Wisdom – Week 6
Where I reflect on the serenity prayer, taking a pause, and Dance Academy.
‘God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,’ says the serenity prayer, ‘courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.’ This is Stoic philosophy: that I should know the boundaries of my control, and act accordingly. Except, in today’s hypercomplex world, those boundaries have become fuzzy. I am part of the social and the natural world. To some extent, I affect both of them, directly and probabilistically. Then, I’m embedded in a digital techno-sphere where large companies deploy all the tricks in the book to capture and guide my attention, based on whatever goal they have and my past behaviour. So, where exactly does my influence stop? What can I and can’t I change?
I like to look at the question from the perspective of inner work. I might not affect the world out there, not even always control my spontaneous reaction when something happens, but I can build habits that will make me more likely to lean this way or that. I cannot change my past, nor am I likely to change my personal narrative through pure force of will, but I can bring some elements into sharper focus, blur others, track different relationships, and gradually reshape the system that is my own story. The rest comes down to luck.
In other words, no results are in my complete power to achieve, but I can create better conditions for them. Which includes, of course, the worldview that I embrace.
Whether the world is organised by some inner principle of order – God(s) or otherwise – this isn’t something I can know. I must make a decision. What ‘as if’ will I live by? A world of chaos and pure luck? Or a world animated by some benevolent principle? Rember, I can only speculate. Pure materialism likes to presents itself wrapped in the coat of self-evident truth for discarding supernatural beliefs. True, it may be the least ontologically demanding hypothesis – though Lucretius inserts a mysterious clinamen in his physics – but it’s just as unprovable as any other metaphysical certainty. So, with Marcus Aurelius and Pascal, I find it wiser to live as if there was a benevolent principle of order in the world. It may or may not be correct, but since I can’t know for sure, I find it more nourishing, and choose that as if.
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On Week One, I framed wisdom as learning to rest so that I could think better. I return to that approach on Week Six. After about two months of intense work, I’ve reached milestones. I have the first readable draft of a book, and a shareable profile tool for a new project on people who lead a career in-between. I’m tempted to push ahead and use a quiet week to lunge for the next milestone, but the body catches up, asking me to slow. Wednesday morning, I potter around the house. Thursday morning, I read about Stoicism at a café. Friday morning, I go for a long walk.
This pause is not pure physical exhaustion: it comes with a mental decision. Friday afternoon, I review the book draft with my co-author. We notice a thinking gap in Chapter Two. The conclusion and Appendix are still in early draft form, and will need to be written up. Chapter Five needs restructuring. I could push all of this over the line in the coming days, but as we speak next steps, it’s very clear that both of us need a sense of achievement. So we stick to an earlier commitment that conclusion and appendix would be for next round, and consciously put the flaws we know together on that list. Meaning, one more revision session, and we can call this phase done. A delightful week-end begins.
I spend Sunday between the beach and the wetlands with a close friend. We’re enjoying what might be the last warm day of the year. Winter, mild as it is in Melbourne, will have its own professional challenges. I devoted the day to rest and enjoyment. Yet on that walk, the three biggest things on my mind get sorted through conversation. By the time we get back on the train, I have a brand name for a new project, the proposed format of an event, and my priorities clear for next month. This is the gift of wisdom. If I only trust in the process, I can be rested, joyful, connected – and see the work done.
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Not only the body needs rest, but the mind and the heart also. I find TV shows a great way to process mingled emotions. So, while my partner is off to Sydney, I binge on Dance Academy till way too late at night. Tara Webster is a country girl with a natural talent for dance. After joining the National Dance Academy in Sydney, she develops her technique and grows as a young woman, balancing Ballet with friendships. By the end of the first season – spoiler alert – she reaches her potential as she dances a lead role at the Opera House. The cast of supporting characters also find their appropriate positions: hard-working dancer Abigail as understudy, repented small criminal and hip hop star Christian as Tara’s boyfriend on full scholarship, and lonely Jewish nerd from a medical lineage Sammy with high distinctions in dance and his first healthy bromance. As for the two nepo-babies, Kat and Ethan, they get to follow their own path, putting privilege at the service of innovation.
Like other teenage shows that combine romance and coming of age, and like Shakespearean comedy, Dance Academy presents a version of the good government. It’s a space where people can develop appropriately, and rapidly find a position that matches their aspirations and natural abilities. The Academy where the show takes place enables individuals to build relationships and develop character (as well as muscle and technique). It also filters and sorts them, based on their potential and their commitment. The storyline shows a system that works as it should, giving hope that our world can reach similar levels of harmony.
Of course, as all good narrative models, Dance Academy is equally valuable for the shadows it casts. The characters inhabit an ordered centre of civilisation – the heart of Sydney, right under the bridge, with occasional scenes at nearby beaches. Yet apart from the two nepo-babies, they come from other settings, margins off-camera where their absence causes turmoil. Spoiler alert again. There’s a farm where Tara grew up, now under financial duress. There’s Abigail’s divorcing family up in Brisbane. There is stress in Sammy’s Jewish family that his chosen path is not secure enough. There’s a council house where Golden Child Christian grew up, and a gang of hip hop dancers he left behind. In short, Dance Academy leaves open questions in its wake. Not only does it show us what a good form of government might look like, but how an effective centralised system can disrupt its local nodes.
Who said there is no wisdom to be gained from romance? Shows like this are a good reminder that, when creating order in any centre, we should wonder how that order will ripple across, and how the new relationships made here affect the broader system. That the conflicts and dramas involving people in those centres affect not only them, but others off-screen. And so, if our lives unfold along comic storylines, in a place of order and beauty, we owe it to more than our immediate surroundings, and we should act responsibly. If anything, by aligning our worldview to reality, and include more of the world in our circle of concern.