empathetic thought.
Seen in this aspect, the “three sides to every story” doctrine is, really, nothing more than a study in empathy. It’s not just about seeing the other guy’s side of things, but keeping in mind that there are other sides at all. Far too often, we lose sight of this basic premise, and from there, it’s a domino effect, the classic “slippery slope.” First there’s only oneself and their side of the story; next, that story becomes as the person wants it to be; then, finally, they’re justifying crimes, victimization, and other selfish behavior—because the other guy is a jerk who deserves what he gets, or that big corporation will just write off the theft, or that pedestrian shouldn’t have been walking there. Yet, in reality, our interactions will always retain their “three-sidedness,” however much it might be ignored or denied. Of course, it might not seem this way, especially in the heat of the moment, when empathy and its broadened horizons can feel cumbersome and impractical, if not outright impossible—such as when, say, you’re staring down the barrel of a gun. But empathy’s importance persists, even if seen only in retrospect; the trick is to suspend our natural desire to shrug empathy and adhere to appearances, instead keeping in perspective the bigger picture and its multidimensional nature—that there’s a “your” side in addition to the “mine,” and that, chances are, neither of them are completely the “truth.”
Once we lose a functional sense of empathy, the rug is pulled from under us, distancing our thoughts from actual reality and sound, just action. But, thankfully, just staying in touch with the “three-sides” concept goes a long way toward preserving a total, empathetic view of things.
There’s three sides to every story ...
Who would’ve thought such a clichéd old saying would have such bearing on everyday life? For the reasons outlined above (and many others), a working understanding of the world’s complex, multisided nature is necessary for conscientious living, for otherwise we are left adrift in a distorted, incomplete perception of ourselves, others, and our environment. There’s far more to the subject of multidimensional thinking, of course—more “sides” to its “story,” if you will—but this essay is a worthy primer, I think. Again, it’s a monumental step to just open oneself to the possibility of other sides to their life stories; from there, the rest is cake.
In closing, I must admit that, among its other benefits, multidimensional thinking can be a source of great pleasure. For me, it’s a wonderful feeling when all sides are learned and things just click, so that that final point of the triangle—truth—is at last attained. For one who values truth above all, nothing could be more worthwhile, nor delightful. In this way, three-sided thinking can serve as a gateway to endless joy, perhaps of a kind unprecedented.
XXI. THE MIRACLE OF CHOICE
It was a rocky Spring.
The mercury poisoning, I could deal with. The same for the problem with my thyroid gland—old news these, however disastrous their effects on my energy and wellbeing. But then the seasonal allergies started, and wet weather left my apartment overrun with toxic mold. Insomnia followed, and a dozen other debilitating symptoms brought about by my cocktail of illness.
My body was besieged.
I was sick. I was exhausted. I could not think straight. Daily chores and personal hygiene gained difficulty. And there was my job—cutting grass, which was complicated by the same freak rains that had brought about the mold. But I could do this. I knew how to work sick, had been doing it for years. However, on top of everything, I then injured my knee, bringing red-hot pain with each step, when I needed to walk miles a day behind a mower. A black sun rose over my world.
Yet, I kept going—and loved it. Against all logic, I loved the walking disaster I’d become. All because I chose to.
The miracle of choice.
Though, it wasn’t always this way—not by a long shot. I’d taken sick in 2004, stricken with a condition that would be given a dozen names before being pegged as mercury poisoning and its offshoots illnesses. Back then, I chose anything but love. I chose defeat. I chose, “Why me?” I chose quick fixes and Band-Aid solutions, which would only make things worse. Not that I was so wrong to—what’s a young man to do when his world is suddenly flipped on its head? School doesn’t teach you these things, nor does anyone else. In this day and age, sufficient displeasure is considered The End, and there is no reaction but a bad one.
But, as I would come to learn, this common belief is assumption, and quite untrue.
