Use Your Common Temperance
I’m winding down my month of temperance. My sugar fast has gone reasonably well and reinforced that I can accomplish what I intend to do. How empowering!
What’s that? You want to know about my experiment with the Quaker clearness process?
It’s been challenging.
A dear, long-time friend of mine recently called to share some news about changes in her life. She already had clarity and didn’t need any help discerning the path she wants to take. There wasn’t any need for me to ask her the kinds of questions intended for the Quaker clearness process; she was simply sharing the joy and sorrow that are woven into the kind of growth she’s experiencing.
Because we were on the phone, I felt like it wasn’t enough for me to only listen. Lacking visual cues, I felt like I needed to respond so she would feel heard and supported. I found myself treading a line between simply listening and my overwhelming desire to share my experience. I had an overpowering need to empathize and communicate I’ve been through change, too—it’s hard. I tried to curb my impulse to share my experience and I wasn’t successful. After we hung up, I couldn’t figure out if I’d done well by my friend or not. My intention was to support her, but my need to empathize was—at that moment— not as important as her needs. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wasn’t even empathizing anyway. Empathy is the act of understanding from another person’s perspective. Sharing my experience wasn’t about my friend; it was only about my fear of isolation and my need to connect. She was connecting with me just by picking up the phone.
Very quickly, my Quaker clearness experiment fell apart. It became less about asking good questions and more about restraining my mind and mouth to simply listen. Mary Oliver’s poem, “Ricky Talks About Talking”1 is a nuanced exploration of this struggle and why it’s so crucial to master:
“Here’s a story, and you don’t have to visit many
houses to find it. One person is talking,
the other one is not really listening.
Someone can look like they are but they’re
actually thinking about something they
want to say, or their minds are just
wandering. Or they’re looking at that
little box people hold in their hands these
days. And people get discouraged, so they
quit trying. And the very quiet people,
you may have noticed, are often the sad
people.”
Oliver’s conceit is a conversation between herself and her dog, Ricky—now that’s a dog with a contemplative mind. But Ricky is definitely right: putting ourselves aside to listen is an act of service to others and maybe if we did a better job of it, fewer people would feel so discouraged and hopeless.
My practice of temperance this month wasn’t really what I expected it would be. I wasn’t sure that temperance was all that important when I started; now I think it is. Temperance is what makes community such a beautiful thing: each of us tempering our selfish animal impulses for something greater than ourselves. And in exchange for temperance, we reap connection and support.
I feel like I’ve got more work to do in terms of practicing temperance as a contribution to my community. Luckily for me, next month’s virtue will be silence, which—I hope—will help me zero in on being a better listener.
What’s your take on temperance? Do you think it’s worthwhile in the modern world? Do you think it should be imposed? What about the conversations you have—do you wish others would shut up and listen or do you prefer hearing that you’re not alone in your experiences? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
Notes:
Image: Lorenzetti, Ambrogio. “Temperance.” File:Ambrogio Lorenzetti 002-Detail-Temperance.jpg, Wikimedia Commons, 21 Mar. 2018, commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ambrogio_Lorenzetti_002-detail-Temperance.jpg.
1. Oliver, Mary. “Ricky Talks About Talking” from Dog Songs: Deluxe Edition. Penguin, 2003. p. 79-81