Pater familias
It was a term I’d heard many years ago, European, Roman in origin, it conjured a warm sense of paternal love, filial respect and family pride.
And to be sure, by any standard (certainly sheer size, 9 kids in all) were are an exceptional family. Those that know us can appreciate the blood, sweat and tears that forged the lovingly blended family we are, from the raucous Brady Bunch we were. Nothing for me symbolised our family so much as the ubiquitous stick-figures that meandered across the rear window of our somewhat aged family Commodore wagon.
Having decided it was time for the car to go to a new home, a D.I.Y. detailing of the car saw me finally standing, razor-blade scraper in hand, preparing to rip to shreds the Avatars that have symbolised our family for so many years. Then in the penultimate moment, as my hand guided the blade down to peel the first of the figures from the glass, my gut recoiled in visceral revulsion at the act. No! Those figures, these images, it’s my family, it’s us, it’s who I am. And in that moment I learned something of vital importance. I am the Pater Familias, the father of the family, the head of the household (just don’t tell me beloved wife Brooke that, she’d kick my butt to kingdom come).
I realised in that moment just how integral that idea, that image, that story had become to my identity, my sense of self.
As idea’s go, it’s not a bad one, there are surely worse concepts to attach to. But my realisation was how deeply unconscious that belief had become, how important it was to my self-image and how utterly unaware I had been, until that moment of how it impacted on what I thought, I believed, how I felt and behaved.
And it got me thinking. What other ideas, beliefs about me, stories about me, have I unconsciously attached to, the good, the bad and the ugly? What other short cuts was my unconscious mind taking, seeking quick, rote responses to the innumerable questions and choices that bombarded me daily, by the hour, by the second? What other stories, roles, embedded patterns and schemas were substituting for mindful choices, for the reflective intention of my authentic, in-the-moment self?
Daniel Kahneman won a Nobel Prize in 2002 for his work on the unconscious beliefs and automated responses that dominate what we mistakenly believe are our thoughtful choices. Eckhart Tolle, Byron Katie and many others have written about this phenomenon and provide guidance on how to live more mindfully aware lives.
For my part, I’ll continue to be on the lookout for stories in my life, right ones, wrong ones, good ones and bad ones (see, I have stories about my stories) and try to live by the question my wife so often poses to me “Who would you be, without that story?”.