Dissolve Despair
Ajahn Buddhadasa sliced through a bout of despair earlier this summer in one decisive cut. In a lecture distinguishing Buddhism from nihilism, he said, “Despair is the last abode of the ego.” It shocked me out of a false comfort I had never examined, a spell that threatens us all. I understood the human cost of my despair — a cynicism that hurt the people closest to me. I called my former boss and lover to apologize. They gracefully accepted.
Below I examine the roots of despair, how it stowed away in my life, how I discovered it, and how I aimed to dissolve it. On the other side of despair lies life purpose, which I’ll write about in a later post.
American despair
Folk wisdom can encourage positive and negative thinking. The American Dream holds that anyone from any background can succeed with hard work and intelligence. The prosperity gospel adds a halo of divinity to successful people. For those who made “something from nothing”, this “power of positive thinking” can be empowering and freeing.
For those who don’t succeed, the Dream can be dehumanizing. Ignoring the cultural structures reinforcing poverty, the Dream implies that poverty is a deserved product of laziness or lack of faith. Failing to achieve the Dream, we experience an American narrative of unworthiness: “I’m so stupid” or “I always f- it up” or “I deserve to be unhappy.” This kind of self-talk can cement into a ego that perversely relies on despair as a security blanket.
In America, I also inherited the confidence of the scientific and industrial revolutions. Science claimed to explain everything. Skepticism prevailed over anything that seemed irrational — from intuition to spirituality.
If we aren’t careful, skepticism can become an unbalanced, despairing cynicism that destroys everything we love, ranging from “I should just do something practical to make money” to “Nothing really matters anyway” to “She’s wonderful but it will never work out.” Destroying our inspiration serves our fear, “I have no idea how it would work out anyway” and creates a morbid security, “My life sucks, but at least I’ll be able to retire when I’m 60.” When it comes to finding happiness or purpose, the skeptical intellect is a bad master.
Despair at work
After a year of backpacking and meditating, I returned to my old life. I told my future boss, “I’m detached. This will be a great advantage to you sometimes and a great disadvantage other times. If you’re okay with that, I’d love to join.” As promised, I kept my balance through ups and downs. I resolved human conflict. I was skeptical of new ideas, tempering the mania of “following the next shiny thing” that often afflicts mission-driven startups.
Some months later we missed our sales targets. There was a crisis. My boss said, “You’re great at criticizing or improving other people’s ideas. But what do you actually believe in?” It was a fair question, given my leadership role in the company. I could not answer it. To be honest, I didn’t believe in much at all. I was dead in the water. Human organizations and startups in particular require belief to carry them through crisis. Part of a startup’s “dharma,” or true nature, is to believe in a higher purpose, and I was getting in the way. I stepped aside. Then I wondered, should I be doing this kind of work at all?
Despair in love
The very next month I reduced my life into the same red backpack that had kept me company two years ago. I gave up my comfortable life in California, most of my things, and said goodbye to my gracious friends for the second time. I flew to Africa to follow love. At least I believed in love, right? I wasn’t some hopeless cynic. We created a beautiful life together on a game preserve, filled with gardening, cooking, and meaningful work teaching sweet township kids. We even spent some time with giraffes, leopards and cheetahs.
Once we sat down in the midst of a hike to decompress. I confided that I was feeling empty. I felt like I was bumbling around life without a clear idea of what I was doing or why. I think this was too much to handle for my love, someone dedicated to nurturing meaning in life. I felt like I was the Grim Reaper or the Grinch. I was afflicted with a disease that had infected my old workplace and my current romance with a dour cynicism. This wasn’t the only thing that had come between us, but a potent symbol, nonetheless. I had been in a similar spot in a previous romantic relationship as well. We slowly ended our relationship. Then I wondered, am I really cut out for love?
What to do?
Over the next six months, I traveled India, Europe, and Morocco with my red backpack. I held three questions in my mind, “What’s worth doing?”, “What am I here for?”, and if all else failed, “What would be fun to do?”
I knew that my outlook had been poisoned by a rigid hold on nothingness. I had literally been practicing destroying things my whole life. This strategy was effective when I studied science or created technology, but failed at nurturing purpose or love. My cynicism was a foggy mirror that got in the way of seeing myself or allowing my own dharma into the world.
