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PRINCIPLE 5. Look at Yourself from a Distance

We know that humor is a paramount way of putting distance between something and oneself. One might say as well, that humor helps man rise above his own predicament by allowing him to look at himself in a more detached way.¹ (V. Frankl)

“I can’t stand my students,” said Janet, an assistant professor at a liberal arts college. She had worked for several years at the same college but every time I (Elaine) got together with her, she seemed more and more frustrated with her students and her job in general. “When I went to college,” she told me, “we respected our professors. We didn’t wear earphones in class, we didn’t text constantly, we didn’t check our email on our laptops, and we didn’t start conversations with the person sitting beside us. I can’t believe how spoiled these kids are. They expect me to spoon-feed them the material and they can’t even bother researching anything beyond Wikipedia. They don’t like to read more than five pages before they lose concentration. And after all that, they expect an A in the class. I even had a parent of one of my students call me and demand that I reconsider her son’s B. Talk about a helicopter parent hovering over their child, unable to let go.” Janet would have gone on and on with her litany of complaints, if I hadn’t interrupted her.

“Why do you teach?” I asked her. If I asked a big-picture question, I thought Janet might gain some insight into her negative comments. “Well, what else am I going to do? I spent so many years getting my master’s and then my doctorate and there aren’t many jobs for me except for teaching. I feel trapped, but the pay and the benefits and the hours are good.” It was obvious that Janet felt lost, unhappy, and unfulfilled—and her performance evaluations reflected this. But, most of all, it was obvious to me that Janet was in the wrong job. She was an excellent example of someone who was working against herself; her negative attitude resulted in her own poor grade, despite her best intentions or her desire to be a valuable resource for her students and the college. Janet is also an example of someone who is unable to see herself from a distance—that is, to look at herself from a detached and objective point of view, to see where she could shift her attitude and behavior.

There are many situations where seeing ourselves from a distance and using a little humor would be beneficial—and, yes, meaningful. In his book The Doctor and the Soul, Frankl offers this instructive example. An ad in a London newspaper read: “Unemployed. Brilliant mind offers its services completely free; the survival of the body must be provided for by adequate salary.” By quoting this ad, Frankl was not suggesting that unemployment is not a serious matter; on the contrary, he emphasized that being unemployed is a “tragedy because a job is the only source of livelihood for most people.” The ad also reflects the fact that not all unemployed people experience inner emptiness or feelings of uselessness because they are unoccupied. Not everyone, the ad suggests, experiences depression or loses their sense of humor.

The fact that a person may not have paid work does not mean that life itself has no meaning for him or her. Our attitude toward any situation, including unemployment and other major life challenges, determines our ability and willingness to respond effectively. The person who placed the ad turned a dire situation into something humorous because he was able to put distance between himself and the issue. He was able to look at himself from a distance, which allowed him to find meaning in his plight and take appropriate action to remedy the situation. Even the wording of the ad reflects his sense of humor and his innate, distinctly human capacity to look at himself in a detached way and rise above his predicament.

Humor and Cheerfulness

While attending a conference in New Orleans about a year before the devastating Hurricane Katrina, we had the opportunity to encounter and experience Winston, a charter bus driver for attendees of major conventions. To his customers, at least initially, Winston was only a bus driver, someone who made sure that they traveled between their hotel and the convention center safely and on time. To Winston, however, his customers represented an important source of meaning. “Welcome to N’Awlins,” he said, greeting everyone who boarded his bus. In addition to pointing out what he felt were significant sights along his route, he asked passengers if they had any questions about the city. He was eager to offer his recommendations to enhance visitors’ experiences. He told jokes, got people laughing, and even engaged all the passengers in a chant before the final stop: “Don’t leave anything on the bus!” In short, Winston turned an ordinary bus ride into an extraordinary experience.

As you might imagine, not every conference attendee appreciated Winston’s welcoming gestures, jokes, and counsel. Some preferred silence, especially in the early morning hours. However, because Winston showed a genuine interest in learning about his customers—who they were, where they were from, what they did, why they were in town—he developed an unusual rapport with most of the passengers. His engaging attitude, authenticity, and ability to connect with others added a dimension to the conference experience that was both memorable and meaningful. Winston showed that he truly cared about people, that he found meaning in his encounters with his customers, and that he was firmly committed to exploring his personal labyrinth—his inner bus route—through his work as a bus driver. Because his work had deeper meaning for him, he in turn brought joy and meaning to those with whom he connected. Importantly, Winston was able to see the bus ride from a distance, from another person’s perspective. Viewing himself in this detached way allowed him to connect with others as much more than just a bus driver doing his “job.” Many of his riders were new to the city, unsure where to go, unsure what lay ahead. Winston empathized with their needs and, using a little humor, made the journey more meaningful for all.

