Wondering, The Practicals

Jul 31, 2024

basketball on basketball ring — Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

I recognize that every one of us is in a different place in this wondering journey. I also recognize that each of us is also in a different place of awareness about our individual place in this wondering journey. Some of us might even spend more of our time wondering about other people’s wondering, but not truly wondering about that because we already know. Judgement. Jeez. And I do it, misguided as it is, because this one’s on us.

I would be willing to bet that many (most?) of us believe we’re better wonderers than we actually are, just sayin, and rest assured that I’m throwing my own self under the bus on this one right alongside everyone else. And, another truth, no matter how well we wonder compared to how well we think we wonder, some people are more developed wonderers than others - nature, nuture, whatever the reason, it’s ok. Because: Everyone can get better at it. And none of us are done growing in this realm. Plus, even though this is the USA, it isn’t a contest, and there is no first prize.

So, recognizing that some of you already wonder like Aristotle or the Buddha (both of whom had lives directed and redirected by their wondering), and that others of us are, well, not, this post will have varying relevance. I invite you to enter open to seeing what’s there for you.

Wondering, The Practice

After all the philosophicals of the first post, in the end, wondering is a practice. Without the noun and verb of practice put into action, there’s nada. Think of it this way, both the noun and the verb of the word practice are pretty critical when it comes to wondering.

(n) The first is to decide that wondering is something you want to do and commit to it as a way of being in the world. Make it a practice.
(v) The second is to practice the skill of wondering: to do it and do it in order to build and refine the muscles you need to make it a practice.

Let’s take basketball as an example

Say I want to join my local 60-year-old bad-ass-woman basketball league and kick butt on the court. In this example, I already play a little but want to get better. Here are completely fabricated illustrations of the two elements, (n) (v), of practice in action using this scenario.

Practicing (verb)

For me, getting good at basketball won’t happen by magic (or maybe it’s the only way it will happen, but that’ll ruin this example). So, I start by inventorying the basic skills I have, which are, how shall we say it, few. I need to practice. To do this, I have to decide what practicing looks like for me. Basics first. Because I make only 5% of my free throws, I decide to shoot 100 free throws a day. Soon, my arms are toned, my shot excellent. Then I add a dribbling drill. It’s right-hand dribbling while standing still. Then I upgrade to right-hand dribbling moving up and down the court. Then hand-to-hand dribbling standing still, look at me go, and so on. I throw in a little running, one inch jumping, and soon all of me is looking toned (and the 60-year-old bad-ass-woman-league masseuse is booked on a repeating schedule).

Over time, I continue to notice what I need to improve, and then I create more drills, and continue to practice … over and over until, one week later, I can dribble smoothly behind my back and then through my legs and the crowd of at least 1,000 attending our game roars in appreciation. After that game (which we win, by the way, but in which I only score at the free throw line), I combine a dribbling drill with a shooting drill, and do that over and over until, next game, I hit a three while the crowd is still roaring at my amazing dribbling. The fans grow hoarse. That’s ok.

An interlude

So, all of this is pretty amazing. I’m feeling quite happy with myself, maybe even Payne jersey (someday) hung in the Hall of Badass Fame happy, but then I go on a big vacation to … Italy (!!) … and the pasta and gelato and wines are amazing. I take a lot of books. (This is the only part of this whole example that has any vestige of truth to it, aside from having heard that Italy’s in-person pasta and gelato and wines are amazing, and knowing I would definitely partake). I spend a lot of time reading on the seaside/vineyardside covered patio at the villa where I’m staying. I don’t venture out much, I am luxuriating in this comfort and impossible view.

When I return home, though, I suck at basketball again. It’s like the basketball and I were once introduced and then broke up dramatically. After a bit of teeth gnashing and bench sitting, I realize I can’t do drills for a week and count on that to carry me for my whole career. Well, I can do that, but as I’ve dropped to the bottom of my local 60-year-old-bad-ass-woman team roster, I understand where that choice leaves me.

A Practice

If I really care about being a consistently skilled player, I need to make basketball a practice in my life. It needs to become a part of how I choose to live. I can take breaks, but I need to always return. So much need, right? Anyway.

To make basketball a practice, I commit to do drills five days a week. I do this because then, if I make practicing part of my practice, when the crowds are roaring and throwing rubber chickens because my team is down by one and I’m dribbling all around and through my legs and then I land a three from midcourt while being fouled, I will be able to silence the noise of the crowd and my own mind and make that critical shot as I square up at the free throw line.

