April 2025
Every morning I swim in the ocean, mostly doing backstroke so I can gaze at the sky and watch the clouds and the occasional bird or plane. The other day I bumped into a fellow (obviously I can’t see where I’m going) and his comment made me laugh. He said, you are going forwards yet backwards at the same time. Forwards and backwards simultaneously. It got me thinking. As a metaphor for my daily life, this is as true for backstroke, as for life. As I go about my day, I reflect on where I’ve been = at the same time. Travelling forward each day, and reflecting on it, wends a path in the process of making it and it is through the doing of it that I’m making sense of the world around me.
I’ve been mulling about this sort of thing for years. We think we are making decisions before we actually make them; we like to believe we plan our moves, but – as the Buddhists say, “we lay down our path in walking,” in living it. Our decisions are not made beforehand in a sort of clinical architectural office, but in the process of engagement, of everyday enactment.
This is not to say that any systematic organized strategy for going forward can’t
help, but it works because it utilizes earlier knowledge/skills. It is extraordinarily difficult to choose to do something we have no experience in. I would have practically no clue in how to fix a car, for instance. I don’t have much of a knowledge base in this regard.
I’m reminded of a high school friend who used to spend all her time working out study programmes, rather than actually reading and writing her required school work. She never got around to doing the work because she really didn’t know how to do it, not having a background in the subject at all, and not having the wisdom to start learning either. You can’t start from nothing; you have to build up a knowledge base in order to move forward.
Encountering the next experience is an evolutionary one: just as choices are made according to what has gone on before, so the remembered experience fleshes out the next one. The accumulation of experiences, recognized as such, makes for a rich life. Just thinking for a moment how horrible it would be to lose one’s memory: for the process of remembering to be replaced by dismembering. The richness of the present moment would be replaced by confusion. The anchor to knowing where you are is lost.
I watched a short video of a woman with mid-stage Alzheimer’s Disease talking about her lived experiences. She, interestingly, said that she could make sense of the world when the light was on, but couldn’t grapple with any of it in semi-darkness. If she dropped a newspaper while the light was on, she could pick it up, but in the semi-dark, though she would trip over the paper repeatedly, she didn’t have the wherewithal to stoop down and remove the paper from the floor. Her sight was her anchor to useful enaction in her world. Jonathan Cole’s book Pride and a Daily Marathon describes how a man who had lost his bodily awareness through acute illness could only move if he could see where his limbs were in relation to the ground. Cole is an English neurophysiologist who remains intrigued by how bodily awareness, movement, memory and a sense of ‘I’ interact. Disconnecting parts of an otherwise ongoing interactive process amounts to dis-membering memory and confusion reigns.
Yes, we lay down a path in walking, but for the richness of that experience to be felt, we need to remember what has gone before and – at the same time – know our bodies as we move forward. The whole thing together is wonderfully rich and enjoyable.
Therapy is the art of drawing all these experiences together into an exciting whole so that we can use our pre-existing knowledge to explore new places in our lives. I note that I’m available to do counselling online. My email address is dr_mccardell@yahoo.com