It might seem contradictory or at least a bit odd to write about humor in a book about meaning. But Frankl believed that a sense of humor is a trait that distinguishes us as humans. We all know dogs who smile—but they don’t burst out laughing, especially at themselves, when they forget for the umpteenth time where they buried their latest bone! Humor about ourselves represents the essence of self-detachment, especially when the joke is on us. Many comedians build their entire careers on self-detachment: finding humor and meaning by looking at themselves and their life experiences from a distance. Humor and laughter tells us, and others, that we aren’t taking ourselves too seriously. This human ability to laugh at ourselves takes the edge off serious work situations, especially those that deserve, and need, a dose of humor. Through humor we not only show others that we don’t sweat the small stuff but we also show ourselves that we’re no exception to the principle of self-detachment.

Consider the saying, Whoever lifted their head off their deathbed to say, “Gee, I wish I’d gone to the office more often or worked more often”? To our knowledge, no one has—so far, anyway. No matter how meaningful our work is, its meaning comes from our values, the deeper inclinations of our hearts and minds. Our jobs and work are part of our meaning; they represent our intentions to provide for our families, for ourselves, for our community, and for the world. But they are not all of who we are—they are what we do and how we do it. When we look at ourselves from a distance, we see that life is much more than our work, our jobs, our careers. There is much more to living a meaningful life than our work; with self-detachment, we learn this important lesson.

An instructive example of someone who practices the principle of self-detachment is the Dalai Lama, the spiritual and temporal leader of the Tibetan people. He has witnessed the horrific genocide of his beloved people. Millions of Tibetans, including a large number of the spiritual community of Buddhist monks and nuns, have been tortured and murdered. Yet no one laughs louder at himself than the Dalai Lama. He knows the tragedy of his time, yet he also knows happiness, humor, and lightheartedness. In their book The Art of Happiness at Work, the Dalai Lama’s coauthor, Howard Cutler, makes the following observation about His Holiness:

At last things fell into place. I finally understood how the Dalai Lama could claim “I do nothing” as his job description. Of course, I knew that with his lighthearted humor, there was a tongue-in-cheek element to this job description. And behind his joking about doing “nothing,” I knew of his natural reluctance, which I have observed on many occasions, to engage in unnecessary self-appraisal. This seemed to grow out of his lack of selfinvolvement, absence of self-absorption, and lack of concern for how others view his work, as long as he had sincere motivation to be of help to others.²

Humor is a great gift. It is a great equalizer. It makes a CEO less intimidating and a cab or bus driver more adorable. Often, an adorable CEO can do more for morale than a big raise. A funny cab or bus driver, like Winston, can lighten up a stressful day.

If there’s one thing I (Alex) wished I’d learned to do at a young age, it would be to laugh at myself more easily and more often. Growing up, I was a very serious person—uptight, you might even say. In my early experience, having a sense of humor was more likely to get me in trouble—at home, in school, and at work—than it was to help me deal with life’s transitions. I didn’t learn to fully appreciate my sense of humor until much later in life. Since then, my sense of humor has enabled me to look at things and myself from a distance and try to find the humor in a situation, no matter how difficult.

A sense of humor is usually accompanied by cheerfulness. Many cheerful people, it is important to understand, have experienced real tragedy in their lives. When tragedy strikes, it takes us to the depths of grief. Going through grief can bring us full circle, back to cheerfulness. When we know how bad it can be, we find out, as the actor Jack Nicholson would say, how good it can get. Cheerfulness is not a “have-a-nice-day” artifice. It’s a way of experiencing the present, no matter the weather or the weight of the world. Cheerfulness celebrates the possibility of finding meaning in the situation. It buoys us up, pushes us beyond our individual concerns, and invites us and others around us to find something to be happy about. This doesn’t mean that we hide behind cheerfulness or that we ignore serious situations. We simply lighten up and laugh. A moment of humor at the right time can lift us out of our self-imposed misery faster than anything else. When we detach from ourselves and from our situation, we don’t diminish or deny the circumstances—we go beyond them. We see, feel, and appreciate ourselves as separate from the distress; we accept and rise above. We demonstrate to ourselves and to others that we refuse to be held prisoners of our thoughts!

