Problem Solving 101

I had a teacher in elementary school who taught me a lesson on letting go. One fine day she had us wrote on a piece of paper all the things that made us angry, sad and uncomfortable. When we were done, she led us out into the school yard where a hole was already dug, and had us crumpled that piece of paper and throw it in. Then she went ahead and buried the hole again... miraculously we all felt good that day.

That paper symbolizes all the things that were at the time making us feeling negative, and somehow in our naive minds, the "out of sight out of mind" mentality really helped us. I often thought back to that day, and wished that issues today would be so easily resolved as it was that day. But I guess that is not the case, as we grow up, we realized that trouble don't go away simply because we close our eyes or hid under our blankets. As we grow older, the monsters that used to linger beneath our beds and closets may have disappeared, but the demons that grew in our hearts would grow strong and challenge the angels that reside in us.

Often times in life we will encounter things that will make us unhappy, anxious, angry, and worry. Chances are these oppressing things are very real to us, and as we stand there looking at it, we will most likely be overwhelmed by the seemingly insurmountable nature of it. It would be nice if we could just write it all down on a piece of paper, crumpled it and throw it away and be done with it. But that is not the case... or can it?

Analyzing the magic that occur that day, I realized that while our childlike innocence contributed to a whole lot of the success of my teacher's lesson; part of what made the whole thing worked was we visualized and actualized what it was that bothered us. When you step back and look at things that truly bothers us, as bad as they may look on the outset, they are nothing compared to what appears in our mindsets after we have processed it, churned it over a bit more and associate unnecessary emotions and fears to it. Often times, besides the actual thing that bothers us, it is the intangible uncertainty that we associate with which makes things more negative than they really are. So the first step to help us deal with problems is perhaps simply to write it all down. That way we boiled things down to the nitty-gritty. We actualize and visualize the components as opposed to letting them remain elusive and intangible in our minds.

After that, we visualize the solution. It may not as simple as the proverbial hole, often we can't just buried our problems and hope they will not erupt again. We will have to face them. However, it really helps if we can in some way imagine an endpoint. It is amazing how visualizing the scenarios helps us follow through with solving the actual issue. Sports psychologists have done extensive research on the effectiveness of visualizing success. They have found that when athletes take the time to meditate and visualize their routines, chances are they will fare better than those who jumps into it. To better demonstrate this point, I would like to tell you two anecdotes.

There was once an army officer who loved to golf; yet, despite spending numerous hours at the country club playing, for the most part he remained a mediocre golfer. Then war came along, and this officer was captured as a prisoner of war. During his imprisonment, to keep himself sane, he visualized himself playing on the golf course that he so loved everyday. He would imagine each and every shot that he takes, sensing the way his body would response prior and after a hit. After a long imprisonment, he was freed, and he went back to play at the country club again. Despite years of absence of actually playing the game, this officer went on to played one of the best games that day. Somehow, the years spent imagining the way he played the game actually helped him improved more than just building in the muscle memory.

Another anecdote involves a dear friend of mine who is a basketball fanatic. My friend is an excellent shooter, he has one of the highest score percentages at my school. While the team as a whole practices a lot on shooting, somehow when it comes to clutching the game winner, the responsibility fell to my friend. I remember asking him one day how he does it, how is it possible that he has such a feel of the ball when everyone else practices as hard as he does. His answer was that before each game, all he would do is sit there and pretend to hear the swooshing sound the net makes when he scores a bucket. So intense on hearing that sound, that when he actually touches the ball he can hear the net in his head, and somehow the shot would go in.

I am not saying that our problems would go away if we think it away. That would be nice. I am convinced however, that once we clasp the essentials of what is truly bothering us and proceed to visualize a solution based solely on the innate elements, then we will discover that it may not be as bad as we think... it could still be bad, but perhaps not ugly.

Finally, we have to learn to view these problems with child-like simplicity. Freud proposed the paradigm of id, ego and superego as means to explain our psyche. I don't know for sure how accurate he was, but I do want to believe that within each of us is a child, a pessimistic adult and a wise elder. These three "voices" plays a huge role in helping us face our daily troubles. The "pessimistic adult" is the voice of the society. It is often the consummate of years of social upbringing, intaking all the boundaries, the limits that society has set for us as "norms" to adhere to. As a result, this voice is perhaps the most restricting of the three. It is the voice that speaks from conventional wisdom and social convenience. It tells us what is perhaps expected of us by society, tradition and custom.

