Look. I love to hike. I love to scramble and I love to get myself above tree-line and stay up there for as long as possible. I especially love to do that in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. When I’m looking at the ridged buttresses of those gray peaks and imagining that I’ll be at the top of all that in less than a day, I feel insignificant and awestruck. When I’m at the top and looking back to where I started, I feel a great validation. Yes, I can. Yes, I did. And yes, in the face of nature, I’m tiny and amazing.
For a person like me, not athletic, not always in great shape, working a couple of sedentary jobs, there’s a certain bravery, or crazy, in getting out there and trying this stuff. I’m super aware of all the ways my body and I can fail each other. I’m aware of all the ways that nature is blind and uncaring. Storms walk across the ridges, temperatures plummet. So much of it is out of my control. All of it is out of my control. To get to the top and keep going, requires a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other approach, a strict focus on the here and now, attention to the next action, and faith in your map. What you don’t need is a bunch of emotions making you screw up.
In back-packing, as at work, the mental game can turn a series of actions you need to take into a endurance ridden, instestine twisting obstacle course. What’s the answer? Simple. Shove down those emotions and keep going. Afraid of heights? Keep your eyes firmly on the next rock and do not look out over the expanse of nothing to your left. Afraid of being fired? Keep your nose to the grindstone, watch your mouth, double check your work.
Basically, think of the next action you can take and get to it, no matter what.
Makes sense when you’re on a ridge, with no good bailout. When fifty-mile-per-hour winds drive rain into your face, force you to lurch forward, bent over, using your boots and hands, with your pack-cover reverberating like an oncoming train, being able to push down your emotions and get one more yard closer to safety, is a great skill.
When there’s a crisis at work, staying focused, clear-headed, and calm pays huge rewards. Just get the map, the plan of action, and take the next step. You can vent about it later. For now, action is king.
This all breaks down when there’s no action to take. Like the guy in his tent, wondering what the sounds outside are, or the desk-jockey wondering if his employer will be in business next quarter, sometimes there’s no clear action to take. In those cases, managing your thoughts and the emotions they create is a clear next step. It’s the action you can take to feel better. The action of rethinking. You consider your perspective and manage your thinking. You remind yourself that your food is in a bear canister. You acknowledge that you have done all you can to help your company.
Look, most of the time, backpacking is just a slog up a hill with a big weight on your back. You’re not in trouble and you’re not out of actions. But if you’re going to spend the next four hours going up an endless staircase, you’ll do better if your emotions aren’t working against you.
In the same way, most of the time, work is just work. More stuff to do. Death by a thousand documents.
That’s when your bias for action can kill you. Shoving our emotions aside, thinking our way out of our frustrations, doesn’t take us where we need to go. To thrive during the majority of our business lives, the skill of sitting with feelings reigns supreme.
Emotions are what drive us to act. Different emotions cause different actions. Before you can switch emotional states to get better action, you have acknowledge what you’re feeling. Bummer, huh? At work, I just resent this fact. I prefer to act, to shove down emotions. I don’t want to muck around with feelings that are less than flattering. I certainly don’t want to talk about them.
That’s different from my experience hiking. On the trail, it’s become natural. My favorite trails start at zero and head straight up, right from the trailhead. So I’ve learned that during the first half-hour of the hike, my mind will be doing everything in its power to get me to head back to the car. I’ll notice every little wrinkle in my socks, I’ll be hyper-aware of my heart rate and breathing. In short, I’ll be miserable. I’ve learned to hang around with that discomfort. The first half-hour of a tough hike is spent basically noticing my mind, acknowledging that yes, it’s uncomfortable out here. Yes, I’m breathing hard. Yes, the pack is heavy. It’s fine. It’s OK. This is a thankless activity. It’s not supposed to be fun. This is the way I’m going. I’ll turn around if I need to but for now, the trail sucks.
I don’t try to push away worries. That would be nuts. If something is wrong, I want to find out while I can still get back to the car. That’s just being responsible. I don’t want to talk myself out of things or cover up real issues. I want to know that my boots fit, I can carry my pack, my heart is working but not too hard. I want to respond to issues while I can.
