When I was growing up, all of us — at least the boys — were indoctrinated into the 'cowboy culture'. Nobody didn't know about Roy Rogers, Hopalong Cassidy, Buffalo Bob, and the Lone Ranger and Tonto. We all had something 'cowboy' (usually a pair of toy six-shooters). All of us could sing Home on the Range (at least the first verse). We knew "Oh, give me a home, where the antelope roam" ( . . . and I'll show you a dirty house?). We were told that "seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day." Of course, at some point, we grew up, and those 'discouraging words' seem to be everywhere. Perhaps it even makes you long for a "home on the range."
There's just one problem with this very attractive fantasy: that's just what it is . . . a fantasy. Our difficulty arises from the fact that we believe that the obstacles to our happiness (those 'discouraging words') are coming from outside. Consider this: if someone you despised walked up to you and told you that you and your ideas would never amount to anything, what would go on inside you? Certainly, you'd be annoyed, perhaps even angry or outraged. But, would you feel less about yourself? Most likely not. Probably, you'd 'consider the source' and let the words bounce off you like the nonsense they are. Such 'discouraging words' have no effect.
If these troubling thoughts aren't coming from our opponents, where do they come from? In many cases, they come from our loved ones and friends, who are always prone to give us 'good advice.' Before long, this 'advice' gets internalized, and those critical voices move from outside to inside, and, even in their absence, their words and accusing tones keep playing in our heads. Freud called the voices our 'superego.' Rick Carson (Taming Your Gremlin) calls it the voice of your gremlin. Timothy Gallwey (The Inner Game of Work) calls it 'The Critic.' A mentor of mine once referred to his as 'The Stopper.' What name do you (or will you) give to yours?
If you're like most people, you really don't want a 'home on the range.' You need noise, distraction, your iPod, your big-screen TV, conversation, anything to take your mind off the voices in your head. "Oh, no!" you may say, "What I really want is some peace and quiet!" Yet, I suggest that if you really experienced peace and quiet, you'd be driven to distraction. Why? Because there'd be nothing whatever to distract you from that ongoing diatribe of self-defeating chatter that goes on between your ears. If you doubt me, I challenge you to find a spiritual retreat center (any flavor will do), and go there for a three or four day silent retreat. Don't just go, but leave everything home. Do it without any distractions — no music, no news, no sports, no books, magazines, crosswords or sudoku — nothing. Let it be just you and the silence.
Facing absolute silence within and without will take all the courage you can muster. It's not for wusses. You'll soon enough discover the source of all those 'discouraging words' you'd so like to escape. Furthermore, you'll discover that trying to silence them — to get to the point where you can enjoy the silence — will be like a dog chasing its tail: the harder you try, the more elusive it becomes. You'll discover the identity of your most skillful and powerful opponent. As I'm fond of quoting from the late Walt Kelly's Pogo comic strip, "We've met the enemy and they is us." The real queston that opens the door to maturity (and spirituality) is this: are you a courageous enough man or woman to strip yourself mentally and emotionally naked and, in silence, confront yourself in that mirror without distraction or embellishment? After all, your 'home on the range' exists only on the inside.
H. Les Brown, MA, FCC
Copyright © 2008 H. Les Brown
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