Then, there is the voice of the wise elder. This voice is often softer in the background, somewhat soothing, and speaks from experience. It is more often the encouraging voice that offers a balanced advice. It tells you to avoid high hopes, and keep away from despair. It draws upon hidden wisdom that is often overshadowed by conventional ones. It is soothing, reassuring and comforting.

Lastly, there is the child. This is the ideal that resides in us. It is perhaps the most untainted, and have the most "spirit". You probably hear it from time to time egging you on try new things, and do something spontaneous. This is the voice that perhaps carry the most emotions, and hopefully it is one that smiles the most often. There is a simple passion in this voice, nothing is too complicated, and nothing is too dull. This is the voice that never ceased to believe, to explore, to wonder and to be awed.

I always visualized the relationship of these three voices as a grandchild who runs to the grandma for comfort after being scolded by the parent for trying new things. If you listen carefully enough, you will hear these three voices talking to you whenever you are faced with a problem. They all have their valid points, but should you ever really need to choose, I urged you sincerely to give more weight to the wise elder, and most importantly the child. The child may push you to be selfish and even do something foolish, but it is the one that will make you feel alive. The wise elder will then sustain you should you bash your head and need a bandage. The pessimistic adult... well, all it is really good at besides being a giant chicken is to send you on guilt trips, which frankly you don't really need.

So, to sum it all up, actualize the nitty-gritty component of your problems, visualize an endpoint, pay attention to the grandchild and grandma in you, and screw the parent.

Requiem for Mr. Chan

News of my teacher's death came through the e-mail today. Funny how such news can travel so fast. I remember reading somewhere, a long time ago, about a boy who had to read aloud the telegram reporting his mother's death because his father couldn't read or write. How times have changed. But I digress.

The e-mail was short, a succinct announcement of just the name and the time of death, ending with a line promising more details to follow. That was it, a rather unceremonious note to the populous. At first, the name meant nothing to me as I haven't thought of this particular teacher for over ten years. Then little trinkets of memories slowly rose to the surface, suddenly the disembodied name had a face and emotions associated with it. All of a sudden, I was back in seventh grade sitting on the bleachers of the soccer field during lunch. Next to me was a teacher sitting there smiling as he watched the school children running around chasing after a soccer ball. I remember it being a curious thing because teachers don't usually sit outside in the heat during breaks, instead they hid in their air conditioned lounges gossiping away, probably dreading the lunch bell which signals another hour or two of facing down our bratty lot. Yet, there he was, a serene look upon his face. I don't remember what it was that made him looked my way, I think it was the fact that I was the only kid not playing on the field. But he looked at me and asked me why I didn't join in the fun. I just shrugged and said I wasn't good enough. He nodded, and motioned for one of the kids to come over. Next thing I knew, I was in the midst of the fray, running about, without a clue of what I am supposed to be doing, but nonetheless part of something. That was my first encounter with this quiet teacher. Each lunch, I would find him sitting at his usual spot, sometimes with a book, but often times just sitting there watching us play, perhaps vicariously living off our enjoyment.

I got to know him a bit more over the next two years, and although he never taught me in a class I realized I have gained quite a bit of hidden treasures simply through our daily interactions. He was a jovial person, with a certain serene quality about him. I guess the Chinese classics and philosophy certainly rubbed off on him because he seems to embodied a lot of the virtues that flew by my ignorant head. The calm that radiates from him, the dignity in which he carried himself was the culminate manifestation of a disciplined mind. We would talk of random things, topics ranging from Chinese history to daily musing. Looking back, I now realize how profound and enlightening those conversations were. He was indeed very didactic. There was no pretense, nor was he ever preachy. Instead he was inquisitive, and constantly prod me gently to observe life's lesson through the smallest thing. I think most importantly, he taught me the greatness behind simplicity. It was never about grand theories for him, instead it was about searching and being open to answers from any source, however irrelevant they may appear at first.