Making basketball a practice means that not only will I practice on the regular, but I will critically (and with self-compassion) examine my progress. I may also read some books, watch some film, watch some professionals in action, talk about it with my friends and family. I will find many ways to make it part of my life until it just is. And even then, I’ll need to return to my practice over and over, to examine how I’m doing and keep it fresh.

Wondering is exactly like basketball

Except you don’t age out. You may even age in, if you do your work.

Other than that, and some additional obvious things, here’s how. If I want to wonder, I need 1) ways to practice and increase my skills, and 2) to commit to wondering as a practice.

The drills start with the basics (below are a riff of possibilities) :

Free throw questions are like:

Did I correctly hear that?

I wonder if I really understand what she means?

One hand dribbling are questions like:

What is this making me feel?

Why is this person saying this?

Where did she learn that?

What voice is left out of this article/conversation?

Alternating hand dribbling:

Why would he say that? (not asked in a wounded way but in a wondering way)

What’s going on for him?

Have I (truly) checked to see if it's true?

Have I heard the other side to this?

Considered it?

Why am I feeling what I’m feeling? (this one is a lottery winner)

Around the back and through the legs questions are ones like:

How did I contribute to this?

What if I’m wrong?

What’s another angle on this?

Why is it important to me that she’s wrong?

What’s at stake for me here?

If this issue had multiple answers, other than mine, what might they be?

Are there other emotions lurking underneath the feeling I identified above?

What are they and why are they happening for me? (I often have another emotion under my feeling of anger, for example)

Add the three point shot with a foul:

What am I afraid to see/learn?

About this issue?

About myself?

About people I love?

What am I not looking at?

Why am I talking so loudly?

We’re all here in our human suits

So, all of this may sound like we should be basketball’s version of Jaylan Brown — and that practicing a lot in our practice will make us excellent at wondering, forever. But the simple fact with wondering is that, at both the end and the beginning of the day, we are human. Capable of greatness (most impressive of all in terms of great Love) but also super flawed. It’s in our design.

The point is, wondering is a lofty skill. And critical, oh Nelly, but one that often runs counter to other real parts of us like our reptilian brain and ego. True wondering, where we let go of our agenda (other than wondering), can threaten these lizard/ego things that work to keep us in immediate safety (or the feeling/illusion of safety) and yell Danger Danger, Will Robinson when we get near the uncomfortable. All this to say, we can stray, shut down, or shut out, and so wondering, the practice and the practicing, requires a lifelong commitment – one any of us will inevitably utter Oops about and need to return to again and again.

We will fail. Failing does not ruin us. So, for example, if someone says something that makes me uncomfortable and the first thing I do is yell, swear, argue, go silent, disparage them and their entire family line, think a string of my own awesome personal swear words, this doesn’t mean I have to re-start my wondering practice from square one like I did basketball when I got back from that vacation in Italy. I just have to say oops, maybe I’m sorry, probably I’m sorry, reground, and start again.

The good news is each of us will know we’re solid in our practice when we notice that we responded that initial way. Do not underestimate how next-level this self-reflection/awareness is. When we do notice that we absolutely did not wonder and did something much less admirable, here are the steps: first take the time to unpack that response (maybe over days, months, infinity), and then take the time to unpack the issue/moment/thought you responded to in this way. This process, entered as honestly as possible, will offer baskets of bounty.

A final notes on being human: self-compassion for everyone working to wonder while in these human suits is a necessity. And even more so for those who aren’t trying to wonder at all.

Ok. How to commit to the practicing of wondering

First, a story. A few months ago, I took on a new responsibility. It was to manage a grant-funded, brand new collective garden developed and run in cooperation with a local organization that works with families of young children, many of them new Americans and recent immigrants. Hugely exciting, right? I knew I was stepping well out of my league in so many ways, but I’d been asked to take this on, wanted to take it on, and knew I had both skills that would help me learn how to take it on and a support system in place when I needed help. I also am passionate about collective gardening, for so many reasons, and this experiment felt, well, woo!

Just the same, I was stone cold terrified. One day, when I was telling some friends about it, one finally said, Amy, I’m hearing the word terrified a lot. Now, I’m a total power of language person, and let me tell you that my kids want to stick forks in their eyes because I’m always reminding them that their language has power, and if they shift their language, the experience, at least in part, will shift along with it. I firmly believe this. I firmly have lived this.

