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BY JENNIFER SILVERMAN
Several months ago, I embarked on a self-imposed detox of all things self help.
That's right, somehow during and after my divorce, I managed to develop a condition akin to obsession with self help books and the personal development genre as a whole.
The forthcoming detox included all the life advice and positive motivation I grew to depend on in the midst of divorce - personal development books, self improvement podcasts, inspirational films, Touched by an Angel reruns - you name it.
The ban on my self help addiction was intended to ease the confusion brought about by conflicting advice, allowing said advice to sink in before I immediately cluttered my mind with (more) advice.
I’ve since allowed self help content to slowly trickle back into my world. This go round I'm doing my darndest to afford myself time and space to incorporate new ideas into my thinking before jumping on the next self help bandwagon.
Just today I began a new book, Think Like a Monk, by Jay Shetty, a former monk. Shetty hosts On Purpose, a top health podcast.
While getting acquainted with my new guru (at least for this week), I was struck by a story he shared about gazing into a dusty mirror at his ashram. When Shetty’s monk mentor inquired what he saw in that dusty mirror, Shetty remarked that he couldn’t make out his reflection under layers of dust. His guide’s response was insightful:
To paraphrase, identities are mirrors covered in dust. When we initially peer into a dusty mirror, the truth of who we are and what we value can be obscured.
It’s only when we clear away the dust that we can truly see our authentic self reflected in mirrors - and in life.
Even though Shetty’s dusty mirror tale was rooted in metaphor, a more literal take resonates with me too.
I know many folks who love having mirrors around, some who can’t stand mirrors, and of course there are those who don’t feel strongly either way.
Years ago, a friend and I chatted about his discomfort with mirrors. He felt that they were somehow manipulative, taking something from him without his consent. For him, gazing in mirrors induced anxiety. (The only decorative mirrors in his home were antiques with aged glass – no reflections to be found.)
Conversely, we’ve all known teenagers who are completely captivated by mirrors, constantly checking on their reflections in the off chance their appearance may shift, requiring immediate attention.
As a child model, I learned early on that relationships with mirrors are odd.
In my market, mirrors were not permitted backstage at fashion shows.
As models, our appearances were tweaked based on the image the client desired. The presence of mirrors would likely result in changes to that image. In those moments, our reflections were not our own.
(Occasionally, a brave model would sneak in a hand mirror. They were circulated amongst us stealthily, so as not to get caught with contraband.)
Shetty felt that his tale speaks to the impact of perception - the notion that we often base our opinions about ourselves on our perceptions of others’ perceptions.
That’s why I find distinct impressions of mirrors so interesting.
We judge our appearance and often our identity on a reflection, but someone or something else often dictates if what is reflected is up to snuff.
I love the idea that in life, things are almost never as they seem.
Two people could gaze at one person’s reflection in a mirror, each of them observing something different.
It’s no coincidence that the mirror in Snow White was the source of the wicked queen’s demise. The perception reflected in that magical mirror was the impetus for her every decision.
So, for the most part, the self help knowledge I’ve admittedly been hoarding can be streamlined into one straightforward, transformative mantra: A simple shift in perception can change everything.
(It certainly would have done wonders for the wicked queen.)
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