I guess he was a much beloved teacher, I never quite found out because after two years I switched schools and never talked to him again. Pretty soon, his existence vanquished beneath the other chapters that marked my youth. That is until today when the e-mail arrived with a name and a date of death. Funny what you remembered, and funny how people can impact you without you ever realizing it until you are suddenly confronted with mortality. I don't think I know this teacher well enough to eulogize him properly. I shall leave that to his more sincere pupils. But I believe him to be a decent fellow, and I lament his departure from this transitory earth. I will remember him fondly as the guy who managed to get me in on my first soccer game at a new school. I shall miss the tactful way in which he instilled knowledge upon me, wraith-like suggestions turning into concrete concepts that has subtly sustained me all these years.

Farewell Mr. Chan, you shall be missed.

Touch

During a recent Toastmaster meeting, my friend prompted a response from me with this question "Name one thing that you did a lot as a kid but less so since growing up". Being the dimwit that I am, I made some hasty response about being able to take more naps. There wasn't a whole lot to elaborate on; I used to sleep a lot, and now I am an insomniac, case closed. Yet, the question continued to gnaw at me after I was done; after all, I have got to admit the whole nap thing sounded really lame once you hear it. That, and I have just revealed to a room of relative strangers that I have a sleeping disorder- an infliction that one can only assume is a minor manifestation of the psychotic iceberg that is I.

Unfortunately, like so many of my other serendipitous moments, revelation came late and I came across a blundering idiot. But let us not dwell on that, but rather upon that delayed light bulb. I believe the answer I was looking for at the time was “Touch”. I can sense some of you cringed away from me when I said that- colorful notions perhaps intruding that Victorian attic of your soul? Regardless, amongst the many things that I did as a child but significantly reduced in frequency once attaining adulthood was touching. I was myopic at an early age, developed selective hearing later on, and was tongue tied for the most part. The one faculty of sense that remained intact throughout my formative years was my sense of touch. As a child, I liked to feel things, to explore and familiarize myself with the contours of whatever object that is within reach. I love how I can tickle my fingers with the corners of my blanket; it was a source of security, entertainment and comfort to feel the blanket there at my fingertips. I enjoyed caressing the ivories, the music I could make, the emotions I could emulate simply by varying pressure on different keys – its magical.

For a long time, reaching out and touching formed the basis of my existence- it was primitive but informative. The most important thing that touch offered me was closeness to another human being. In particular, it allowed me to relish in the joy of holding my mother’s hand (insert Oedipus reference here). Oh, I became familiar with those hands. Those hands could deliver swift justice when the need arise; and believe me, the imprint of those hands smart for a while. Yet, it was the touch of those hands that guided me, supported me in my hour of need.

Touch allowed me to embrace love- love that grows ever elusive as I grew older. I can not explain in words the wonderfulness that comes with being able to hug someone, to let your guard and feel secure simply because someone is holding you. At that singular moment when you are locked in an embrace, you are both vulnerable and not. It is awe-inspiring. It is amazing what a gentle nudge in the right direction can do. It is equally amazing how holding someone’s hand brings you closer to God. Our sense of touch is God’s gift to bring us closer to life and all the abstract virtues that were once seemingly incorporeal. Touch allows us to be intimate with someone, it opens us to new horizons simply because we connect. The mere proximity, that slight tingle when you are standing close enough to someone whom you can share a touch with is in fact gateway to something divine.

Sadly, in our society, we seem to frown upon touching. Proper decorum demands that we wean ourselves of being overly touchy feely. In particular, a gentleman should always ensure that his hands are in the proper place. A firm handshake, a slight wave shall suffice for us grown adults. We are our own entity, we each have personal space, and any attempt to reach out can be viewed as a hostile invasion. We cringed; we backed away until slowly we collapse in our own little world void of human touch. Touch slowly becomes stigmatized, associated with the wrong connotations. Ever noticed how words like caress sounds close to harass and molest, when in reality caress should only be associated with emotions of care and love. As I grew older, the concept of “look but don’t touch” became so ingrained that I find myself no longer capable of touch. I find myself distancing myself, separating myself so that I am untouchable… and that speaks of deeper issues. When we fail to reach out, when we fail to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to come in direct contact with another being, then we shut ourselves from a healthy system of support and care that would otherwise serve to push us further in our journey. Perhaps that is why I lie sleepless night after night, because my heart has become cold and foreign to the warmth that only holding hands can offer. Perhaps that is why I hesitate because I have taught myself to hold back.

So yes, touch was something I used to do a whole lot as a child until I was reprimand to the point where I refrained from doing much as an adult.