But at least I was following the Buddha’s instructions… or so I thought.
I was seeing nothingness in the world all around me.
Despair shattered
When I read Ajahn’s words, “Despair is the last abode of the ego”, the whole façade came tumbling down. The words “last abode” indicate that despair is the last place in which the self-preserving ego is hiding, the place we least expect to find it. For a long time, I couldn’t even see that I was despairing. I thought I was being “detached” in service of my workplace or lover. Instead, I was being actively cynical, destroying any potential meaning out of fear.
Far from following the Buddha into selflessness, I created a self attached to destroying meaning outside and inside, a self that was bent on affirming nothingness. Externally, I could never be accused of being wrong, only of being too harsh. Internally, my despair mortgaged joy or meaning for a grey security in misery. What I did not get from cynicism was reality. Any fixed lens on an ever-changing world, whether American Dream optimism or stubborn cynicism, gives a greatly limited view of the infinite possibilities of now.
Despairing apologies
I called my old boss to apologize. Even though it was months later, he was relieved. He had spent so much energy trying to battle my cynicism, while I kept claiming I was just being objective or detached. He had often hoped that I would embrace the joy of life more. He wished he knew the arguments that would convince me back then, but was glad I finally found them for myself.
I called my former lover to apologize. She groaned in agreement and relief. My defense of nothingness had chilled her to the bone and paralleled violent switchbacks in our intimacy. I finally acknowledged the silent killer of hope that I didn’t know was there. Admitting it out loud let us both drop a big weight from our past. She blessed me on the path to find my purpose.
Though I finally understood the destructive impact of my despair, I don’t believe it means I’m unable to work or love. Even just being aware made me more responsible. I also benefited from compassionate practice.
Walk in possibility
I had invested decades to build up my despairing ego. I realized it would take lots of practice to dismantle it and create an atmosphere of possibility. I had to learn to cradle new ideas, to nurture a sense of purpose or meaning, and to allow vitality in uncertain times. I’d have to skillfully walk the narrow path between cynical despair and the seductive American dream fantasy that says, “I’m a superhero, just wait, you’ll see!”
I practiced allowing new ideas, aiming for creativity without judgment. Traveling spurred creativity, and the mantra “I don’t know” neutralized judgment. I drew, sang, danced, stumbled through foreign languages to destabilize common sense, and practiced awareness in uncomfortable situations. I wrote for myself, to channel my inner guide. I noticed when I felt most alive. I tried to think impossible things, but remembered to say “I don’t know” before they became self-perpetuating fantasies. I carefully observed my sensations when “I don’t care” came to mind. Whenever the well-practiced voice of cynicism snuck in, I destabilized it with “I don’t know.” I practiced patience in the days when cynicism won, knowing that I could open again.
Answers slowly came to my three questions about purpose, which led to my calling as a guide. More on this later. For now, I observe that unlearning despair created the possibility for inspiration to take root. I became more alive as I stopped habitually attacking myself.
See clearly
Despair colors our perception and seduces us into cynically destroying everything around us. But despair is a habit like any other. It can be unlearned. Every day, we can practice seeing clearly, without bias. Neither seeing fantasy, nor meaninglessness, we observe the infinite beauty of the present moment. This daily practice is yet another flavor of meditation.
Seeing clearly in one moment, we find wisdom, we see reality, we find sustainable vitality and inspiration, and we act from a balanced position. When we learn to see clearly in all moments, we are liberated.
Quotes for Reflection
Love says: ‘I am everything’.
Wisdom says: ‘I am nothing.’
Between the two my life flows.
(Nisargadatta, I Am That, #57)No experience will hurt you, provided you don’t make it a habit.
(Nisargadatta, I Am That, #53)Alice laughed. ‘There’s no use trying…One can’t believe impossible things.’
‘I daresay you haven’t had much practice,’ said the Queen. ‘When I was your age, I always did it for half-an-hour a day. Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”
(Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland)You see, we cannot draw lines and compartments and refuse to budge beyond them. Sometimes you have to use your failures as stepping-stones to success. You have to maintain a fine balance between hope and despair.
(Rohinton Mistry, A Fine Balance)
