this together. Or it could be just an excuse to move. And to listen.

What a great mixture of folks we had in attendance tonight! So many stories, so many journeys, so many challenges! We touched on a lot of subjects as we got warmed up: anger versus serenity, fear versus joy, resentment versus forgiveness, confusion versus clarity, inferiority versus confidence, jealousy versus admiration, impatience versus curiosity, and betrayal versus loyalty. Then we hit on a condition we've all experienced; a feeling that involves all the thoughts, feelings, and emotions above: impostor syndrome.

What is impostor syndrome? Is this the same as existential angst? Or low self-esteem? Or ADHD? Any of us who has waited for the other shoe to drop, or for having our bluff called, or for the boss to finally tell us the jig is up, all of us know the feeling of secret incompetence.

We've all felt like frauds and we've all wondered why no one notices—even very “successful” executives and leaders feel this way, according to surveys starting in 1978. In her Slate article, Katy Waldman of Slate Magazine tell us that Sheryl Sandberg, Chief Operating Officer of Facebook feels this way, and Dr. Margaret Chan, head of the World Health Organization, and three quarters of Harvard Business School students!

Dr. Valerie Young, author of The Secret Thoughts of Successful Women, has created a quiz you can take if you want to be sure you’re afflicted with this malady. Here it is:

1. Do you chalk your success up to luck, timing, or computer error?
2. Do you believe that if you can do it, anybody can?
3. Do you agonize over even the smallest flaws in your work?
4. Are you crushed by even constructive criticism, seeing it as evidence of your ineptness?
5. When you do succeed, do you secretly feel like you fooled them again?
6. Do you worry that it’s just a matter of time before you’re found out?

How many of these questions did you answer YES to? If it was more than zero, you’re not alone! But where do these universal feelings of obscured inadequacy come from? Are we born feeling we aren’t good enough to be good enough, yet that we’re good enough to hide our secret?

I suspect that we are taught that we are somehow inherently unacceptable by caregivers who feel the same way about themselves. And that we are taught to feel so ashamed of our not-good-enoughness that the most important thing we can do about it is keep it a secret. We are taught that this awful truth is a family secret to be lied about and hidden from view. Yet all the while, our families point their fingers at other families, knowing they have shameful secrets too. Ironically, when we get out on our own, we somehow forget about those other “less-than” families, and we feel surrounded by folks who are better at everything than we are.

And what about an expanded view of impostorism? Is the reason you don’t get caught being a fraud is that the people in a position to judge you are too worried about being found out themselves? Were the people in control of your young life, who had a chance to build your confidence, too destroyed by their own parents to have any nurturance left for you? This vortex of psychic dismissiveness has got to end. Not for the whole world--that’s too big a project for us—but we can end it within ourselves. And there are just three steps and we can start right now.

The first step is to realize that our self-perception is a construct. It’s subjective. We see ourselves through the distorted lens of faulty programming. So there is no way to see the real us. The real us is submerged in our unconscious mind. The definition of “unconscious” is that we can’t perceive it consciously. This means we can’t perceive anyone else’s mind either! What a revelation! They don’t know us and we don’t know them. So why not own up to the fact that the crap we think we know about our inadequacies is nothing but crap? That’s step one.

Step two is to consider the notion that we are okay after all. Consider it, play with it, hold it, and even believe it. For all you or anyone else knows, you ARE okay! So go with it. Run with it. Collect "thank-yous," "good jobs," "attaboy's," and "attagirls." Take them seriously as genuine appreciation and acceptance. Let those messages replace the crappy ones from childhood. And remember to give appropriate praise to others. You may not feel worthy to judge someone else's worth, but you can start by being thankful for what these people in your life do. Even when they try and fail, they deserve your thanks. And when you catch yourself thinking someone else is good enough, remember that you're good enough too! Try saying, “I’m good enough,” out loud! Say it enough, and mean it enough, and it will come true. I promise you, it’s true. You are good enough and so am I.

Step three is persistence. Spend more time with uplifting people and less time with naysayers. Don’t give up on yourself. I won’t if you won’t. We’re in this together.