Last month we got acquainted and in the Live Call we talked about why this program is called Theory and why the community is called The Lab. It’s all rooted in the process of experimentation.
An experiment is a procedure carried out to a) support or refute a hypothesis or b) determine the efficacy or likelihood of something previously untried.
A hypothesis is a proposed explanation for a phenomenon.
A phenomenon is an observable event.
See where I’m going with this?
We spent October asking Why. We began by recognizing our assumptions and judgements and began digging deeper into our perspectives. Why did we do that? Because before we can investigate why something happened, we must acknowledge what happened (the phenomenon).
The raised question becomes: what happens when something becomes so familiar that we stop noticing it altogether?
Allow me to introduce you to habituation.
Habituation (in completely non-scientific terms) is a way our brain learns to stop paying attention to things that don’t appear to require our immediate attention. For example, I live close to an airport. There are planes flying overhead constantly. When someone from out of town visits, they nearly always comment on the noise, but most of the time, I don’t even hear it anymore.
The planes haven’t stopped flying. My brain has simply become accustomed to the sound and placed ‘Airplane Noise’ into the whatever closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Imagine if I noticed every time a plane flew over my house. In the time it took me to write this article there were at least four. If I noticed every one, I would be so annoyed by the end of the day that I’d be hammering a For Sale sign into my lawn. Remember, we talked about this. Our brains are magnificent machines, and our goal here isn’t to encourage endless analysis, but to create the capacity to examine our thinking when it’s required; to recognize when it’s time to pull something out of the whatever closet.
Imagine you’ve decided to clean out your closet — a real closet, not the metaphorical one, but hang onto those parallels. You’re feeling motivated, productive, you’re ready for a change in season, and perhaps even a little proud of yourself. You’ve filled the box with clothes to donate and you’ve placed it by the front door so you’ll remember to take it to the donation center.
Excellent!
You make dinner, pack the kids’ lunches, and suddenly remember you’re supposed to read the last four chapters of your book club book before tomorrow. The evening takes on a new rush.
Monday morning hits with a wallop and as you’re scurrying out the door you stub your toe on the box, kicking it out of the way in frustration.
Right! I need to take that in.
But your hands are full, the kids are whining, and you are inching ever closer to late, late, late! You leave the box for another day.
And another.
And another.
And another as the box gets shuffled and shifted into the corner where it collects jackets, backpacks, and whatever else finds its way to the temporary cardboard shelf.
Congratulations! You’ve invented a new piece of furniture.
The box hasn’t disappeared. Your intention to donate the clothes hasn’t changed. But somewhere between the demands of everyday life and the familiarity of its presence, the box stopped commanding your attention.
Welcome to the concept of habituation: the once observable has become unobserved.
To be clear, this isn’t exactly a scientific example of habituation, but it’s a variable worth calling out. Our attention, memory, and competing priorities all influence what we have capacity to notice and what we act upon.
The point is that something can be right in front of us without holding our awareness.
Therefore, the question becomes: is it out of sight, out of mind? Or out of urgency, out of mind?
Let’s go back to the box. Mostly, it’s harmless. A little inconvenient, maybe, but nothing particularly critical. Until one morning, in a blur of ticking time and sleep deprivation, one of your kids trips over it. Now, your child has a goose egg on their forehead, you’ve spilled your coffee, and the wails are upsetting the dog.
Suddenly, the box has your full attention. It didn’t suddenly reappear. It isn’t necessarily any more or less important than it was yesterday. What changed was the urgency. Something that had quietly become part of the background suddenly became impossible to ignore.
Last month, we began exploring the art of curiosity; looking at assumptions, judgements, and reasons. Now, we add acknowledgment.
Intentional presence.
Next week, we’ll talk about the narrative we attach to these unobserved things, but for now, we’re simply asking questions: what happens if you give yourself an opportunity to see something familiar as though you’re encountering it for the first time?
Utilize the pause. Take the beat.
What boxes have become proverbial furniture in your behaviour?
What happens if you ask yourself:
Why is this here?
How did it become part of my normal?
What purpose does it serve in being here?
Because you cannot change that which you don’t acknowledge.
And sometimes, a willingness to look is all it takes to get the ball rolling.