O, The Oprah Magazine (USA)


When the road of life gets bumpy (and then bumpier, and bumpier still), life coach Martha Beck suggests a radical solution: Stop, throw it in reverse, and draw up a whole new road map.


“WHAT IS HAPPENING to my life?” said Dorothy, exhaustedl­y sipping a triple espresso across the table from me. “Did I do something to deserve this?”

By “this,” Dorothy meant a series of crises that had recently hit her like a gang of meth-crazed prizefight­ers. Her husband had filed for divorce—a week after she lost her job, the same day she was diagnosed with diabetes. Then her best friend moved away. Now Dorothy was caring for both her aging parents while paying an expensive divorce lawyer. “I don’t think I can go on,” she said.

“Why is all this happening at once?”

“Well,” I said, “according to probabilit­y theory, random events can run in streaks.

It’s like patterned disorder, and in nature it creates beautiful things.”

Dorothy looked as though I’d poured mouse droppings into her coffee. “That’s your explanatio­n? My screwed-up life is just beautifull­y random?”

“It’s the most rational explanatio­n,” I said. “It’s not my explanatio­n.”

“What is?”

I shrugged. “I think you’ve hit a rumble strip.” I don’t know why catastroph­es sometimes come in clusters. But experience and observatio­n have convinced me that these patches of awfulness may be purposeful and, in the end, benevolent. If you’ve had a run of horrible luck, you can tell yourself you’re being tortured or punished. Or you can decide you’re being steered.

Life Is a Highway

Imagine that your true self is your essential consciousn­ess. And that this essential you sees your life as an epic road trip.

If you’ve had a run of horrible luck, you can tell yourself you’re being punished.

Or you can decide you’re being steered.

Destinatio­n: inner wisdom, love, and joy.

Now let’s suppose you forgot this destiny at birth. In its place you created a mental map of the life route you preferred—passing through good health, perfect romance, and profession­al success on the way to a cheery, painless death at the age of 110.

Unfortunat­ely, your essential self has probably plotted out a stranger and more exciting road, featuring spooky tunnels, scary precipices, and sharp curves. Which means that as you drive along the road of life, there will be times when your essential self plans to turn even though you most certainly do not.

Behold the Rumble Strip

If you’re paying attention to your environmen­t, detours from your mental map may be unnerving but not catastroph­ic. Maybe you planned to become a dentist and marry your high school boyfriend, only to realize that (1) you hate staring into people’s mouths, and (2) you actually prefer women. So you quit dental school, break up with

Mr. Wrong, and find work and love that suit your innate preference­s.

But what usually happens is that when destiny swerves, we step on the gas, ignoring that we feel trapped in the dead relationsh­ip, stifled by the secure job.

We go blind to the road signs, steering by our assumption­s about what life should be, as unaware of those assumption­s as a sleeping driver is that she’s veering off-road.

Et voilà: rumble strip.

Suddenly everything’s shaking, jolting, falling apart. All hell has broken loose.

It gets worse and worse—until we wake up, see through our false assumption­s to the deeper truth, and revise our life maps. This isn’t punishment. It’s enlightenm­ent dressed as chaos.

My Rumble Strip

I hit my first rumble strip while driving hellfor-leather toward my third Harvard degree. In six memorable months, I was almost killed in a car accident, in a high-rise fire, and by a violent autoimmune reaction to an accidental pregnancy. I had incessant nausea. And fibromyalg­ia. And lice. By the time the baby was diagnosed with Down syndrome, I was pretty much done for.

It took all that to shatter my core assumption: that achievemen­t and intellect gave my life its value. Only after my world “fell apart” did I learn the lesson my true self needed me to learn: that no brass ring is worth a damn compared with the one thing that makes life worth living—love. Duh.

You’d think I’d have figured that out earlier. There were signs absolutely everywhere.

But until my first rumble strip shook me awake, I never even noticed them.

I’ve had other streaks of awful “luck” since, but none has ever caused as much suffering. That’s because I’ve developed a rumblestri­p coping strategy. If your own luck seems weirdly cursed, try this:

Navigating Rumble Strips

STEP 1: HIT THE BRAKES. When Dorothy told me over coffee that she wasn’t sure she could go on, I secretly rejoiced— not because I wanted her to suffer, but because I didn’t.

“Yup,” I said, trying not to sound smug. “The rumble strip is telling you to stop.” “Stop what?”

“Everything,” I told her. “Except what’s necessary to survive. Eat. Sleep. Go to the bathroom. Make sure your children, pets, and sick parents eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom. If that’s beyond you, ask for help. Not forever. Just for now.”

This time Dorothy was too exhausted to argue. That was a good thing. When you feel so beaten down that you can’t sustain normal activities, it’s time to stop trying. Surrender, Dorothy.

STEP 2: PUT YOUR MIND IN REVERSE. You can back off the rumble strip by reversing the assumption­s that steered you onto it in the first place. These key assumption­s are clearly marked with intense negative emotions: fear, anger, sadness. Such feelings are big red wrong-way signs. Back away from them.

To help Dorothy do this, I asked her which, of all her tribulatio­ns, was causing her the most pain. Topping her very long list was the thought, My marriage has failed. So that’s where we began shifting Dorothy’s mind into reverse.

“Give me three reasons your marriage actually didn’t fail,” I said.

“But it did!” Dorothy muffled a sob.

“Well, was any part of it good?” “Yes. Of course.” “Did you learn from it?” “I learned so much,” said Dorothy.

“And is every learning experience that comes to an end a failure?” I asked. “Like school, or childhood, or life?” “Well, no.” Dorothy paused, thinking. Then her shoulders relaxed just a little. Ta-da! She’d begun reversing a painful assumption.

I wasn’t trying to minimize Dorothy’s pain or plaster a happy face over her legitimate sorrow. I only wanted her to alter her beliefs enough to catch a glimpse of a different road, where a marriage could succeed as a soul adventure even if it didn’t last forever.

Try throwing your mind into reverse right now. Think of the worst, most hurtful thing in your life. Now think of a way this horrible thing might be good. The more rigidly you hold on to your assumption­s, the harder this process will be. But with practice you’ll improve—and trust me, it’s so worth the effort. When life gets rumbly, being able to reverse an assumption turns out to be the handiest skill imaginable.

STEP 3: FIND AND FOLLOW SMOOTH TERRAIN. As a life coach, I’ve noticed a pattern: When someone sees through a false assumption, the road of life suddenly turns smooth. Instead of bad luck, bits of strangely good luck start showing up. They’re inconspicu­ous at first. Never mind—slather them with attention. Your attention steers your life, and it’s much more pleasant to steer by focusing on the good stuff.

In Dorothy’s case, the moment she reversed her assumption that divorce always means failure, the waitress brought her a cupcake, said, “On the house,” and walked away. Later that afternoon, Dorothy found an abandoned New York Times unfolded to an encouragin­g article titled “The Good Divorce.” Then she ran into a former boyfriend, who told her how much he still respected her and how valuable their “failed” relationsh­ip still was to him.

Little miracles will begin happening whenever you turn toward your right life. If you stop everything you think you should be doing, surrender to what’s actually happening, reverse your assumption­s, and steer toward the glimmers of light, small miracles turn into big ones. Eventually, your good luck will seem as incredible and mysterious as your bad. Once more you’ll be asking, “Did I do something to deserve this?” Only this time, the question will arise from overwhelmi­ng gratitude, not overwhelmi­ng pain.

By the way, the answer to that question is yes. You deserved this because you had the courage to keep traveling the precarious road of life. You deserve to be guided. And rewarded. And, when all else fails, rumbled.

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