In June, we explore change as an odyssey rather than a mirage. This letter is the third and final part of this month’s series. You can delve deeper into the introductory piece, The Odyssey of Change, and the follow-up, The Changing Equation of Change, to uncover lesser-known aspects and interpretations of this multifaceted topic.
Morning hours are the most edifying and joyful time in this stage of my life. As soon as I gain a glimpse of consciousness, I feel a subtle excitement, anticipating the pleasure a cup of warm espresso will send through my spine.
The light is the first thing I notice while lying in bed. I can guess from its shadows if I’m going to have a good day. I feel a jolt of relief at the sight of a reassuring mellow grey hues on the walls; my mind is usually sharper and my chest loosens on cloudy and rainy days. A yellow, piercing through the curtains' glimmers, is instead a signal for an energy drainer, and I have a pang of frustration; it requires a bigger effort for me to regulate with higher temperatures and blinding light, and I end up with an overstimulated and exhausted body and mind.
I get up, and the next enjoyable thing is the silence. I abundantly, unhurriedly sprinkle my face and neck with cold water, no matter the season. It immediately boosts my lucidity. Still in pajamas, I start the process of making my cup of espresso. It takes less than a minute for the espresso machine to warm up, just the perfect amount of time to line up on the countertop a small cup, jar with sugar, and a capsule full of aromatic powder. Deciding the right amount of sugar is tricky, so most of the time I’m disgusted by the flavor. But I indulge in savoring the comforting feeling that lingers in the few minutes that precede and follow the disruptive sensation on my tongue’s papillae.
During the winter months, when the darkness penetrates deep into the morning hours, I light a candle: its occasional flickering makes the ether merrier; it’s a gentle introduction to the day ahead. With the cup in one hand, I stand by the window: it’s my first encounter with the sky for the day. I try to decipher what it has to say, but not in terms of meteorological events. It’s more like a soul reading: what I project onto the horizon is based on what is already circulating through my body—motivation, inspiration, anxiety, impatience, hope, disappointment.
This is my sacred ritual that I tend to replicate every morning, wherever I am. I don’t remember how it started, nor when I became a morning person waking up at dawn. But it has definitely tamed my morning anxiety. I understand now that the secret is in those nano pleasures: from guessing the light, to the temperature shock on my skin, and listening to the sky—all while clearing the brain fog.
A ritual is defined by psychologists as 'a predefined sequence of symbolic actions often characterized by formality and repetition that lacks direct instrumental purpose.' Research identifies three elements of a ritual. First, it consists of behaviors that occur in fixed succession—one after another—and are typified by formality and repetition. Secondly, the behaviors have symbolic meaning, and lastly, these ritualized behaviors generally have no obvious useful purpose.
My childhood and adolescence chronicle examples of Skinner’s behaviorism
I grew up in the eighties, in Yugoslavia. Behaviorism was spreading and was seamlessly integrated into society. It was widely accepted by generations of teachers and parents, and its application came very naturally to the adult population already burdened with intergenerational trauma. Behavioral change was a matter of extortion through positive and negative reinforcements. We were subjected to psychological and emotional conditioning at home, at school, and consequently among peers. Today, we know how damaging rewards of any kind are when used for manipulation and behavior suppression, or how cruel it is to coerce certain behaviors through deprivation, restriction, isolation, shaming, silent treatment, threats, and physical punishment to any self-aware living creature.
While abuse is faster in obtaining tangible behavioral changes, once the abuser is removed from the scene, previously enforced change will most likely vanish. In the worst-case scenario, some of us who were subjected to it have continued to live with learned helplessness, unprepared for healthy growth and development, and thus for deeply felt and wanted modification of personality traits or more fluid adaptation to ever-changing circumstances.
Every season, I notice minor transformations in my appearance
The aging process is underway, and while it’s irreversible, I want to age gracefully, with vitality, lightness, and flexibility. I've made many attempts to incorporate yoga and meditation into my routine. I followed what I was taught: to ruthlessly enforce the practice through conditioning. I regularly failed because one can only endure so much guilt and negative self-talk on a daily basis.