Self-Detachment

Let’s consider some serious topics that have overshadowed corporate America in the past few decades: accounting fraud and the erosion of business ethics. What could possibly be humorous about the corporate crime wave, and how could a lighthearted approach be used to improve the situation in the years ahead?

The satirist Andy Borowitz, a stand-up comedian and author of Who Moved My Soap? The CEO’s Guide to Surviving in Prison, offers such an approach—one that balances laughter with serious introspection. Speaking at some of the premier business schools in America, Borowitz has shown that satire can be an effective, if offbeat, way to address the subject of CEO and corporate credibility. Getting business ethics into the open and addressing them humorously can be therapeutic for both individual business leaders and their organizations. His brand of humor can be a useful tool for advancing business education, complementing traditional courses in business ethics. After his presentation at the Wharton School (of the University of Pennsylvania), for example, one second-year MBA student said: “There is still a crisis in how people view corporate leaders. To be able to laugh and find some humor will likely help move us forward.” An incoming student responded: “It was so refreshing. There was an underlying lesson of ‘don’t take yourself so seriously.’”³

In the world of emergency medical care, these workers have considerable experience with the principle of self-detachment. Their jobs, by definition, are serious, pressure-filled, stressful, and meaningful. They have to detach from themselves and the situation facing them—often involving the life or death of the person in distress—in order to do their work effectively and with meaning. Yet, during the day, these workers often find time to laugh. Humor supports the self-detachment necessary to maintain emotional distance from their patients, so they can observe themselves and their work from a distance to rise above and deal effectively with the stresses of the moment. In the post-9/11 environment, communities nationwide are responsible for emergency planning for everything from fire and car accidents to bombs and terrorism. In one small southwestern county, dozens of people show up at a monthly emergency preparedness meeting. Among those represented are workers from town, county, and state government as well as the police, the fire department, emergency medical services, the National Guard, environmental groups, the Red Cross, ham radio operators, the health department, and representatives from the telephone and power companies. For two hours, these workers discuss the serious emergency possibilities and how best to respond. But there is also humor, as the group laughs—at themselves and one another—which lightens the mood. They bond together with their humor.

In his writing and lectures, Viktor Frankl described a kind of cabaret that was improvised from time to time in the concentration camp. Although it is difficult to imagine, this form of camp entertainment included songs, poems, jokes, and even stand-up comedy (some with underlying satire about the camp) performed by anyone who wanted to. This activity was meaningful in part because it helped the prisoners forget their horrific situation, even if only for a moment. As Frankl reported, “Generally speaking, any pursuit of art in camp was somewhat grotesque. But you might be even more astonished to learn that one could find a sense of humor there as well. Humor was another of the soul’s weapons in the fight for self-preservation.”⁴ In fact, Frankl trained a friend to develop a sense of humor in one of the camps. He suggested to this friend that they promise each other to invent at least one amusing story daily, and it had to be about some incident that could happen after their liberation. One story involved a future dinner engagement, during which Frankl’s friend would forget where he was when the soup was served and beg the hostess to ladle it “from the bottom.” This request was significant because the camps provided only thin watery soup; servings “from the bottom,” which were extremely rare, might include peas and therefore would be a special treat!

It’s important to distinguish between self-detachment and denial. When we self-detach, we do so consciously and with an orientation toward action. We understand our predicament and choose to behave in a way that supports our relationship with others. We might share our burden at work; we might not. But we know what it is and we know what we are doing. In contrast, denial often means we simply ignore what is happening to us or around us. Denial, in other words, separates us from our experience and the benefits that can be derived from it. When we deny our own experience, we deny the experience of others. Denial thus leads to disconnection. Self-detachment, however, leads to connection, learning, and growth.

Practicing self-detachment also opens up opportunities to learn about others in meaningful ways. Indeed, we never know what’s really going on in other people’s personal lives. For example, some of our coworkers, or even our friends, may go home to isolation and loneliness; some may go home to a conflict-filled relationship; others may go home to a happy family life. Everyone experiences both the joys and the grief that life offers: we struggle with making ends meet (rent, car payments, healthcare expenses), with teenage or young or no children, with aging parents, and with all the other demands of daily life. Every day, people around the world rise to the occasions in their lives. Some go to work. They bring with them their entire lives, even as they focus on the work at hand. The ancient Greek philosopher Plato advised, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” Unless they share the details, however, we can only assume what kind of battles people are fighting. Just as we face challenges in our own lives and work, we know that others do as well. Just as we would benefit from the support of others, they could benefit from our support. When we reach out to others and share more details of our life, we find more meaning in our own life; we are actually helping others find meaning in their life too. We can learn from others, reflecting on how they deal with life in all of its inherent complexity. We can find meaning by looking at our own life from a distance as well as by looking at our life through the lives of others.

