WANDERINGS THROUGH THE MINDVERSE

Meanwhile, in Sartre's Waiting Room

We offer a hearty "Bonjour" to Joseph, Inez and Estelle, the lachrymose trio of condemned souls who have just awakened to begin day number 28,573 of what will eventually turn out to be an eternity in each other's company. A fate more dire than immersion in molten lead or immolation in consuming fires. They are trapped in a "waiting room" together with no one else for company. (The sinister valet who escorted them to these accommodations in May 1944 intends never to return.)

A concise, wholly unworthy synopsis of Jean Paul Sartre's compelling play "No Exit." A dreadful scenario by which Sartre illustrates his now famous principle, "L'enfer, c'est le autres."* ("Hell is other people.") One must wonder what they could possibly be discussing after all this time. Not the weather -which in Hell remains aggravatingly unchangeable- or metaphysical speculations -once they learned who was responsible for getting them into that mess they soured on philosophy- or, -Hell forbid- Estelle's appearance.

Of course, their topics of discussion or even mental states -the less said about that the better- are inconsequential. Sartre, the preeminent existential philosopher, summoned these three into existence to help us understand one of humanity's darker realities. The larger portion of our misery, despair, dread, depression, and sorrow derives from one source: other people. Or, perhaps more precisely, contemplations of other people. That is the pretty taste of paradox because people are generally good, albeit imperfectly so. (As any geneticist would explain, mortal fallibility has been woven into our DNA ever since Pandora opened that jar.)

Could this notion possibly be true?

Well, could I ask you a favor? Yes, I am speaking to you. Today, try to take note of the thoughts that engender pain or dread or anxiety. Generally, what are these thoughts?

"Oh, I can't believe I let her say that to me all that time ago without any response."

"He must think I'm such a fool and a loser."
"Man, they have a nicer vehicle than I do!"**

"Damn, I remember the time I was with those people who conversed with each other as though I wasn't even there."

"Ouch, I made such an idiot of myself that time. Oh, I can't even think about it. Well, actually, I think about it about twenty times a day."

and so forth and so on, etc, etc and

"yada, yada, yada."***

I don't know about you, but I eventually came to the sobering realization that I invested an inordinate amount of mental energy thinking about what others were thinking about me. And, these contemplations tended to be highly efficient misery makers. Moreover, unlike the contemplations of philosophers which tend to yield results, or at least tenure, my ponderings served only to perpetuate self-torment, ultimately toward no end at all.

Here's the rub: a person's opinion is no reflection of you. It is generally predicated on his/her own view of the world and the narrow place that you fit into it. They are reacting merely to a wraith-like copy of you which is far removed from the real you, the you that is complex, wonderous and of unfathomable depths.

Shift away from these painful reflections of others who, ironically, are generally also thinking of what others are thinking about them and into the vast universe beyond Sartre's waiting room. Our minds are endowed with the capacity to invent, learn, grow, explore, contemplate ideas, and derive intense joy from the simple experience of being alive, of being here in this moment with hundreds of different endeavors and enterprises available to us. We can't do much to alter opinions. We can, however, do so much to expand and enrich our lives if we pull our attention into the aspects of life that empower instead of weakening us. Just write another list of thoughts that engage and delight you and practise, practise, practise. I assure you in time it becomes easier as the neural pathways become more ingrained.

We bid farewell to Joseph, Inez and Estelle as they spend the morning in close confines with themselves: a cosmos reduced to a constricting room rendered scarcely more cheerful by Second Empire decor. As we beat a hasty retreat into the unbounded cosmos, we should remember that unlike them, we have a choice.

As always, I hope I haven't wasted your time.

*I expect my wife and older daughter, both fluent French speakers, to praise my pronunciation.

**This one does NOT apply to me. My vehicle is larger on the inside than the outside, is capable of hyperluminal velocity and makes fantastic noises when it switches on.

***I expect my Hebrew speaking friend Stan to praise...