Giving a Flick

A LIGHT REMINDER ABOUT KEEPING OURSELVES OUT OF THE DARK

Photo by Steve Johnson via Unsplash

Conditioned actions are hard to override.

Recently, I was on my way to an appointment uptown. As I went into my entry to get my coat, I flipped on the light switch. This is routine for me. Over the years, I have executed this maneuver thousands, probably hundreds of thousands, of times. It is as automatic as rinsing my toothbrush.

Conditioned action.

This time, something happened that only occurs once in a great while, with no forewarning.

The light bulb flicked on as usual and then promptly went out. For good.

I made a mental note to change the bulb when I came home later and then flipped the switch again so the current would not be running when I replaced the bulb. I appreciated my cleverness and forethought. Then I picked up my bag and keys from the other room and came back for my coat.

Flick.

Chuckling to myself, I thought, “Silly me. I just saw the light bulb go out. Why was I flipping the switch? What was I thinking?”

Of course, I wasn't thinking at all.

As I put my hat on and fastened my coat, I thought about getting a spare bulb and ladder when I got home. I was thinking all about it as I walked toward the door and...

Flick

Flick

What the flick is wrong with me??

Even while thinking about the light bulb being out, I flipped the switch. Leaving = turn off light. Conditioned action. Sigh. I am hopeless.

Having knowledge does not change behavior automatically. Flicking the switch on my way out was ingrained. It had become part of my rhythm. It didn’t matter that a moment ago I was consciously aware that the action of flicking would be pointless. It didn’t matter that I am a reasonably intelligent person. My conditioning was strong. So strong that nothing else was a match for it. My conditioning was ingrained to the point of being without consciousness. It overrode everything else.

Flick, flick.

My amusement teetered on the precipice of becoming embarrassment, judgement, and frustration with myself but, as the flicks kept coming, I grew more curious.

How many times do we have to initiate an action and get an undesired result before we disrupt and deprogram our own conditioning? How often do we flick switches and not even notice the light is out? How many times do we notice that something isn’t right or needs intervention and then promptly glaze over what we observe, forgetting what we noticed and repeat the same behavior?

I paused and soaked in the moment. If I wanted the lightbulb in my apartment to go on the next time I flicked the switch, I needed to activate the lightbulb in my own brain first. That meant I needed to give myself a break for tuning out, choose to stay conscious of the reality that the current bulb is dead, and set out to address that actual issue. Only then could my flicks garner the desired outcome.

The more I pondered, the more I saw the parallels in the fruitlessness of losing our patience with our own conditioned actions and those of others. Blame, humiliation, or punishment don’t enlighten us when we are in the dark, even though they are often our response. Judgement that we or someone else has been foolish is often all that is needed to start the cycle.

The irony of our impatience with conditioned actions is that it can sabotage the very occurrence we want to see come to light. It can eclipse any chance of change, blocking all the avenues to understanding the conditioning at work and bringing in a different consciousness.

What spared me angst and superseded my conditioning was the choice to stay curious.

It was a lightbulb moment for me.

And yes, I did change the bulb when I got home.