Cages and Tigers and Doors

Oh my...

There is a story in Tara Brach's book, Radical Acceptance, about a tiger named Mohini who lived in a 12x12 cage at the National Zoo. After many years, biologists and animal keepers created a natural habitat for her. It covered several acres and it had hills, trees, plants, and a pond. With excitement, they released Mohini into the new environment. But it was too late. She paced a 12x12 area in the corner until it was worn bare. She spent the rest of her life in that one spot.¹

Brach writes, "Perhaps the biggest tragedy of our lives is that freedom is possible, yet we pass our years trapped in the same old patterns."

A couple of months ago, a confluence of events made me wonder if I hadn't ended up a bit like Mohini.

This is Making Thriving Visible, a Substack written by Beck Tench. Unsubscribing is easy and encouraged if you aren't experiencing a small jolt of excitement at seeing this note in your inbox.

In July, the Center had a virtual planning retreat one Friday morning. We were thinking big: "What if we quit using Slack? What if we stopped answering email? What could we do RIGHT NOW that we'd be eternally grateful to ourselves for in a year?"

That last question stuck with me. Later that day, when Marilyn and I had dinner with couple we'd met only once before at the dog park, it was top of mind. Before COVID, I had a rich “stranger life.” I loved getting to know people, becoming known by them. Nearly four years on, I was out of practice. It was stressful going to a stranger’s house, leaving the safety of our home. But the dinner was charmed. We shared many similar life experiences, common values. It was a genuinely good time. I missed this.

The next morning was Saturday, which is the standard time for a weekly chat with my mom. As we were talking, I remembered the Mohini story and told her about a comic I had drawn about it. I rifled through my files to find it and text her a photo.

While searching for that drawing, I came upon a manuscript I’d been writing around the same time. After the call, I sat down in a rocking chair and reread part of it. It’d aged fairly well, and I was struck by the rapport and comfort I had with myself.

The next day, Sunday, I wrote morning pages for the first time in weeks. In those pages, the germ of an idea began to take form.

The germ of the idea was this: I was working too much. I started my day on East coast hours and ended my day on West coast hours. At the end of the day, I lacked energy to do much else. I wondered: What if COVID had effectively installed a cage around the 20x20 footprint of my home? A cage that had been since removed, but dutifuly self-maintained. What if, a year from now, I looked back on this moment and felt eternally grateful to myself because I stopped working from home?

I decided to join a local² co-working space and to leave my laptop there overnight. My hope in doing so was that I would have more energy to write and read and garden and cook — things I love, but that I’d lost geniune motivation to do. I would join for a few months and look for evidence in the following things to see if it was working:

In the three months since I joined the co-working space, I’ve experienced what I imagine Mohini would have experienced if she’d explored her larger exhibit. My days have more texture — they are peppered with friendly interactions with others at the co-working space, strangers on the sidewalk, regulars at shops and restaurants. My mind wonders freely on my bike ride to and from work, when I can’t distract it with a podcast or endlessly scrolling feed. I go for short walks when I need to clear my head. Some days, I go to the market on my way home and cook an inspired meal.

I feel like I found a key to a door that wasn't actually locked, but I've been able to walk through all the same.

SO, IS THIS THRIVING?

On the listening tour, I ask people how they know when they’re thriving and they often have insightful answers.

• “I’m thriving when I’m humming inside.”

• “I’m thriving when my spirit feels positive, listened to.”

• “I’m thriving when I’m in the zone, not thinking about the past or the future.”

• “I’m thriving when I’m productively struggling.”

Or put simply, “I know I’m thriving when I wake up and look forward to my day.”

I am beginning to see thriving, digitally or otherwise, as a practice. It’s not a destination. It isn’t static. We can be thriving and things can change. We can change. If Mohini had ventured out of her 12x12 self-imposed cage… if she had explored the trees and hills and plants and pond, would she have started to notice the exhibit fence? Would she have wondered what was on the other side?

“Perhaps the biggest tragedy of our lives is that freedom is possible, yet we pass our years trapped in the same old patterns.”

Three months ago, I made a choice that I am grateful to myself for having made. I am more connected, more energetic. I am practicing thriving most days. But there is a fence for me, too. Patterns of my psychology that frankly drive me bonkers.

A friend texted the other day.

I have been crazy busy. We’ve done so much since May. But it’s taken me a long time to write this Substack. I’m struggling to finish it right now. Why? What “same old pattern” am I trapped in? Is it perfectionism? Is it fear of rejection? What unlocked door is ajar, waiting to be walked through?

I think, at least for today, I know.

1. In attempting to source the validity of this story, I couldn’t find direct evidence that it’s actually true. It no less serves as a beautiful allegory, but may be one of those embellished urban legends that made its way into a respectable book.

2. For those that may not realize it, the Center has a mostly remote team. I work from Bainbridge Island.