Unknown to me at the time, my 2004 curveball was the first step of a long journey, one which would take me to foreign lands. I would travel to countries I’d never known existed, places with names like “Too Sick To Walk,” and “Can’t Do Basic Math,” and “Been Awake For Five Days.” I would learn that the consequences of an unhealthy lifestyle are real, and stick around no matter how much you complain. I would learn that a victim mentality helps no one but the sellers of comfort food. I would learn that “bad” can, in fact, become “worse.” I would learn that there were millions of folks as sick and desperate as myself, and take no comfort in this.
But, none of these lessons would mean anything until I learned the greatest one of all: that I had choice in the matter, that I could choose happiness and perseverance in the face of crippling illness.
Though, make no mistake: it was a long road to loving that rocky Spring. That was in 2013, and for most of the nine years between then and 2004, I reacted badly, again and again, even in the face of far less-devastating circumstances. It was only in the darkest depths of my illness, around 2010, that I found myself faced with a choice: do something about my health, or die. My condition had degraded at this point, to where I could no longer take care of myself in the day-to-day. The symptoms were overwhelming, and made worse by my self-defeating reactions to them. Daily life was unbearable. Waking up in the morning was both difficult and terrifying, and I was only getting worse.
Here, I’ll make a long story short: when faced with choosing action or death, I chose action. But this brought me to another crossroads: what action to take? I’d long ago abandoned traditional medicine, when no doctor could so much as name my disease (I would only be diagnosed with mercury poisoning in late 2012, by way of my own detective work and some interesting coincidences). And, in time, the same went for alternative medicine, and everything in between. So my first reaction was of despair, for I had the will but not the way. Then I realized another assumption I was making: that to be happy and functional, I had to be healed.
It was a perfectly logical assumption: health equals happiness, so no health equals no happiness, right? But, all the same, an assumption it was—a very wrong one. This epiphany led to several years of educational experience, which I will also condense: eventually, I learned that I could be happy without being healthy—that I could choose how to feel.
Slowly, I adopted a good attitude, by reacting well and making the best of a bad situation. And, by golly, it seemed to work: the better I reacted, the better I felt, despite the same physical symptoms. I was amazed. For those long years after 2004, which for me felt like a second life, I had become accustomed to bad reaction, leading to a vicious cycle—feel sick, be unhappy, become sicker. After my 2010 awakening, however, I was suddenly breaking the cycle and reacting differently, and with magical results. As time went on, I kept reacting well, and it kept helping: I could, for the most part, be happy, no matter how sick I felt.
Cool.
Here, I’ll again fast-forward. Sensing significant power, I felt around this good-reaction phenomenon, and kept learning. My search would lead me deeper and deeper into my mind and its workings, until I could isolate exactly what occurred when I chose to be happy. In the end, I determined that it all boiled down to reaction, on the deepest levels of my mind, those which contain one’s innermost beliefs. With time and contemplation, my search would lead me through a jungle of psychological concepts: perception, projection, thought processes, personality, memory, conditioning, mental complexes—the nuts a
nd bolts of the subconscious mind, that psychic substrate which makes you you. I found an enormous, infinitely complicated machine lurking beneath the floorboards of my conscious, topside mind, one I’d been almost entirely ignorant of. And, it was this that was responsible for my newfound ability. By reacting badly, I’d been pushing the machine’s buttons without realizing it, as it were.
But, the ability to choose happiness was only one of the tricks this subconscious machine could perform.
My learning went on and on, culminating in an informal education in psychology. And, each step along the way, I gained more awareness and self-knowledge, as well as more practice in applying good reaction and conscious choice. Mind you, I wasn’t always successful in reacting well to my handicapped life, for there were certainly bumps along this road; but, all in all, I grew disciplined in these mind-over-matter techniques—enough to overcome that toxic Spring when it came my way, and to smile as I did so. Then, I chose happiness and perseverance in the face of my sudden onslaught of misfortune. Not even my injured knee could hold be back, for I used my strange training to first react well, then work around the damage, compensating for it using various