it's about 10 pm on a cool april evening somewhere around 1980, and i'm walking along a moonlit dirt path at the mentalphysics retreat center
in joshua tree, california. we're about 8 days into a 10-day vipassana meditation retreat led by jack kornfield and joseph goldstein, and my mind has been getting quiet. earlier in the week, i played a walking game: can i count 20 steps without getting lost in thought? last night i played at counting 20 steps without having any thoughts at all: left, right, left...step, step...standing, standing, looking at the moon...left, right...proud proud, left right, step, step.
tonight i'm stepping, stepping...thinking, thinking, disappointed, disappointed, why isn't this working? i get too caught in accomplishing something! step step, thinking thinking, step step....self-critical, self-critical... step step...what was i thinking? this meditation stuff only worked for maybe an hour. what good is that? 10 days of pain for an hour of clarity...hey, could this be self-doubt? doubting, doubting...stepping, stepping....doubting, doubting, stepping, stepping, standing standing. the trucks motor by, and their rumble and while snaps off into silence, a breeze ruffles the trees in the distance, ruffles closer, then ruffles the leaves past me. the air is crisp and cool on my skin. i feel quiet, peaceful, happy. must have been self-doubt. apparently, there's a profound difference between applying to my mental state a name that's sort of right and a name that's just right.
what is critical seems to be the knowing, not the word or label. therefore it is quite possible to practice mindfulness meditation without using labels. still, at moments of uncertainly, of confusion, labels can be quite helpful in articulating the exact state of mind. could i have distinguished self-criticism from self-doubt that first time without the verbal label? not likely.
in a relationship, naming has the same usefulness - and more. having lunch with a friend, i check myself every few minutes: if i'm having fun, more of the same. if i'm waiting for the lunch to end, i'll try to change the conversation for the better. as therapist, i monitor myself in much the same way. i like noticing whether i feel relaxed or anxious, whether i feel solicitous or stingy, whether i feel close or distant. if i check myself and note that i feel relaxed and attentive; i go back to listening and chatting. if i check myself and note that i am distracted or burdened; i search for an intervention to change our mood.
in addition, in a relationship, there is the possibility of sharing. if i explicity reveal that i am sad, or if i tacitly show that i am sad by telling a sad story, my friend can comfort - "i'm sorry" - or can keep me company - "yeah, something like that happened to me; want to hear?"
there is the possibility of venting: i didn't like it that you made those plans without consulting me. there is the possibility of apology: i'm sorry i did that. there is the possibility of validation: of course you feel bad, i'd feel bad too if that happened to me.
as in solo meditation, precise labels are optional in most conversations. it is when misunderstandings arise that accurate naming becomes useful. a couple starts the therapy session by presenting a recurrent argument: "you said you were going to be home at 7 and you didn't get home til 8," she complains. "you didn't even bother to call!"
"i had to work late," he counters. "why should i have to get your permission to stay later at work? i wasn't out having fun!"
they've fought this same argument a dozen times. it's a strange attractor. i offer that he's right and he's wrong. indeed, he doesn't have to ask permission, but she wasn't actually looking to give him permission. she was wanting him to check with her. it's more than informing: to announce unilaterally, "i'm coming home late" would likely be peremptory. she does want him to call and ask, "i need to stay late at work; is that ok?" but it's not quite a literal question because she can't say no. except under extraordinary circumstances, she will say, "sure; thanks for letting me know." it's closer to an expression of concern or kinship that a request for approval. i use a label from everyday speech, not a psychological construct, not jargon, because common language offers so many choices so many fine gradations of attitude, that i have more chance to name the interaction accurately.
in his book, either/or, soren kiekegaard contrasts the aesthetic and the ethical stances. accurate naming is interesting, or aesthetic, but it's more than interesting. it facilitates closeness and repairs misunderstanding. so i name the state with a tone that is a balance between, "this is interesting" and "you might want to use this." i ask the wife if checking in would satisfy her. "definitely." i turn and ask the husband if he'd be willing to call her to check in. "i think so. certainly makes more sense than getting her permission."
in therapy with a different couple the man complains, "you didn't listen to me," and the woman rebuts, "i felt perfectly friendly; i was in a good mood. i wasn't angry." i offer that paying attention to him is at issue, not getting angry. she was cheerful, but was she perhaps preoccupied? did she feel them on the same page, or was there a certain distance? did she feel solo or available? now the discussion takes off.
many myths and stories feature the power of naming. in her fantasy series, the earthsea trilogy, for example, ursula k. le guin follows the life of a young man, sparrowhawk. it is learning the true names of persons and animals that gives him the power of a wizard.
in her book, adam's task, calling animals by name, the late dog-trainer and yale english professor, 
vicki hearne, alludes to genesis, in which god creates all the animals and gives to adam the task of naming each. hearne shows how successful animal trainers understand and appeal to the particular intelligence of each species. on the level of perception dogs organize their worlds by smell, horses by touch; and trainers must approach the prefered sense to effect change. on the level of attitude, cats can be described as uncooperative, but hearne finds that label simplistic. a cat likes a bit of distance - puzzling if you're used to dogs but familiar if you know any teenagers. a cat doesn't take direct orders as a dog does; but a cat, it turns out, is quite collaborative when approached with respect for it's particular preferences and temperment. walk up to a friendly dog and pet her; she will lick your hand. walk up to a typical cat and he will walk away - but the label unfriendly is as wrong as the label uncooperative. crouch with a hand outstretched, palm up; and, more often than not, the cat will come to you and sniff, then rub against your hand. precisely naming what's going on in the relationship helps one choose a constructive path.
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