Mental Traps_ The Overthinker's Guide to a Happier Life - Andre Kukla [2]
Naturalists have to go to the forest to encounter the objects of their studies. Hunters after mental traps find their prey in the midst of everyday life. It’s in the most ordinary affairs—in shopping, balancing the checkbook, keeping appointments, answering the telephone, brushing our teeth, talking to a friend—that we learn most about mental traps. When the stakes are high, we become too fixed on the outcome to maintain an observational attitude toward ourselves. But when the activity is more or less routine, we find the mental leeway to examine what we do and the courage to try a new approach.
When we begin to study ourselves in this way, we reap an unexpected benefit quite aside from the increase in self-knowledge. Ordinary life immediately becomes extraordinary and fascinating. A telephone call in the midst of our work is no longer merely an irritation—it’s a prized opportunity to observe the effects of interruptions. Arriving late for a movie gives us a chance to investigate the nature of small disappointments. Working under a deadline is endlessly rich in opportunities for self-discovery. Washing the dishes is an arena in which we may observe the play of diverse psychological forces—the same forces, in fact, that contend at the most remarkable junctures of life. Were it not for these little trials and tribulations, we would be unable to learn anything about ourselves. So we begin to welcome trouble as an ally, and to be fascinated by our reactions to it. And everyday life is transformed into an endless adventure. For what is adventure if not an attitude toward trouble?
It’s time to begin our exploration of the internal landscape. We needn’t be in too great a hurry to change things around. Drastic intervention can wait until we understand the ecological balance of this unfamiliar terrain. Meanwhile, let’s enjoy the sights. Even the amanita mushroom has its beauty.
he first trap, persistence, is to continue to work on projects that have lost their value. The activity had meaning for us once—or we would never have begun. But the meaning has evaporated before we reach the end. Yet we go on, either because we don’t notice the change or out of sheer inertia.
We start a Monopoly game with great enthusiasm and—inevitably—get bored before we reach the end. But instead of quitting, we toil on without pleasure “just to get it over with.” There can be no clearer example of a waste of time.
Someone asks us to recall the name of a supporting actor in a B movie of the forties. It’s on the tip of our tongue, but we can’t quite come up with it. Meanwhile the person who wanted to know has departed from the scene. But her problem doesn’t depart with her. It bedevils us all day. Originally our aim was to answer someone’s question. But this aim isn’t what keeps us going now. Even the other’s death wouldn’t relieve us of our burden.
We start to watch a television show and soon realize that it’s hopelessly dull. Yet we watch it “to the bitter end,” complaining all the while about how awful it is.
We foolishly begin to sing “A Hundred Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” When we pass the eighty-five-bottle mark, we’re already sick of the enterprise. But we don’t quit. Instead, we sing faster and faster so that we may sooner come to the end.
In a political discussion, we conceive of a decisive but lengthy refutation of our opponent’s view. Halfway through our exposition, he announces that he’s convinced. We need say no more. Yet we tediously bring the argument to a superfluous conclusion.
We aren’t sufficiently impressed by the sheer peculiarity of actions like these.
What makes these activities mental traps is that they proceed without reference to our needs or interests.