
What you have just articulated to yourself is a theory. Like a scientist piecing together theories about gravity or evolution, we are all in the business of forming and proving theories about the way the world works. Here are some other theories you might have heard floating around:
"Childbirth is horrible"
"My girlfriends are always there for me."
"The economy is just going to keep falling farther and farther."
"I'm good at public speaking."
"My husband doesn't communicate his feelings very well."
"There is never enough time in the day."
"One good deed deserves another."
"Romance dies with marriage."
We form our theories based on our life experiences. But once we have a theory, we usually see the world through the lens of that theory. In other words, we selectively collect evidence that supports our theory. For example, if your theory is that "I am good at public speaking," then every time that you deliver a well-received talk, you smile and say "yup, that's me!" If you once give a talk that does not end in thunderous applause, you are likely to shrug and say "the audience must have been in a food coma" or "it's too bad that that audience isn't into my line of work." Because, heck, you're good at public speaking, so it couldn't have been you.
The thing about theories is that they are subjective-- you can pretty much gather evidence for any theory you want. For example, when I was recently hanging out with a couple of married friends, Jill and Mike, the topic of conversation turned to the relationship that Jill had with her friends. Mike was adamant that Jill's friends took advantage of Jill, and treated her poorly. Jill shook her head and said that her friends were great people, and that she supported them through their hard times just like they would support her if the roles were reversed. Jill and Mike brought up a few different examples, and on each one they had their list of evidence for why the friend was or was not taking advantage of Jill. And each was compelling.
The beautiful thing about this subjectivity, then, is that you can choose which theories you want to be in the business of proving. For example, in a blog post a few months ago, I described my attitude toward getting my wallet stolen in a coffee shop. Instead of the theory "it is a real bummer getting your wallet stolen," I opted for the theory of "it's no big deal getting a wallet stolen." And guess what? It really wasn't a big deal. Yes, I canceled my credit cards, and we changed our locks. But it was like brushing my teeth... nothing noteworthy.
Here are some other great examples of reauthored theories:
"I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I am lost," reauthored to "My heart knows what I want to do, and the clues are all around me."
"Cleaning my bathroom is so annoying," reauthored to "Cleaning my bathroom is rewarding."
"It's impossible to stay in touch with my friends and family because they have moved so far away," reauthored to "I can have meaningful relationships over the phone, and I have plenty of time and money to visit as often as I need to in order to build the relationships I want."
"I make a lot of bad choices," reauthored to "I make a lot of good choices."
Once you switch theories and believe the new one, it is amazing how easy it is to prove it. You start to notice the good phone conversations you have with your friends, the time you made the wise choice to take a cab instead of the subway, and the little things in your day that you enjoy doing (which, pieced together, can give you the big picture of what career you would be passionate about). Moreover, you create more of those experiences, because you want more evidence to prove yourself right.
We're all in the business of proving theories: which ones would you like to be proving?
Image courtesy of jana739.wordpress.com