Whac-a-Mole

If we look deeply, we see that fear is the linchpin that holds our emotional sense of self intact. Adyashanti

Most of us have at least one core issue that we have not fully “seen through.” Our core issues have a way of catching us when we least expect it. We think we’ve dealt with them, fixed them, and gotten rid of them forever, when they suddenly pop up in a new and unexpected way. Mine is the fear of abandonment and loss. No wonder it’s a big one. My mother died when I was twelve and was never spoken of again in my family. Over a year passed before my younger brother, who was six at the time, found out that she had died (a friend told him). So my huge fear about loss keeps showing up in new ways, especially when I feel that I’m letting others down. I’m sure that I will lose their love and be left isolated and alone. In order to stay “safe” I’ll do anything to please everyone around me, forgetting my own needs. It’s like an addictive behavior. I can’t control it.

Holidays and big family events are always a good test to see how far I’ve come in letting go of these fears.
“Peter, we’ve saved a seat at the family table,” my sister says. “We so want you to come—it won’t be the same without you!”

Previously I would instinctively say, “Yes, yes, of course I’ll come!”—even it means flying 5,000 miles across the world to Canada in the middle of winter.

But for the first time ever I say no.

“I love you,” I say, “would really like to come, but this time I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Miraculously, lightning doesn’t come out of the sky and strike me down. I don’t shrivel up into a sniveling little blob. But I do have to sit with the discomfort of taking a new stance in my life.

To my surprise, my response has a totally differently effect than I imagined it would. Instead of rejecting me, my family starts to respect me. Instead of being “invisible,” they now notice me. They see that I’m (finally) standing up for myself. What a relief it must be for them!

After this event, my “addiction” to approval doesn’t suddenly disappear. Once the family is taken care of, then I want to get love and approval from everyone else I’ve felt “abandoned” by. What about John and Sandy? What about Bill? Maybe I should reach out to them? The list goes on and on. But now I see that it’s my “addiction” popping up again and again. Once I’m willing to go through feeling the sense of discomfort, knowing I don’t need to change anything from what’s happening right now, the fear abates.

“We all want two things,” a dear friend says. “We either don’t want to lose what we have, or we want to be sure to get what we want.”

I start to see that my addictive tendencies are not just limited to people. Come to think of it, I’m addicted to just about everything—love, work, wine, sex, people, you name it! I’m glad I don’t have an iPhone, because I’d be addicted to that too.

“It’s like whac-a-mole,” my wife Linda laughs. “You no sooner have gotten rid of one of them and the next one pops up.”

“What am I going to do?” I ask, in mock desperation. The image of hitting one mole and having another one pop up is hysterical.

“Well, you have to go to the source of the addiction itself,” Linda says. She always has a way of seeing the things that I can’t see. That’s what makes our relationship such a good one.

“The source?”

“Yes, it’s based on the false belief that you are separate from God. You see yourself as someone who can be hurt, when in truth you can’t be. Your sense of separation is an illusion. It’s not true.”

“Ahh,” I say, stunned by the realization. “All this addictive behavior is based on my wanting to overcome my sense of separateness. If I was willing to “be” with what is happening right here, right now—including the pain—I wouldn’t need to run from it.”

“Like everyone else, you’re trying to seek pleasure and avoid pain. But after a while avoiding the pain has a way of kicking back on you.”

“But it’s fun,” I protest. “I love my wine, I love having everyone happy, I love working all day!”

“Well, you have two choices: sit with the discomfort and watch the part of you that wants to escape into the addiction, or go on playing whac-a-mole forever!”

“Whac-a-mole! Whac-a-mole!” I laugh. But I know she’s right.