Mistakes

Being able to detach from our own mistakes, as well as those of others, is a very useful skill in life and work. Nobody likes to make mistakes, but when we acknowledge our mistakes, and laugh at them, it can be a huge relief for those around us. What are mistakes anyway but lessons from which to learn?⁵ Mistakes are a natural part of living. There’s a saying that we’re only as good as our mistakes, but first we have to acknowledge that we made them.

When someone comes to us at work and says, “I made a mistake,” most of us feel empathy. It takes self-detachment to own up to a mistake, to look at yourself and say, “I goofed,” then move on with your work and life. We are at the same time the person who doesn’t want to make a mistake and the person who made a mistake. When we dwell on our mistakes, we give them far too much credit. When we acknowledge them and laugh them off, we can act as a role model by reassuring those around us that their mistakes, too, are momentary and not who they essentially are. We should all strive to be like the character Calvin in one particular Calvin and Hobbes cartoon, in which he trips and falls down, only to get up with arms outstretched to say, “TA-DAAA!!!” We should all say “TA-DAAA” to our mistakes and, more importantly, say “TA-DAAA” to life.

Of course, mistakes come in all shapes and sizes. The large ones might not seem like they are fuel for humor, but they are always life lessons that teach us humility and, deep down, meaning. They teach us that we are more than even our most terrible mistakes.

Developing the Skill of Self-Detachment

Viktor Frankl frequently employed the technique of self-detachment during his imprisonment in the concentration camps. Often he kept himself going by imagining himself as an observer rather than as a prisoner. Here’s how he disclosed to one conference audience how he had used self-detachment for his own survival:

I repeatedly tried to distance myself from the misery that surrounded me by externalizing it. I remember marching one morning from the camp to the work site, hardly able to bear the hunger, the cold, and the pain of my frozen and festering feet, so swollen from hunger edema and squeezed into my shoes. My situation seemed bleak, even hopeless. Then I imagined that I stood at the lectern in a large, beautiful, warm, and bright hall. I was about to give a lecture to an interested audience on “Psychotherapeutic Experiences in a Concentration Camp” (the actual title that he later used at that conference). In the imaginary lecture I reported the things that I am now living through. Believe me, ladies and gentlemen, at that moment I could not dare to hope that some day it would be my good fortune to actually give such a lecture.⁶

Being able to use your imagination effectively to visualize, as did Viktor Frankl, directly supports and illustrates the self-detachment principle in actual practice. Experience has shown that self-detachment can be facilitated by immersing yourself in a role (much like an actor) other than yourself. For example, imagine that you are the principle character in the movie Defending Your Life. If you were in Judgment City and were shown video clips of your life’s moments of greatest fear (as discussed in chapter 5), what fears would you be confronting and how would you deal with them? How would you justify or defend your past actions? Immersing yourself in such a fictional, yet still autobiographical, detached view of your own life can heighten your sense of responsibility for discovering meaning in your life and work.

Of course, in the final analysis, self-detachment is not about detachment at all. While it has proven to be an effective tool for coping with a wide range of stressful situations, including predicaments and hardships from which escape is impossible, its ultimate value lies in its unlimited potential for bringing wholeness and authentic meaning to life. To summon the power of self-detachment and tap into this potential requires both freedom of thought and a will to meaning. We can only fulfill these requirements if we are not prisoners of our thoughts.

Meaning Reflections

Recall a situation in your personal life or work life from which you felt the need to distance yourself before you could find a proper resolution. Perhaps you were faced with a family or business decision that wasn’t aligned with your personal values or ethics. Perhaps you were thrust into an emergency situation that required swift action. How did you distance or detach yourself from yourself, so that you could view and review your own attitudes and behaviors? As you think about the situation now, what did you learn from it? In particular, what did you learn about your capacity for self-detachment?

Meaning Questions

• How do you use humor as a way of putting distance between yourself and a challenge you are facing in your personal life or at work?

• How could you help your coworkers, friends, or family members learn and practice self-detachment in their lives and at work as a coping mechanism to deal with stress, as a tool for learning and growth, and as a way to find more meaning?

• If you had to watch a video of your life as depicted in the movie Defending Your Life, would you be pleased with what you saw?

Meaning Affirmation

I will practice the principle of self-detachment—looking at myself from a distance—in order to gain more insight into my actions and, ultimately, to find more meaning.