Mindful Reflection Inspired by a Six Year Old

How often do you get the chance to hold a conversation with a 6-year-old (or anyone younger than about 8)? If you get the chance my advice would be to dive right in. There’s something about the mind of a child, who hasn’t yet become weighted down by routines and objectives, that is remarkable.

My last experience of this was a discussion on the joys of learning to swim, and in particular the novelty of different swimming strokes. My young friend asked me what my ‘best’ swimming stroke was. Not being much of a swimmer at all, I offhandedly said that the only stroke I had mastered to date was ‘sinking’. I expounded (briefly) on just how reliably I could sink like a stone upon entering the water. Another adult would, I imagine, allow this inane comment to slide away unnoticed. Not so the sense-maker in this conversation (the 6-year-old that is). She fixed me with a quizzical look and asked, rather insightfully and with a genuine curiosity, “Well what do you do when you get to the bottom?”

The answer that sprung instantly, to both mind and lip, was “Hope.”

Hope. A word we are conditioned to attach to so many positive outcomes. The value I took from this chance conversation, was what I was left to consider in her quick reply. “Well that’s silly,” she said. And it is, quite profoundly so. We build expectations, attached to plans and desires, and despite knowing intellectually that the end result lies outside our control, we hold onto hope nonetheless. 

It’s the hope that kills you

“They lose the day in expectation of the night, and the night in fear of the dawn” – Seneca

Hope is often seen as something to treasure, to bring us peace and comfort when darkness crowds our view of the world. An aspect less considered is how hope inclines us toward procrastination – staying within a situation which is causing us harm or distress. When we hold off on moving ahead because of what might soon unfold we also risk falling into a mental trap where we start to believe that a better future is something we don’t deserve.

Hope can also be addictive, to the point that we will hope for things that are not necessarily in our best interests, or which are extremely unlikely to ever become real. For example, an unhealthy relationship may be sustained in the hope that the other person will begin to treat you better, or that they will spontaneously transform into a better person.

Hope denies you access to the only things you really control, your own thoughts and actions. Imagine being engaged in work that has no meaning, feeling under-valued or under-appreciated. You have the power to change that situation, but hope requires you to assume the actions of others are your only salvation. The fact that those ‘others’ have not yet acted is side-lined when it should be a clear warning signal.

Hope denies reality. It is seductive, addictive, and sometimes briefly exciting. But it is without substance, outside of your control, and can lead you to disaster. 

Judgement is a choice

“Nothing is either good or bad but thinking makes it so” – William Shakespeare (Hamlet)

Our judgement on things becomes a judgement on ourselves; a confinement; a limitation. The wonder and tragedy of the human mind is its ability to quickly form decisions and its determination to place itself beyond reproach.

Whenever we interpret the actions of others we have a natural tendency to see ourselves in the best possible light, and conversely to see others in the worst. If you’ve ever found yourself in an argument, you will be aware of how quickly you consider the actions or comments of others to be indicative of an enduring fault. A negative comment becomes a thought such as ‘”He’s always against any change”, or “She’s never respected my viewpoint on anything”. At the same time your ego will insist you judge yourself  to be the opposite character: “I am always open to new ideas” or “At least I genuinely listen to others”.

What would it be like if you could observe these thoughts as they form; if you could take an entirely different view? Everyone you meet is another person, with similar needs, objectives, and challenges to your own. That means in essence they are just as likely (or unlikely) as you are, to be continuously at fault or in the wrong.

When our first response to others is to ask ourselves how we might help lighten their load; how we might somehow be adding to their troubles, then we are able to short-circuit the ego’s desire to paint ourselves as the most noble and potentially downtrodden in every situation. 

How wisdom is obtained and serenity achieved

I could recommend many strategies in this regard, but self-observation is a skill that mostly requires time, practice, and a strong desire to make the world a better place. You will need self-compassion and regular reminders to help you get there. So my first step would be to start a habit of self-reflection – one designed to promote gratitude, care, and resilience.

“Cling tooth and nail to the following rule: Not to give in to adversity, never to trust prosperity, and always to take full note of fortune’s habit of behaving just as she pleases, treating her as if she were actually going to do everything it is in her power to do. Whatever you have been expecting for some time comes as less of a shock.” —Seneca

Start a habit that when you wake each day, and before you go to bed each night, you take just 5 minutes to reflect as follows:

In the morning

• Be thankful (to be alive, to have this day, to have anything at all)

• Plan how you will live today – how you will become better, how you will face challenges, how you will help others, how you want to think

• Remind yourself that you don’t get to control the outcomes. You only have full control over what you think and how you act

In the evening

• Find something (or someone) from your day that you can be grateful for

• Ask yourself whether you saw everyone you interacted with as another human being, with their own struggles and suffering 

• Accept that the end of the day is always the right place to put the day aside

After sinking

Although my conversation represented, at first glance, a trivial exchange, I did not leave empty handed. Even as adult conversation drew me away, and her current art project proved more interesting than further time spent with someone who clearly had a poor life plan, I was puzzling out the antidote to being stuck on the bottom of the pool.

A fitting ending, of sorts, was her voice calling me back to the door as we were walking out the drive. A hasty watercolour of a snail was handed over, with a look I took to mean “you clearly need this more than I.” 

The snail sits on my desk now. A reminder of wisdom I have yet to find; of the persistence and patience needed when you cannot go faster; how listening to others shouldn’t begin with the value of what they might say.

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About the Author:

KYLE RICHARDSON

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