Monkey Grooming as a Metaphor for Life
Learning to de-bug our lives as a daily ritual can makes us healthier and more resilient. We can look to the original ginga ninjas for inspiration. They create mental maps of one another and where they live and are smarter because of this process.
A reader recently asked, “How do you edit your writing?”
“Monkey grooming,” I replied.
“I start at the top, pull apart the fur, pick off the bugs, eat the tasty ones — discarding the rest, then move to the next patch and repeat.”
And, yes, orangutans are apes not monkeys, but I liked the picture. How can you not like the picture?
If you’ve watched this ritual on a Nature or NatGeo flick, you know that the process seems pleasurable for both the picker and the pickee. Plus, there’s the extra protein.
It occurred to me — and I suspect this isn’t original — that monkey grooming, which is a well-documented social ritual in primates and many other species conveying health and social benefits like lower blood pressure and higher immune levels, isn’t a bad metaphor for life.
So, what does monkey grooming as life metaphor imply?
If you’re in a relationship, you may have someone available to de-bug you. You may or may not always want to be de-bugged, but, after a while, proximity offers that privilege. If you share your space with someone and their bugs can become your bugs, you get to de-bug them. If you live in the northeastern United States during tick season, it’s a rule.
When a coaching client says, “What he’s doing is really bugging me, and I need some advice about what to do” my answer is usually, “You should ask permission before you pick and then pick carefully.” Pick your bites but don’t ignore the problem. Enough said.
But suppose you want to self-groom your inner monkey. How would you do this? (Inner monkey, by the way, is an actual scientific/sociological term that’s used to describe our unfinished parts — those elements of our personality that are still evolving.)
Begin by starting at the top.
Envision the days ahead by becoming aware of what’s likely to happen — pull apart the fur; untangle the mess. Anticipate where the bugs are likely to be. Learn to know where to look.
I encourage my clients to review their daily calendars in advance and create a mental map, as some other primates do in far more rudimentary ways, to accompany their scheduled events. You can even draw this out.
Mental maps can emerge pretty easily when you answer these three key questions:
What, if any, problem (or opportunity) might arise from this upcoming event/conversation?
Say you need to have a difficult conversation with a colleague or loved one. The biggest problem might be that (s)he could become defensive early in the discussion; the greatest opportunity is that s(he) may learn something important from you.
If the former happens, then you likely won’t motivate the change you’re seeking. If the latter happens, then you may actually strengthen your relationship. Other problems might arise when you meet, but anticipating THIS one problem/opportunity is the most important thing you can do. Just one possibility, but you get the idea.
What mindset going into the encounter will lead to the outcome I/we desire?
Continuing with our example, if reducing the likelihood of defensiveness in the other person is paramount, then you need to model openness in your own words and demeanor. You can cultivate openness by bringing an attitude of compassion to the upcoming encounter, recognizing that most people really are trying to do the best they can with the skills and abilities they have.
What can I do to prepare physically/mentally to bring about the helpful mindset?
This is the most important question to focus on. Know your own emotional triggers that could cause YOU to become defensive. Understand what it means to show compassion and still convey a tough message. A decade of compassion research can show you how.
You might be surprised at how a little forethought can change what happens. The mindsetting process, which you will become better and better at doing, enables you to identify the biggest bugs and decide which ones you want to consume and which you want to throw away, using your limited energy to process what’s most important.
Scientific studies have shown that for every bug a monkey eats, he discards another 20. Okay, I made this up, but I’d be willing to bet someone earned a primatology PhD on this topic. If you come across this information, please send it to me. My point is — be selective. Most things that bug us aren’t worth our energy to digest.
As I’ve written about elsewhere, there are scientific data to show that the upwards of 95% of our thoughts are often repetitive and mostly unhelpful to our healthy functioning as adults. Picking off and tossing out life’s mental lice and fleas mean fewer parasites that can drain vital energy, sap strength, and leave us depleted for the next day and the day after that.
∞
Our home is filled with stuffed (as in toy) monkeys (and apes.) The largest is five feet tall; the smallest five inches. Each time my wife has had cancer surgery or an especially tough treatment, I’ve gotten her a new one.
The first one, a compassionate ginger named Spike, shown here as a youngster, spoke to me as I walked by the window at FAO Schwarz during a brief, rainy, spring afternoon respite from a bedside vigil at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York after her six-hour liver resection.
His was the face my wife saw when she awoke from anesthesia, and he’s been smiling down on us every morning since.
Sentimental, maybe. Magical thinking, perhaps.
But there are worse ways to start the day than being reminded that we’re all sitting on the same shaky branch and remembering that, sometimes, we need a little help picking off the nasty bits so we can keep hanging on.
