Centre of the universe?

Pinned to a wooden beam above my desk is a single piece of paper. The edges curl a little. Upon it is written a question. Each time I read it I search a little more for an answer. I hope I'm getting closer.

The question is this:

"What is the question at the centre of this organisation, around which everything else revolves?"

It's not a mission statement, nor a list of values all beginning with the letter "P". Yes, mission and values matter, but this is a question. What is it about questions which propel our thinking onward, keeping us curious? I wonder.

Copernicus - wondering whether to let
the world know it wasn't quite
where it thought it was.

The question was inspired by the story of Greek astronomer Claudius Ptolemy who in 127 AD postulated that the earth sits bone idle at the epicenter of our universe whilst the sun, moon and other planets dance around it.  Ptolemy's map shows the planets doing drunken loop-the-loops around the earth. Orbital acrobatics. For over 1,400 years his theory was assumed correct.
 Fourteen hundred years!

That's longer than it takes to get a dentist appointment.

Then Polish mathematician-astronomer Nicolaus Copernicus observed the earth in fact rotated daily on its axis and revolved yearly around the sun. I expect 1,400 years of a skewed understanding of the solar system was hard wired in people's thinking. They believed what had always just been believed. Imagine daring to explain this new 'heliocentric' discovery to the King and Pope, and all without the aid of PowerPoint. Copernicus was not popular. Change wasn't all the rage in 1543. But his courage to challenge assumptions opened up a whole new way of understanding the system within which we live.

Why bother with the question? Because I am animated about something. In the last decade the number of young people nationally who are prescribed anti-depressants has doubled (source: World Health Organisation, 2016). Self-harm, anxiety, stress and depression continue to escalate and the thing is, nobody is surprised. This bothers me.

It bothers me that the mental health of this rising generation is spinning so dangerously out of control. Imagine the impact on our future workforce. Our social systems are doing loop-the-loops, dancing madly around deeply-held assumptions that evidently are not enriching the well-being of young people. Assumptions about assessments and measurements and standards. Some helpful, but not all.  

Lifespace Trust works to see the "mental wealth" of the next generation released, because the challenges on our tiny spinning planet are very real:

Climate change and finite resources; political unrest; international tensions and terrorism. Time is precious. X-Factor doesn’t have the answer.

Young people are not just younger, they are also newer with insights adults haven't considered. I wonder, in our information-saturated society, are we giving them the time, space and skills to think? To shift from “having thoughts” (noun) to knowing how “to think” (verb) for themselves. Has knowledge based on the past replaced the wisdom we need for the future? It would have been easier for Copernicus to keep quiet. Let the planets do their thing. Shrug his shoulders and move on.

Jotted at the bottom of my piece of paper, in hurried scrawl, is a response to my question:

"How else can we help every young person connect to their highest potential?"

Now, what would that be like?

The Gift Of Attention

I watched, intrigued.

The 12 year old lad, with whom I was sat in the school chapel for his mentoring session, was teaching me something that morning which will stay with me. We had met most weeks for two terms. He was a talented artist and had ideas for his future but had missed a considerable amount of school with anxiety-based issues. "My tummy goes mad", he said, "then my migraines come on, and I just want to hide for days" he said. He gazed through the stained glass windows as if imagining what was beyond them. 

My question loitered in the air: "So, what do you already know that can help you?"

For the next twenty minutes I didn't drop my eyes from his, although he mostly looked through the window. Occasionally he checked I was still there, watching. Watching with my eyes, posture, face. But more than watching. Paying attention.

That's a funny phrase isn't it, "paying attention". It makes it sound like a transaction. Is attention an expenditure? Something which costs us? No, I didn't feel like I was paying attention, but giving attention. The gift of quiet, holding back as best I could my adult-styled interruptions, and letting him think for himself. Is that against the rules, for young people to think for themselves?

For twenty minutes we sat, and he thought out loud. My not-very-clever question simply intended to challenge the assumption that he wasn't the expert on himself. He is. He knows himself best. For twenty minutes. Silences and murmurs, and then he emerged with conclusions. "Now I know I can face people, it's just sometimes I think I can't. But I know now how to change a bad thought into a good thought." He looked up and glowed with a smile.

I asked him to repeat what he'd said. It was illuminating: to know you can (in your heart) but think you can't (in your head); and therefore decide you can change your thought. What else changes when you change one thought? Remembering thoughts are just that, thoughts. Not reality. Not truth. Just thoughts which come and go.

Maybe he left the school chapel changed, maybe not. He seemed to enjoy the chance to think. What he demonstrated is what happens when we give deliberate gentle attention, and get out the way of trying to be the Big Answer. 

The gift of attention is a gift we can all give.