And yet, there I was, over and over, only saying that my new and thrilling opportunity was TERRIFYING. Suffice it to say, and huge thanks to my friend for calling me in, I examined my language (because while this job was indeed terrifying, truth, that wasn’t the only thing it was), and then had a long wondering (and rueful chuckle) at myself. I wondered why terror was my only point of focus. I wondered what that one word was doing for my experience and my anticipation. I wondered what that word was doing for the people hearing about this opportunity, and the way they might feel about it. I wondered what I was modeling, for myself and the world around me. I wondered where this word came from in me and what it was trying to protect. I wondered what would happen if I changed my language (yes, dear children of my heart, I hear you laughing). After all that, I decided to change.

It wasn’t so easy. Finally, I pulled out an index card and wrote:

It’s going to be amazing.

I hung the index card on my computer, and it’s been taped there since mid-April, a reminder that in addition to all the rest of my emotions, this statement is also true. If I give it enough room, it may be the most true statement of all.

I hung it there in front of my daily face because I realized my terrified language had already gained traction, worn a gentle groove in my brain, and so had become the first thing I wanted to say, maybe the only thing I wanted to say, and I needed a visual reminder of this other option.

The unexpected result has been that the more I see the index card, the more I am reminded to use the word exciting not only in relation to this garden project, but in my life.

Why the heck am I telling you this? (you wonder)

Simple truth is, I have no idea how each of you thinks, or what goes on in your mind behind your words or your facial expressions (and my interpretations of even these may be incorrect). Do any of us ever know what someone else is really thinking? So I own, as I write this whole piece, that I may be completely missing the boat for you. Or even the fleet.

But in case the index card idea seems (or suggests) a tool for you, I offer it. Consider going back over the basketball wondering drill questions and pulling a few questions you may want to incorporate or use more often. Then write them down and hang them somewhere where they remind you on the daily to slow down and add layers and levels to your wondering.

Perhaps under that index card, we all can make one more index card/sticky note/whatever that says:

Don’t stop there.

Because real wondering does not stop. It will hold hands with you for your whole life if you let it.

The grounding question: why am I doing this?

If I really didn’t want to play basketball, or understand the deep reasons it was important to me, when the going got tough, I would eventually quit playing. This is doubly true for any practice that challenges our human suit by making us feel vulnerable. If we don’t know why we’re practicing wondering, when the going gets tough, the tough will get going (thanks, Dad), but we who aren’t really committed will leave. The why is a question I can’t answer for you. So, as much as you need to, spend real time here:

Why do you want to have wondering be something that you do?
And if you want to make it a practice, why?

In the spirit of give and take, I just paused to wonder about the same questions. Why do I want to commit to wonder? Here’s my list so far:

It makes the world really interesting because I keep discovering things.
It keeps me from thinking I know all the answers.
It keeps me from acting (and conversing) like I know all the answers. (usually) (sometimes) (we can always hope)
I ask more questions.
I listen better to the answers.
I consider the answers later, after the conversation ends.
I return to things, to think about them more deeply rather than dismissing them
It makes me more compassionate.
This makes me less lonely.
It keeps me learning.
Things related to my learning begin to pop up unexpectedly in my life.
It introduces surprise and serendipity into my life.
It opens me to more situations, types of people, thoughts.
It creates real conversation.
It broadens my world of relationships all by its own self.
It makes me uncomfortable. (Even though I don’t universally enjoy this, I know it’s actually a good thing. Really.)
It makes me less angry, though not one bit less passionate. This is also a good thing.

I don’t go straight to anger (or fear)
If I do go there, I have developed the ability to pause and bring in more thoughts/questions/possibilities which gets me unstuck from my anger/fear and this allows me to move forward in a healthy way
It allows me to see myself
It allows me to challenge myself

Go on, add your own.

Wondering as a practice is like meditation

Meditation involves a few things. The choice to do it. Then:

Slowing down. Breathing. Getting centered. Being willing to let go. Noticing the internal chatter. Noticing the emotions that rise and fall. The distractions. The emotions. Letting all of that go on down the metaphorical river in the interest of the bigger picture.

There is a version of meditation for everyone. Some people float in the water. Some walk. Some sit with trees. Some write. Some have their eyes closed, some open. Some listen to a recording, or music, or gongs, or silence. Some make a sound, some have a mantra, some are silent. Some have great success, and some have less success, but the truth is that a consistent trying (that old practicing as a practice) works, and often in ways we can’t see.

There is no wrong way. The only wrong way is not trying.

Meditation requires self-compassion and commitment. It also requires being willing to stumble, or quit, and then start again.