The next time we are faced with a new challenge, let's not focus on what could go wrong, but bring a curiosity about what might go right, writes Sheilagh Foley
A curious thing happened to me in the gym today. Before the Strength and Conditioning class begins it is up to the participants to fight their way amongst the die-hards and pick out their set of weights for the workout. Old ladies with surprising biceps, and middle-aged men with no necks, push to snap up the heavy weights as the rest of us dip and dive, grabbing what we can.
I was about to waddle back to my mat with kettle bells for earrings when an unassuming woman tapped me on the shoulder. She was wearing sunglasses, something I'd never seen before in a gym, but we are in South Dublin where gym attire stretches to expensive leggings named after Teletubbies (Lulu, Alo, Tipsy, Tinky-winky, Po, and so on).
She asked me if I could help her pick out weights. I happily obliged knowing absolutely nothing about what to give her. As I caressed dumbbells searching for something light but heavy, she moved closer to my ear and in a hushed voice spoke very rapidly.
As she revealed her shocking story with the speed of a machine gun, I nearly collapsed into a squat.
She told me she had suffered brain damage and only had the memory retention of a few minutes. She went into a few details as to how it happened, a catastrophic effect of some medication she was on.
"I could be talking to you and think you're great, then in a few minutes I won't know who you are!" She relayed.
I felt like I had stepped into the arc of a thriller noir.
"It took a lot for me to come here today," she continued, speaking even faster, "I am afraid of people, places, mirrors and fear itself."
As she said this, I looked at the floor to ceiling mirror we were standing 10 inches from in a room squashed with sweaty strangers, limbering up with high-energy electronic music screeching in the background, as the rhapsodising instructor started yelling orders.
"I think I might regret this," she concluded.
I examined our reflections in the mirror and thought she had a point. There were an abundance of triggers in the room. It was definitely a high-intensity, adrenaline-spiking, fight-or-flight atmosphere. I realized I probably had seconds before her memory would take a lap(se) and I would be dead to her.
My own brain was exploding with the information - Do I escort her out of the room? How did she get here? Did she drive? Is that safe? Should I put her on the crossbar of my bike and cycle her home at top speed?
But the die had been cast, the music and iron were already pumping, a ferocious granny beside us was screaming out "I AM TITANIUM!" - the war had begun.
"No, this is a great idea. You are so brave." I found myself gushing to her. "I'm sorry for what you have gone through, that's so tough. But you're doing the right thing, you'll be glad you came."
God only knows the mental hurdles she leapt over to walk into that gym. Even those of us without brain damage, or goldfish memories, can endure violent internal struggles to get motivated to exercise.
As I handed her some weights I could see her expression change, she looked at me blankly and hurried to the other side of the crammed studio.
"You're inspiring," I threw the comment to her back as she struck up a conversation with another stranger engaging the same machine-gun intensity. I could see her new confidante was pulling away annoyed at the distraction. This rebuff caused a swell of sympathy in me for my brain-damaged buddy, and I kept glancing at her during the class. She seemed ok, content to copy the instructor and oblivious to her neighbour's rebuff (perhaps the one perk to a limited memory is no grudges can be held and no feelings stay hurt).
This got me wondering if her worry about regretting the class could even manifest. I didn't know the particulars of her situation, is her memory completely wiped every few minutes? Or does she build up long-term memories and just lose the short-term? I tried to draw from the little I knew about dementia and Alzheimer's.
Had I done the wrong thing encouraging her to stay? What if she started going every week but on every occasion she felt fresh fear and anxiety? Perhaps something more predictable like a walk in the park with a person close to her would be psychologically safer?
My own memory is not stellar and upon leaving the gym I promptly forgot about the sun-glassed woman.
My attendance at this particular gym class is hit-and-miss, life gets in the way. So it was a couple of weeks before I was back, and to my surprise, there she was, sunglasses on and this time she was smiling.
Well, well, she had decided to come back.
I glanced at her as we all lunged and twerked and saw she was keeping up her smile. Then it hit me, maybe this was the perfect class for her. The training was broken into two-minute segments of thirty-second blocks. The instructor was constantly repeating herself, the music was rhythmic drum and bass. There was a board behind the instructor with the class plan written out.
If you 'woke up' in this class there is nothing to fear, just copy everyone around you, listen to the instructor, follow the rhythm, and read the plan. Ok, the mirrors are still terrifying (for everyone) but they remind you that you are present in that moment, you are part of the bouncing tribe, and you are doing your Goddamn best.
Life is really difficult for a lot of people, but we can take inspiration from this brain-damaged warrior of a woman.
Our caveman brains are programmed to always assess danger first in a situation. If we could reprogramme our brains and move danger down to second place, what should be the first thing we look for?
Joy and laughter spring to mind, but perhaps not ideal at sad events like a funeral, (nobody wants to hear a knock-knock joke as the casket is lowered, have some decorum), maybe our first synaptic firing should be to connect or empathize?
Of course, looking out for danger is a necessary survival mechanism. There is evidence of people with different brain development who don't register fear and climb up mountains with no safety gear, etc. I'm not suggesting we lose our sense of danger completely, but it would be interesting to imagine a world not led by fear, what would that look like?
Perhaps fear-based parenting, teaching, and governing could be replaced by a focus on connection, empathy, and a willingness to embrace risk. By the way, I live in perma-fight-or-flight mode so I am not an example of an alternate carefree way of thinking. Similar to the woman in the gym who feared fear, I fear not being afraid of fear. There isn't enough therapy in the world to tackle that one.
However, like the gym lady, we can avoid letting our fear define us and instead become courageous. Fear is a feeling, a natural response. Courage is a choice. If she's taught us one thing, (aside from the fact sunglasses in a gym class are worth it and give off Big Diva Energy), it's that within chaos you can still find your own rhythm, and among strangers you may even discover your tribe.
The next time we are faced with a new challenge, a scary conversation, or a daunting task, let's not focus on what could go wrong, but bring a curiosity about what might go right.
Who knows - maybe you'll look in that mirror and see something you like.