When change is a matter of choice, we have the ability to act. We possess a limited stream of conscious agency and self-control each day. Enforcing an activity that initially doesn’t make sense to our brain consumes a lot of energy, and we soon realize how unsustainable it is to expect leftover energy to get us through the day.
Genuine change is intrinsic and devoid of expectations. It’s a journey, not a destination. We hugely underestimate the power of pleasure when trying to voluntarily change aspects of our lives. But I don’t mean pleasure as a reward; if that’s the case, it’s essentially emotional manipulation and will rarely be helpful or healthy for our already fragile mental health. Rewards are often used for numbing our feelings or distracting from the real problem. What I mean instead is pleasure as an intertwined fiber of the doing, with the gradual discovery of glimmers of enjoyment. I regard pleasure as the reassuring feeling of knowing what’s coming next and that it can be easily replicated.
Studies show that the anxiety-reducing effect of rituals can apply to almost any high-pressure endeavor
Attempting a positive and lasting alteration of well established behavioural pattern means being mindful of the limited amount of self-control at our disposition. Incidentally, the type of ritual doesn't appear to have a bearing on the reduction of anxiety: even simple rituals, requesting very little effort can be extremely effective.
A ritual is a continuous process that allows a gradual awareness of various perspectives. One becomes more attuned to the environment and better able to find an appropriate response to situations. “From a young age, we cease to really respond to the real world around us,” says Michael Puett, a professor of Chinese history at Harvard University and author of The Path. We fall into patterns and ruts of responses shaped by our upbringing and become only partially perceptive.
Egon Brunswik is best known for his work on perception. As a perception researcher, Brunswik was very familiar with the Gestalt principles. He took these ideas further by emphasizing their functional nature. For example, why would the cognitive system follow the principle of continuity? According to Brunswik, the perceptual system follows such a law because it is useful and allows the system to make good predictions in its environment.
A repeated ritual, in time, will become a reassuring routine.
How do I make beneficial adjustments easy to maintain over time?
I want to be able to start doing yoga in the mornings without much effort. Negative self-talk, guilt, pressure, expectations, rewards—everything I was taught about behavior change failed to deliver the desired results.
There is an interesting theory that the process of change actually starts with an ending. Until we acknowledge that something has ended, we can't move forward toward a new beginning. Bridges’ Transition Model for Change suggests that change has a transitional nature. According to William and Susan Bridges, change consists of three stages: ending, neutral zone, and new beginnings. Individuals first grieve what they are letting go of before adopting new ways of being.
Apparently, I need to say goodbye to the times when, after the morning dialogue between me and the sky, I immediately moved to screens. This should be an end. I can even grieve the loss of my early morning dopamine boost granted by colorful notifications and bad news. I need time, even small amounts of it, just to sit without doing anything. I first need to detox, and like any detox, it can wreak havoc on my energy levels. A new ritual needs space and time, so making some is a necessary step.
As soon as I’m in the next stage, that neutral zone, my intention is to start sitting on my yoga mat. To diminish the effort and the natural resistance to anything new, every evening I’ll position my yoga mat in the kitchen, close to the espresso machine. I know this is going to be an initiation, a subtle anticipation gradually turning into a tender and reassuring gesture toward my struggling self who wants to take better care. I will allow as long as it takes, listening to the signals from my oppositional brain and proceeding slowly to avoid a coup. I will make it feel safe and running smoothly on standby while lying on the mat. I remember how good the pressure of my stiff back against the floor feels: the small, interwoven pleasure, hidden in the process.
A repeated ritual becomes a routine
I’m ready to end my current waking pattern and transition to a sitting-on-the-yoga-mat morning routine. Who knows, maybe one day, I will even do yoga on that yoga mat.
The July letters will start with a slight delay, and the gatherings will be held in the second half of the month.