"What ifs." They can keep us safe. But they can also keep us down. They can help us sort out the factors we must take into account when making big decisions. And they can paralyze us in our tracks. Most importantly, they can be seen for what they are: either sensible, rational, analytical questions that help us stay on a given path -or- emotionally fraught, overwhelming fear nuggets that do us no good at all until we overcome them. Just as fresh drinking enough water keeps us alive, too much water (or from a tainted source) can be deadly. Few couplets in the English language have the power and potential of these two little words!
A big "what if" riding under the current of many of our meetings is ever present to some: "What if I don't get better? What if I'm like this for the rest of my life? What if my worst fears are justified?" Who can forget the stark, haunting question of Jack Nicholson's character, Melvin Udall, asks in the James L. Brooks' 1997 Oscar winning psychological exploration of OCD, trauma, and love? A narcissistic believer in one-way boundaries, enraged by his therapist's insistence on reciprocity, he lashes out in a waiting room. He meant his words as a taunt to his fellow travelers on the road to redemption; companions he disdained as much as he loathed himself. He spoke his greatest fear out loud, and disguised it as a rebuke to those who perhaps also chose fear over love. He asked, "What if this is as good as it gets?"
A big "what if" riding under the current of many of our meetings is ever present to some: "What if I don't get better? What if I'm like this for the rest of my life? What if my worst fears are justified?" Who can forget the stark, haunting question of Jack Nicholson's character, Melvin Udall, asks in the James L. Brooks' 1997 Oscar winning psychological exploration of OCD, trauma, and love? A narcissistic believer in one-way boundaries, enraged by his therapist's insistence on reciprocity, he lashes out in a waiting room. He meant his words as a taunt to his fellow travelers on the road to redemption; companions he disdained as much as he loathed himself. He spoke his greatest fear out loud, and disguised it as a rebuke to those who perhaps also chose fear over love. He asked, "What if this is as good as it gets?"
Evolution has left us with a sometimes overpowering defense against physical harm: our amygdala. The chief function of this part of our brain (with the help of the hippocampus and the hypothalamus) is to couple fearful emotional states with memory. Fish, birds, reptiles, amphibians, and other mammals all have earlier versions of these structures which give them a survival advantage by encoding strong memories around who, what, when, and where to avoid in the future. Humans inherited and refined these fear-activated brain structures. and combined them with stunningly powerful intellectual capabilities (courtesy of our bloated cerebral cortex). So even though this new, powerful, deep-thinking add-on, our cortex, allows us to be self-aware and do crazy things like search for meaning, the primordial parts of our gray matter can still hold sway, sitting under the contemplative new addition, hard-wired into a spinal cord that connects to every other part of our being.
When this older part of our thinking-feeling-behaving control center dominates our higher-level thinking (our "executive functioning"), we are said to be using our "reptilian brain." Our reptilian brain isn't obsolete, but it needs the help of the newer additions to our computational arsenal to allow us to function rationally, effectively, and "healthily."
It's no wonder "what if" questions get our attention. We, as a species, wouldn't be so prolific without them. We probably wouldn't be here at all. We would've ignored threatening sounds, smells, and other warning signs associated with previous danger. We might've forgotten where the crocodiles live or what happens when someone eats spoiled meat. Nature has a way of dealing with forgetful, vulnerable organisms which have no fear. It replaces them.
But there are threats and there are threats. Being afraid to cross the street without looking both ways, or wearing a helmet when on a motorcycle, or avoiding wasps; these behaviors serve us well. Checking to see if our car insurance is paid up, locking the doors at night, using sunscreen; anxiety about certain probabilities improves our chances of staying safe.
But other "what ifs" do not keep us safe. They only increase anxiety: "What if I step on a crack? What if I make a mistake? What if someone doesn't like me? What if I relapse? What if I never find happiness? What if terrorists move in next door? What if I have another panic attack? What if I become catatonic? What if something happens and I can't handle it?" There are two ways to answer this kind of question. The answer that keeps our pathologies pumped up goes something like this: "It will be horrible and unbearable and possibly the end of the world." The answer that keeps us on a path toward our goal of ever healthier states sounds more like: "I'll do the best I can with what I have; and if I don't have enough of what I need, I'll try and get more; and if I fail, I'll try again." The difference between these two ways to answer "what if" questions is stark, and it makes all the difference between not coping on one end of the "Just Do It" scale and thriving on the other end of that scale.
