Multiple Perspectives

I spent my entire childhood, adolescence, and most all of my adulthood being told and believing that there is a right way and a wrong way, that clarity is the goal, uncertainty is problematic, and that anything contrary to that is blasphemous. To be honest, those “truths” have not served me well, and for the longest time, left me ill-equipped to understand complexity, much less navigate it.

A few years ago, I was introduced to Bill Torbert’s work on collaborative action inquiry by some colleagues who were recommending it be used to improve and transform injury and violence prevention through a systems approach. When they approached me about joining an action inquiry group that would meet monthly, I was simultaneously intrigued and wary. I was intrigued because there is nothing that gets my juices flowing more than thoughtful intellectual conversations with emotionally intelligent people about complex problems. I was wary because I knew that the practice would require considerable self-reflection and multiple levels of awareness. Although I have gotten better at being self-reflective and thinking beyond first person awareness, I was initially fearful of those practices. I don’t like to feel uncomfortable or vulnerable (see first paragraph). So, it was with some hesitancy that I agreed to join the group.

I am grateful for that decision daily. This inquiry practice has helped me resolve the discomfort and confusion I feel around cognitive dissonance. I know now that it is possible to hold multiple conflicting perspectives at the same time. And, I had several opportunities to notice that happening this past week.

I watched the accolades roll in for Prince Philip following his death. He was praised for his service to the British Royal Navy, his long marriage to Queen Elizabeth, and his contributions to the British monarchy. For obvious reasons I have a hard time heaping praise on a 99-year-old white man born into Greek and Danish royalty, who then married into British royalty, and whose racially insensitive comments were often coded as “gaffes.” However, by all indications, his grandchildren appeared to have much affection for him, so I felt compassion for their loss.

When listening to another podcast about the Tulsa race massacre of 1921, I felt angry at an educational system that has mislead me while also feeling grateful for the income it provided my family.

I seethed at another hateful comment made by an evangelical, while finding sanctuary in my own Christian beliefs.

I felt incensed at Sharon Osborne’s defense of her friend, Piers Morgan, someone I consider an embarrassment to journalism, and then felt defensive when a journalist I respect said something derogatory about someone I care about.

I have fond memories of watching The Little Mermaid dozens of times with my daughter when she was a toddler and now feel irritation with the message of the film that girls can only gain independence from their family and acceptance from a man if they change their appearance and give up their voices.

Shedding the shackles of certainty and embracing uncertainty is hard. But it can also be transformative and freeing. I’m learning that the conflict I have felt around binary thinking is not a problem, but binary thinking is. Life is complex, complicated, and uncertain. Trying to over-simplify complicated feeling and new experiences by putting them into outdated generalizations and stereotypes can move us even farther away from clarity and connection.

I can’t say that I have learned to embrace uncertainty, but I don’t fear it anymore. I can sit with the uncomfortableness of it and be curious about my feelings. For many years, the gravitational pull to certainty hindered my ability to grow. I am happy to be free of those restraints. I am grateful to the people who still provide me with opportunities to learn.