I’m sold on the potential health benefits of cryotherapy. Everyone I know who has tried it raves about it. But as I said, it isn’t for me. I prefer cool temperatures to hot, but I can’t handle that kind of cold.
Time passed, and one day I was taking my garbage receptacles to the curb, four of them in total, counting green waste and recycling. The entire task takes maybe five minutes, and I was debating getting a jacket versus toughing it out for five minutes in my t-shirt and jeans while temperatures were in the high forties. It wasn’t going to hurt me, but history suggests that after two minutes I would be shaking like a chihuahua in a gunfight.
Suddenly, a thought popped into my head that connected the stories in this chapter. If cryotherapy is good for your health, wouldn’t exposure to ordinary cold weather give you some portion of benefit? For my story, it doesn’t matter if that makes sense because you know a reframe is coming and reframes don’t care about facts or logic.
As I opened the garage door for my five-minute suffering in the cold, I wondered what would happen if I reframed my sensation of cold as a signal of getting healthier and stronger instead of as a signal to flee. And so I did. I told myself the blast of cold air would be good for me, like a poor man’s cryotherapy. It would make me stronger. The colder, the better!
I walked outside. It was cold. I think. But I didn’t feel cold. I . . . felt . . . stronger.
What???
I would never suggest this reframe will work for you. It’s too weird even for me, and I’m literally a hypnotist. This is right in the middle of my strike zone, and still my mind was blown.
It was the last time I experienced feeling cold.
Okay, okay, some context. I live in Northern California, so my definition of “cold weather” won’t necessarily match yours. I know that because I grew up in upstate New York. You adjust to your environment.
I won’t suggest this reframe will work below 45 degrees Fahrenheit, or somewhere in that range. But if you have a normal life, you will find yourself in these too-cold-for-comfort situations all the time. Next time it happens to you, consider this reframe.
Usual Frame: Coldness is pain and a signal I am in danger.
Reframe: Coldness makes me healthier and stronger.
If this reframe works for you, it might change your life in an unexpected way. You always knew reality had a subjective component, but it is hard to grasp how deep that subjectivity goes. If you learn to turn coldness into a positive experience with one reframe, you will—perhaps for the first time—understand your power to author your entire life.
Tragedy and Recovery
When someone close to you dies, it is normal to feel a great sense of loss. But once you think you have suffered enough, and you want to feel better, a few reframes will help.
The first reframe involves asking yourself if you are feeling bad about the deceased or yourself. It probably isn’t entirely clear in your mind.
Usual Frame: Death is a tragedy, and I need to feel bad about it.
Reframe: The deceased has no more problems. How did I make this about me?
Easier said than done, of course. I don’t suggest this works as well when a child passes as it does when your grandfather finds his way to the beyond. It’s easier to get over the so-called natural kind of passing compared to anything unexpected. But the reframe helps in both cases.
Don’t fight with the logic of the reframes should you decide to try them. Let the words do what words do—influence you whether you like it or not. Every non-trivial word carries a little program with it.
Here’s another reframe I have found useful, having experienced more than my fair share of family and pet deaths. The reframe involves accepting that which can’t change (death) while finding value in your final service to the deceased. Here’s how I play it.
Usual Frame: Death is a tragedy.
Reframe: It is an honor to help another pass.
The United States military uses this reframe. When a soldier dies, we are all trained to honor the passing in the most respectful way we can. There is a ceremony and a set of rules that serve to siphon off some of the pain and repackage it as service to the deceased.
When you experience the death of a loved one, your instincts push you into feeling tragedy, loss, and pain. Once you have had enough of that, and when you are ready, start tossing these five words around in your mind to release some of the pain: Gratitude. Respect. Honor. Privilege. Service.
There might not be a greater honor than helping someone pass to their next state of being.
Death and Afterlife
Depending on your religion, you might find comfort in imagining your deceased friend or loved one enjoying the infinite comfort of eternal life in some other dimension. If that doesn’t fit your worldview, I have a reframe that might help. Unfortunately, I have had plenty of opportunities to test this one, and it helps me a lot.
Usual Frame (for some people): Death is the end of this person.
Reframe: Energy can change form, but it never disappears.
You are not the person who was born to your parents with your name and identity. Your body has changed over time, your personality has changed, and most of the cells in your body have died and been replaced. Yet there is still a coherent “you” that we all recognize. Additionally, you are a social being, meaning part of “you” includes your impact on others, especially family and close friends. One way to view the “you” that is smeared across time and has entirely new body parts is that you are a continuation of some original energy that was in part guided by your DNA. The chain of cause-and-effect that started with your parents and led to the creation of baby-you continues through life but also extends beyond it in a physical sense as well as conceptually.
For example, my deceased mother, Virginia Adams, is the creator of not only three children but also some of the strongest material I have included in my books. She is deceased, yet she is permanent. The impact of her life continues to reverberate.
If you are generously thinking my mom got lucky by creating an author who could amplify her essence after she was gone, that’s true, but her impact on me is no more than my deceased step-son’s impact. I see him in every young man. And one of my greatest joys now is learning to play drums, which is an extension of his interest in playing. He’s always with me when I am drumming, if you know what I mean.
People don’t disappear when they die. They become part of the forever. Energy can change form, but it never disappears. If you do things right, your specific energy will have a pay-forward quality to it, and that is something you can feel good about today.
Who Controls Your Feelings
Most of us grow up believing our feelings are the product of whatever is happening to us. It sure seems that way. When you can control your schedule, where you go, and who you are with, you generally feel happy. When you have no control over those environmental variables, you are less likely to feel happy. Therefore, logically, your environment and your situation are controlling how you feel. By that view, you are nothing but a victim of a random and often cruel universe. That’s no way to go through life. I recommend flipping that worldview using this admittedly weird reframe.
Usual Frame: My feelings are the result of my situation.
Reframe: How I feel is my choice.
The first time I heard this reframe, it hit me as both ridiculous and powerful. I’ve since used it often to clear my mind of junk feelings. I simply told myself I could choose not to be bothered . . . and it worked. Or at least it took off the edge.
I would love to tell you the logical reason this reframe works, but I don’t think there is one. Maybe it works because the sensation of taking control is generally good for most people. Maybe it works because it gives you permission to feel good. Perhaps it works by triggering you into cognitive dissonance. Or maybe it just yanks you out of a mental prison you put yourself in and returns you to the present. I don’t know. All I know is that it has given me comfort. Maybe it can work for you, too.