When this older part of our thinking-feeling-behaving control center dominates our higher-level thinking (our "executive functioning"), we are said to be using our "reptilian brain." Our reptilian brain isn't obsolete, but it needs the help of the newer additions to our computational arsenal to allow us to function rationally, effectively, and "healthily."
It's no wonder "what if" questions get our attention. We, as a species, wouldn't be so prolific without them. We probably wouldn't be here at all. We would've ignored threatening sounds, smells, and other warning signs associated with previous danger. We might've forgotten where the crocodiles live or what happens when someone eats spoiled meat. Nature has a way of dealing with forgetful, vulnerable organisms which have no fear. It replaces them.
But there are threats and there are threats. Being afraid to cross the street without looking both ways, or wearing a helmet when on a motorcycle, or avoiding wasps; these behaviors serve us well. Checking to see if our car insurance is paid up, locking the doors at night, using sunscreen; anxiety about certain probabilities improves our chances of staying safe.
But other "what ifs" do not keep us safe. They only increase anxiety: "What if I step on a crack? What if I make a mistake? What if someone doesn't like me? What if I relapse? What if I never find happiness? What if terrorists move in next door? What if I have another panic attack? What if I become catatonic? What if something happens and I can't handle it?" There are two ways to answer this kind of question. The answer that keeps our pathologies pumped up goes something like this: "It will be horrible and unbearable and possibly the end of the world." The answer that keeps us on a path toward our goal of ever healthier states sounds more like: "I'll do the best I can with what I have; and if I don't have enough of what I need, I'll try and get more; and if I fail, I'll try again." The difference between these two ways to answer "what if" questions is stark, and it makes all the difference between not coping on one end of the "Just Do It" scale and thriving on the other end of that scale.
We ended our night with a few "what if" questions of a different kind. "What if the worst doesn't happen?" "What if the best case scenario comes to pass?" "What if I keep getting better and better?" "What if I can love more and fear less?" "What if I change in spite of the old me?" "What if I can do it?" These are healing questions, and unlike affirmations, there is no risk of feeling like a liar when you speak them. A question cannot be a lie; only statements can. We're well familiar with those counterproductive self-talk gems: "I can't do this." "I'm not good enough." "I'm worthless." Their condemnation goes hand in hand with the worry of the "what if" questions. But the good news is that all these messages are only habits. And exercising the will of our higher self is a habit too.
Isn't it time to see the habitual, over-amped exaggerations of our reptilian traits as what they are? Aren't they just tired, useless, automatic overreactions that bypass the best parts of our mind? Aren't they outmoded? Isn't it time we use "what ifs" to keep us from real harm rather than to keep us off balance? Could this be a good time to see worry and undue fear as habits we have at least a little control over? Is it about time to stop worrying about fears that might not happen and start opening ourselves up to dreams that can?
Now is a good time to start asking the right questions! All we can do is try. If trying isn't enough, then we can always just do! (Thanks Yoda.) This different attitude might feel strange and new and that can be a problem. But we're used to problems. Facing real problems is what we know we need to do. But unreal problems don't need to frighten us anymore. We can handle real problems together. It's one reason we meet on Wednesday evenings. We not only talk about our fears, and face them together, we also work to overcome them together. And together, we can move away from old, useless habits—spinning through life with heads full of old, pessimistic hypotheticals—and get used to asking "what if" questions aiming at new, hopeful solutions. What if that would happen?
Isn't it time to see the habitual, over-amped exaggerations of our reptilian traits as what they are? Aren't they just tired, useless, automatic overreactions that bypass the best parts of our mind? Aren't they outmoded? Isn't it time we use "what ifs" to keep us from real harm rather than to keep us off balance? Could this be a good time to see worry and undue fear as habits we have at least a little control over? Is it about time to stop worrying about fears that might not happen and start opening ourselves up to dreams that can?
Now is a good time to start asking the right questions! All we can do is try. If trying isn't enough, then we can always just do! (Thanks Yoda.) This different attitude might feel strange and new and that can be a problem. But we're used to problems. Facing real problems is what we know we need to do. But unreal problems don't need to frighten us anymore. We can handle real problems together. It's one reason we meet on Wednesday evenings. We not only talk about our fears, and face them together, we also work to overcome them together. And together, we can move away from old, useless habits—spinning through life with heads full of old, pessimistic hypotheticals—and get used to asking "what if" questions aiming at new, hopeful solutions. What if that would happen?
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