Quantum Change

Two weeks ago I met Dr. William Miller, the founder of a movement that is quantifying effective psychotherapy as few theories have, called Motivational Interviewing. Dr. Miller was introduced as “the most quoted scientist in the world today,” so I assume if you Google his name you’ll find oodles of information.

Like any lesser mortal I bought one of his books to get an autograph. It was a pretty recent book, Quantum Change. Having only read the first chapter I understand the premise, that many people experience a life-changing insight or epiphany that is sudden, surprising, benevolent, and enduring. Before continuing into the research and scientific quantification of the phenomenon, though, I would like to record one of my own experiences. As I’ve gone through the preface and first chapter a single experience many years ago keeps coming back to me, and it will be interesting, after I put it into words, to see how well it fits (or doesn’t) with Dr. Miller’s collected and tested samples.

My story starts in my upbringing. Anger was never really expressed in our home and so the five of us kids never really got any education in its proper use. Not that this is necessarily bad; imagine the world with much less arguing and fighting, and a commitment to get along even if we disagree. But the downside was that we got married to people who didn’t grow up like us. Two or three of us latched onto someone who used anger in a very different way.

My wife was one of them. She was accustomed to anger and arguments being a normal part of relationships. While not trying to sound self-righteous, I think that if she and her family hadn’t hidden that fact from me until we were married I may have made a different decision in partners. But they did hide it, and we married. A part of me believes that since they hid it they knew that something was wrong, but they chose not to change it for the better and simply covered it up until it was too late for me. Over three years the arguing grew between us. I tried in lots of ways, subtle and obvious, to let her know that I didn’t want to argue and would rather resolve things in a less heated manner. I said many times, “I wasn’t raised learning how to argue. I don’t know how and I don’t want to learn.” But I suppose that just gave her the upper hand when she repeatedly insisted on arguing.

Halfway through that third year I was getting increasingly frustrated and unhappy. There was more heat than warmth in the marriage. I don’t remember what the argument was about that one particular day, but I do remember graphically the moment when I broke. I was getting nowhere with her again and in frustration I hauled off and kicked the easy chair in the living room. It didn’t hurt either of us too bad, but the heavens opened up, a light shone on my perception, and it occurred to me that “this is not who I am.” It was astounding. It was crystal clear. If I participated in one more second of argument with her I was betraying who and what I was. The longer I went with this the more I lost something of myself I treasured. I could no longer argue with her. I calmly told her, “I am not going to argue with you anymore.”

It took her a while to believe me. She tried to engage me, and it increasingly frustrated her that I wouldn’t. But something about the realization was so solid and eternal that I had no trouble abiding by it.

It was one of the main things that signaled the end of the marriage. Her final act of control in the marriage was hiring a lawyer to do the fighting for her.

In truth I married again, and sadly the arguing came up again. I told her from the beginning (before we married, in fact) that I didn’t want to argue. That marriage lasted for five years. She insisted on fighting me. I didn’t even hire a lawyer to fight hers when she’d had enough of my calmness and reason.

I’ve dated a little in the seven or eight years since, but this one realization severely limits the field for me. Arguing is so commonplace. It’s so frequent in the media, movies, government, and even religion. ‘Fighting’ is so much a part of our culture that a local hospital says “We fight cancer” instead of “We treat cancer patients” and people don’t even question the stance.

This realization, that I refuse to argue, has lasted without question. It seems to be a truth that I can’t, well, argue. Because of it I’ve have the chance to study the difference between discussion and debate and to observe the upmanship that so many people engage in, and have opted to not play what has become for me silly little games of power. I have learned that in arguing you tend to forget to be loving, and since this to me is the most powerful force in the universe and the most important task of being with people, I simply can’t afford to learn how to argue. It has helped me become a more honest person, for in order to not have to fight (which a lot of people use to ward off the truth) I simply admit when I’ve been wrong. I’m still human and not a hundred percent on this score, but progressing. I have come to believe that marriages based on cooperation are infinitely more successful than marriages based on competition. I regularly hear from clients and coworkers that I am an exceptionally calm person.

We’ll see how this story fits with Dr. Miller’s research.

I’d bet every one of you readers has a story of life-changing insight or epiphany you could tell.