dear friends,
A few weeks ago, I found myself rushing. My nature is to be early, so it’s rare that I feel this way, but a series of unfortunate events on this particular morning had me leaving my apartment a full forty minutes after I had intended to. And as I hurried past the building next to ours, I almost didn’t see my friendly neighboring building doorman. He smiled and waived, as he does ever day, and I — trying to catch up with the time I felt I lost — almost didn’t smile and waive back. This may be a small thing, but it points to something deeper about how our perception of not having enough time can affect us. And it got me thinking about the famous 1973 Good Samaritan study.
You probably know this experiment even if you don’t know it by name. Social psychologists John Darley and Daniel Batson were curious about why people help in some situations but not in others. They decided to study a group they thought would be naturally inclined toward compassion for their fellow humans: seminary students training to become priests. All the students were told they would be giving a speech in a building across campus. Then the students were divided into three groups to test different variables that the researchers hypothesized would impact their willingness to help someone in need. Devotion to helping others and giving a speech about the Good Samaritan turned out not to be all that significant. What made the study famous was the one variable that did make a difference: perceived lack of time. As the students began their walk to the building where they would give their speech, one subgroup was told they had plenty of time to get there, another group was told they had just enough time, and the last group was told they were running late. On their way to the other building, all of the students encountered a man who was clearly in distress. Only some stopped to help.
Who? You already know the answer: the students who were told that had plenty of time. Turns out even seminarians don’t help their fellow humans when they feel pressed for time.
As I contemplated how I almost didn’t waive back to my friendly neighbor, I paid attention to the sensory difference between how I move through the world when I’m feeling calm, cool, and collected compared with how I move through the world when I’m feeling rushed. Night and day. When I feel that there’s all the time in the world, there’s an open sense of friendly curiosity. That openness constricts into a tense knot in the center of my stomach when I start feeling that there isn’t enough time or enough of whatever it is I think I need. And that unpleasant knot is just part of it. My thinking also constricts: my field of vision narrows and I perceive less of what is happening around me (not seeing my neighbor waive). I also find that my creative thinking goes off line. I become less able to think of options and weigh them appropriately, which generally leads me to make unskillful decisions. In other words, when I’m in this state, I tend to make things worse rather than better. (Anyone else ever been in a hurry to get somewhere and then can’t make a decision between the subway, bus, or cab … all the while the minutes tick away?)
What to do?
Here’s what I’ve been playing with since my rushed morning the other day. It’s a two step process: one physical and one mental. Both matter, but I’ve got to say I’m finding the second practice to be transformative.
(1) Build as much buffer time into your day as you can. What makes sense for a buffer is completely up to you. I’m definitely a rather-read-a-book-at-the-airport-than-worry-about-making-the-flight kind of human, but some of my favorite people are not, so I know first-hand that it’s all about what suits your temperament. This isn’t a right or wrong thing, this is a what-works-for-you thing. What matters is that you are intentional about it. If you want to spend more of life in a space of open and friendly curiosity, figure out what you need to feel that way. Building in five extra minutes before and after meetings may give you breathing room to be your best you. Of course, this physical practice is only as effective as life is predictable. And we all know how predictable life is. This practice matters because it sets the tone for our habitual way of being, but its impact is limited when something unforeseen happens … which is when you move to the second practice:
(2) Ask yourself, “What if there is enough, time, money, energy and help?” When I feel rushed, there is an overwhelming sense that I do not have what I need. I’m not talking about a reasonable assessment of needing three hours, but only having two. I’m talking about my mind being certain that there isn’t enough time no matter what. That certainty triggers annoyance, anger, blame and a whole host of other not-so-helpful emotions. Instead of debating with myself about who deserves blame or if I can just work faster, I simply ask, “What if there is enough?” The question does not transform the situation. If the train leaves at 10:45, it leaves at 10:45. But, in asking this question you open up the possibility of everything turning out, which naturally loosens that knot and opens up your mind to its creative possibilities. This question gently nudges you toward more skillful action. It gives you the mental space to take whatever situation you’re in and make it better.
That’s it for this week! I hope these practices help you stay calm, cool, and collected no matter what comes your way.
warmly,
alison