I don’t want to underreact or overreact.
The only way to hit that sweet spot is to accept that I have feelings and allow them to be there.
Usually, when I acknowledge that the situation is difficult and uncomfortable, I start to settle in. Oh, we’re doing this uncomfortable thing that we’ve done before. Oh, that’s all it is.
At work, frustration over interruptions, feeling victimized by my schedule, feeling anxiety over distractions from the political or personal environment, shame over missed opportunities, or anger over mistakes is part of the deal. When I shove those feelings down, I invite problems. On a personal level, I make the job harder, I look for distractions to help me endure the effort of not feeling. Worse yet, I might be missing opportunities to mitigate issues. Just as refusing to recognize an uncomfortable boot makes you miss the chance to put on a blister block, refusing to acknowledge that you don’t, actually, want to work all night, can make you miss the chance to just reschedule that less important meeting. Before you can actually take the action of rescheduling, you have to know that you’re unhappy.
To know that, you have to notice your feelings. You might have to – gasp – stop working for a minute. Literally, a minute. Hang out there, with just your emotions for a minute. You won’t be able to swap war stories about it with your buddies, so there’s that. But you might just find that those feeling start to soften, to unwrap their own knots.
You might think: “I have a lot to do.” You might just push on working, not acknowledging the feeling of pressure against your solar-plexus. You might complain, or eat or drink or check your email. Now your work is more difficult and takes longer.
Or you could think: “I have a lot to do.” You notice that heavy weight. What is it? Resentment. I feel resentment. I feel resentment. It feels like a stone. I want to take action. I can hardly stand to sit with this resentment. It’s OK. I can spend a minute just here, recognizing the resentment. I can feel it. I feel resentment. It’s in my chest and my shoulders. My jaw is tight. It’s OK to feel it. I can bear it. This is what happens sometimes. Resentment. Nothing has gone wrong. I want to be with my child tonight. I don’t want to work late. Resentment.
Why bother with this exercise? Because over time, the resentment becomes subtler, you notice it quicker. You take responsibility for your feelings. You are literally – able to respond. You don’t have to overreact, throwing yourself to your office floor and pitching a fit. But you don’t have to underreact either, pretending you’re A-OK with giving up game night with your child so you can finish a report.
You can stop on the trail. Fix your boot.
You can look at your calendar and say no.
It’s so much easier to reschedule, to mitigate the issue, to accept the most recent draft of the report when you acknowledge the emotional cost.
The actions you take in response to all your feelings become more intentional. You start to understand – oh, that’s resentment. I need to stop and feel it. In that space, options open up for you. You begin to respond with skill. You adjust your pack, your shift your load. You prepare better next time, you care for yourself with more skill.
Here’s another thing. When a hiker acknowledges issues and responds, not by quitting and not by barreling on without thought, then she has what she needs. She remembers a map, turns back for forgotten water and then continues, prevents blisters, prevents injury. Then, nobody has to rescue her later, nobody has to traverse the mountains in the dark to save her. She is a responsible hiker.
When we take care of our own emotional needs at work, we’re like that competent backpacker. We don’t complain and make life harder for others, because we’ve acknowledged our feelings and take responsibility for them. We demonstrate solutions as we work to correct situations, empowering those around us to say no, and yes. Showing others that the work is tough, and sometimes it’s uncomfortable, but nothing has gone wrong. It can be done and done well without overreacting or underreacting.
All of that is amazingly productive and that’s not even the best part.
When you teach yourself to notice and sit with unwanted emotions, you also notice wanted feelings faster and more often.
On the trail, you look up, appreciate the warm breeze, of the brief section of good footing. At work you notice that you are focused and comfortable, that you like some of this stuff you slog through each day.
As you teach yourself to work with tough feelings, you also are training yourself to notice all your feelings. You notice impatience and validation. You notice frustration and fascination. Life starts to feel bigger, more vibrant. Better. You decide you’ll hike this trail again. You decide you are alright with the work on your schedule.
And that? Is a fine way get through the day.
