In New Age circles they mention the Law of Attraction a lot. It basically says that you attract good things into your life by thinking positive thoughts. Those thoughts then “resonate” with “positive energy” and boom – you’re a millionaire! I’ve always believed this oversimplified approach to be an elaborate way of saying that noone enjoys being around a gloomy person and that you had better done everything you can to be this chipper dude that everybody likes having around. You got a disability, a disease, a chronic condition to deal with? Well then go fuck yourself, doomster, you’re going down. The Law of Attraction doesn’t spare whiners.
Today, however, I believe to have found some minor evidence for this “resonance” phenomenon. Upon some second, a little harder thought, it may actually refer to “negativity bias” more than anything. In a nutshell: Nature provided us with a bias towards expecting and hence preparing for negative outcomes in order to give us an edge in the survival competition of species. In an even tighter nutshell, negativity bias is driving the “never repeat a mistake” paradigm. Correct me, if I’m wrong here, but that’s how I understand this phenomenon.
Alright, so with these two paragraphs of elaborate ado, wtf happened? And before I go on, I feel guilty and majorly embarrassed for posting this entire blog post when just a couple of days ago I was this full mouth about 2015 and how I’d become a “dragon slayer” again. Well, that dragon probably got a good laugh out of that as it fixed to slay me – or my spirit, rather – today. And it did so with a brief, elegant wiggle of its mighty tail, whiplashing whatever resolve I may have felt for a split-second on my 50th birthday a couple of days ago.
It started by following up on a priority I had established for myself in an approach of transforming that 2015 dragon slaying resolve into some tangible action: I resumed my crib hunting efforts again after firmly finding after three years of trying that I am no longer comfortable where I live, never really have been (to the point of physical manifestations and discomfort, of course, needless to say). I had decided to take it even a notch further by considering moving back to a more urban area, in fact considering the fringes of the city limits of the next bigger city in my vicinity. (I currently live about some 25 miles West of it in a very quiet, rural, scenic, actually recreational area). So I did what I have to do in my current situation of having become a disabled retiree living off of the meager pittance that the stubs of a once comfty social security net left in my country. “Too much to die, too little to live”, as they endearingly call it. I’d rather say it’s even too little to die a halfway decent, pain free death of one’s free choice, should one so decide. But that’s another story. As I get up early in order to get to make those mandatory phone calls and the latter in order to get some feedback as to the criteria I need to meet for space and rent, I am being referred to another person half a dozen times until I eventually get patched through to the person in charge for my anticipated, potential future place to rent. I then learn that the place I had found doesn’t meet the criteria in place, contrary to some publicly available memo I had found saying that the place I had in mind was indeed within the criteria that can be funded. Long story – and phone call – short: It’s a no-no. But what really got me after that is this: I have become quite the diplomat/Buddha in bracing myself and my impulses upon hearing such not-exactly-uplifting messages and I usually then try to get the person in charge to work with me and tell me how to best continue from here. Not this one. She simply refused to be of any help, claiming that she’d follow updated regulations in doing so and she wouldn’t be able to tell me the new criteria in place. She wouldn’t even give me a place, URL, name, phone number or any shred of hint as to where to look in order to garner this type of information. In other words: She was actually being an ass of the proportions similar to a small nation’s geographic expansion. I had to formally terminate that phone call in order to keep it together and in order to make – my now obsolete – appointment, which should have been followed by a number of errands I had planned on running while I was at it. How does that relate to “resonance” or evidence for such a law? Well, bear with me for another moment, if so inclined.
I then met a friend’s relative close to where my appointment was and we spent the afternoon with all sorts of stimulating conversation – in a language that isn’t my native tongue, b.t.w. I excused myself after about 3.5 hours of hanging out in order to run another errand I had planned on and headed back to my car using the local subway system. This is when some quantum fluctuation seems to have reverberated in ways that manifested a major cognitive black hole in my mind as I took no less than an hour for a short trip that shouldn’t have exceeded the 15-minute-mark. In other words: I got lost. Not just once, but three times in short sequence, until I eventually found my car. I was already late, so I hoped on making up for lost time by believing I already knew the way back seeing as I had been in this area about four times last year. But …. the quantum waves of the gravitational shit field seemed to ripple the other way again as I …. got lost another three times in trying to get back on that city highway that connects to the freeway I need to take in order to drive home (or stop by that other place, where I meant to run another errand). Again, a short trip that shouldn’t have lasted for longer than 20 minutes even in traffic amounted to an odyssee of almost an hour. Let me spell that out for you once more: One full hour, an entirety of 60 minutes as opposed to the 20 minutes it should have taken. (No, I don’t have a navigation system in my car – I’m lucky I get to hold on to the car in the first place and I can only do so by way of some benevolent folks helping out with that – undocumented, of course…, or else the car would be gone and probably the place I live in, as well).
I can see you tapping your toes with impatience: “Resonance, you were fixing to talk about that.” Right. Here goes (deep breath): How is it that I’m focussing on all the shitty parts in the day, my failures and defeats? Why can’t I come home feeling good about myself and about having had a not-so-casual, borderline academic conversation with a super-smart person whose first language is different from mine? Why do I seem so helpless in deterring my known tendency to beat myself up over these setbacks, thus – naturally – resulting in an eating binge upon finally coming home – did I mention that this last errand wasn’t productive either? – and thoroughly giving myself the blame for all of this? (Ok, the disorientation bothers me. It happens for the n-th time in this particular area. Maybe some subtle, but powerful subconscious aversion towards going there in the first place renders me unattentive borderline autistic in finding my way around there, I have no idea…) But the relapse into self-blaming and putting myself on the guilt trip was – or is – so pronounced it even stands out to me, who is currently engulfed by feelings of self-loathing dipped with a heavy sauce of self-pity.
Resonance. Apparently today’s events resonated with those seemingly deeply ingrained patterns of low self-esteem and thus low self-confidence. And as I type this and as I felt them washing over me, no cognitive intervention of any kind actually helped me to avert them. I seem to be beyond any fixing.
There goes my dragon slayer spirit. Took exactly one single bad day to kill it. Wow. Fuck therapy, get milk and cookies. Fuck that, too. Get smoke and booze or whatever nice drug you can get your hands on.