Rules for Being

Wisdom from the ten-headed Grimace.

Of the many voices that made up the soundtrack of my childhood — Raffi, Elmo, the original London cast of Les Misérables — none meant more than Whitney Houston.

I knew every beat of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” which I played ad nauseam, often while donning garish sequined recital-wear handed down by a family friend.

I memorized every word and inflection of “The Greatest Love of All,” long before the lyrics made sense to me.

But the song I found most captivating was “How Will I Know,” an upbeat pop track from her self-titled debut album.

The year was 1985. The voice was unlike any other.

The music video features Whitney, sporting a headband with an enormous silver bow, as she wanders through a neon fun house that looks like a Monet painting on acid. She is joined by a cadre of expressionless backup dancers, dressed all in black, who burst out of doorways like creepy mimes.

As Whitney sings into the camera, the mime-dancers erupt into a tightly choreographed flash mob that can only be described as the most ‘80s thing I have ever seen. There is also a hint of gymnastics, and at one point, a ten-headed choir loosely resembling Grimace, from McDonald’s:

It doesn’t make sense until you see it. And even then it defies logic.

Please know I am summoning all my self-control to not turn this newsletter into a full-blown video appreciation post, as there is more to discuss, and that’s probably not what you signed up for. But for anyone who could use an infusion of joy, please do yourself a favor and watch this absurdly uplifting piece of art.

So we have the voice. The set. The dancing. But that wasn’t why I liked it.

In the song, Whitney wonders whether “the boy” really loves her, and appeals to the ether for guidance. She asks, “How will I know?” no less than 24 times over the course of four-and-a-half minutes, while a chorus of backup singers are all too happy to reply.

This was reassuring.

Like any curious kid, I had questions. Where do babies come from? Why do crunchy cookies go stale by getting chewy, while chewy cookies go stale by getting hard? Has anyone else noticed that “dog” is “God” spelled backward, and am I meant to believe this is a coincidence?

I liked knowing that I wasn’t alone in my wondering, that even adults had holes in their knowledge. I especially liked the idea that there was an answer for every question, just a spirited chorus away.

Three-and-a-half decades later, I know that no one has all the answers, that pretty much everyone is winging it. But I haven’t stopped wishing for a chorus of backup singers to occasionally chime in with guidance.

If only we were each born with a Personal Handbook for Living, containing the universal truths of our existence. Never again would we have to wonder whether a job, relationship, agreement, what-have-you was the right move. It would also include fun spoiler alerts, step-by-step instructions for handling difficult times, as well as the perfect comeback for every slight.

While no such guidebook exists, there are no shortage of volumes that try — not to mention an entire industry devoted to filling in the gaps. (The U.S. “self-improvement market” is currently valued at approximately 13 billion dollars, and growing every year.) It’s always good to expand one’s worldview, especially when it comes to other people’s experiences and what they might have to teach us. But it’s ironic that we look to others for personal guidance when so much of what we seek can only be found within ourselves.

As George Carlin once said, “If you’re looking for self-help, why would you read a book written by somebody else? That’s not self-help. That’s help!”

To that end, there is something fulfilling about figuring things out on your own — constructing the confusing piece of Ikea furniture, navigating the route from memory instead of relying on GPS, uncovering the intuitive hunch that was there all along.

I’d posit that we’re not actually after self-improvement as much as validation. So many of us search for evidence outside ourselves — whether through likes, compliments, promotions, advice, relationships, you name it — that we’re good enough, that we’ve made it, that we matter. But in the end, our worth isn’t for anyone else to define.

Maybe it isn’t about waiting for the chorus to provide answers. Maybe it isn’t even about heeding solid, practical advice. In the end, maybe it all comes down to cultivating self-trust.

What if we learned to trust the ideas, opinions, skills, and knowledge we already have? And to know that even if we do make the wrong call, we’re capable of course-correcting to whatever is right for us.

Now, that’s a book I’d read.

While writing this, I visited the official lyrics for “How Will I Know?” — words I thought I knew by heart — and was greeted with a terrible surprise.

I’d misheard them.

For years, I’ve been singing the song incorrectly.

When Whitney first asks, “How will I know?” the backup singers immediately reply, “Don’t trust your feelings.”

Don’t trust your feelings.

I’d spent thirty-some odd years thinking they said, “Just trust your feelings.” Words I understood to be wonderful advice. Words I’ve repeated to myself many times.

But no. The song’s message is to doubt your own intuition — the best hope any of us have of uncovering our truth.

The next time you find yourself asking someone, “How will I know?” remember that a better question might be, “How would anyone else know, either?”

The bigger truth is, there are an awful lot of things we might not know. Not now, not ever.

But trusting yourself is a skill you can cultivate.

And knowing what you don’t know is its own kind of wisdom.

Even if the lyrics leave something to be desired, at least we’ll always have the video.

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring The Apparition Tarot Deck by Mary Elizabeth Evans

In life, there are days that feel like any other. And then there are times when the landscape shifts, when it seems like the world is suddenly upside down.

Maybe you’re waiting on news. Or a project is at an impasse. Or the words aren’t flowing the way you’d hoped. Maybe you were just confronted with a major change, and you’re determining how to move forward.

When we are faced with challenges outside of our control, there are a couple ways to proceed. We can rage and struggle and fight against them. Or we can do our best to relax into something resembling acceptance, pouring our energy into the places where we can make a difference.

The Hanged Man (sometimes called The Hanged One) knows the feeling.

Traditional depictions show a person suspended upside down, one foot tied to a branch. This situation is likely not of their choosing, but now that it’s happened — and since it doesn’t look like they’ll be going anywhere anytime soon — they’re trying to get what they can out of the experience. They are often drawn with a visible halo, not because they’re an inherently holy being, but because they are on the path to enlightenment.

Because of their unique vantage point, this character sees the world in a different way. They understand that the more you examine your life — the more you observe something you thought you already knew — the more wonder you will uncover.

Take a tree, for example. We’ve all seen a tree so many times that we barely register what we’re looking at. But what if, the next time you see a tree, you stop and pretend that you are encountering this species for the first time?

How might it look different? What might you notice? The shapes of the branches. The buds forming. The visible roots extending from the base of the trunk and stretching along the ground. Maybe it’s a home for a family of squirrels. Or a nest of robins.

This card reminds us that we can gaze upon anything in our world through fresh eyes, and by doing so, the whole view changes. There is always a lot to see, but first we must be willing to look.

Some people see this as a card of delays, of stagnation, of inaction. While it certainly doesn’t scream “swift progress,” I don’t see it that way at all.

Our culture is obsessed with the hustle. (Even those who are vocally against the grind are, in their own way, obsessed with it.) But viewing our lives through a lens of productivity and progress is a hopelessly linear approach.

The message of The Hanged Man isn’t about stalling or idling or settling so much as it is about redefining value. Reconnecting with observation. Seeing what was right in front of us all along.

I particularly love this illustration, where a boat appears to be on its way to a castle in the clouds, but an anchor of reality slows its pace. Isn’t that the way it is? Nothing is ever as simple, direct, or swift as we might imagine.

Instead of cursing our own anchors, The Hanged Man urges us to consider a different approach. To look at circumstances from multiple angles. To try the opposite of what we might normally do, and see what happens.

This card asks, when is the last time you relaxed? (This is not the same as taking time off.) When’s the last time you dropped your shoulders away from your ears, closed your eyes, and took a deep, purposeful breath? When is the last time you slowed down for a moment and just let yourself be — when you weren’t checking your phone, or feeling preoccupied with an email, or stressing about an upcoming event? Maybe you could try that now.

There is a difference between being still and being idle.

There is a difference between acceptance and giving up.

This card urges us to see that difference, and to lean into it.

Sometimes, when you move slower, you see more.

That is progress, too.

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