A Philosophy of Frustration
Life can be a b*tch; here's how to deal.
It’s 8 am on a Saturday when the sound of bagpipes hauls me from sleep. Or, more accurately, the sound of some kid practising the bagpipes.
Now, as the daughter of a Scotsman, I love the bagpipes as much as the next person. But I think we can all agree, there is a time and a place for a passionate pipe and Saturday morning is just absolutely not it.
Duvet pulled firmly overhead, I proceeded to silently seethe wondering why the no-doubt private school kid couldn’t have just learnt the recorder like everyone else.
However, a few minutes (which felt like hours) later, an interesting question rose above the off-pitch drone; why was I so frustrated?
Whether it’s a stubbed toe or an untimely death, the experience of frustration is always fundamentally the same: a collision of our wishes with an unyielding reality.
In my current case, it was the desire to sleep in hitting up against a reality where someone plays (/attempts) the bagpipes at an ungodly hour.
Not exactly anger but not really disappointment, frustration is a nuanced emotion and one rarely given the same attention as love or anxiety, anger or joy. Yet it’s a feeling most of us will wrestle with every day, with little success.
Fortunately, there are experts we can consult to better understand, and conquer frustration. Experts like Seneca; a Roman stoic philosopher from 40 A.D. who spoke often about frustration, and believed it stung sharpest when we faced situations that were unexpected or unreasonable.
Meaning, his advice for conquering feelings of frustration was preparation, but a mental kind.
When looking for help for unwanted emotions we’re far more likely to turn to self-help Instagram posts or inspirational youtube videos than Plato’s ‘Republic’, or Montaigne’s ‘Essays’.
Yet if when one reads these French philosophers and German intellectuals they soon realise today’s content creators are simply re-packaging millennia-old principles or techniques, usually with little to no awareness of their origin.
While this isn’t necessarily a bad thing (Aristotle or Descartes don’t make for light reading), I do feel like a certain comfort is lost. A solace in knowing that some 1,970 years ago a guy from Rome wrestled and wrangled with the same emotions as I do. Reminding us that the common threat of humanity doesn’t just run across ocean and tongues but back through time too.
So, with that, back to Seneca and his trick for defeating frustration, (or at least managing it).
Involuntary vs. Chosen: How we view frustration
The Thai restaurant lost our order, the dog ate your retainer, we can’t find the car keys or the next-door neighbour is leaf blowing at 11 am on a Wednesday. In other words, life doesn’t turn out how we expected.
And how do we respond? We throw our hands in the air and cuss, slam doors and stew, frustrated by the matter at hand.
Then, once the feelings subside, we often apologise. Or, more accurately, we say a quick sorry before explaining how we were the victim of an overwhelming emotion.
See, we’re sorry we said that bitter remark or stormed off in a rage, but something ‘came over us’. We regret that it happened but it’s not really our fault.
The argument is a popular one, that rests on the idea that emotional reactions are the same as involuntary physical ones. Like shivering in the cold or yawning when tired, we don’t choose to react with frustration; it just happens.
Unfortunately, as convenient as this view would be, it’s not actually how negative reactions work.
Frustration may feel inevitable in the heat of the moment, however Seneca said it was less an innate reflex but instead the result of a flawed belief in how the world works.
The good news? Change your worldview and the feelings will follow.
Why do we get frustrated?
According to Seneca, the answer lies in our expectations. Particularly those that are overly optimistic about what the world and its people will be like.
For example, a rain shower may be more disruptive to your day than a neighbour 7 am leaf blower, but the latter causes far more frustration. Why?
Because frustration isn’t just a result of not getting our way, but not getting our way when we feel entitled to it.
Live in New Zealand and it’s near impossible to feel entitled to a day without a random rain shower (even in the dead heat of summer), in fact, you likely expect it. But a morning without the irritating whine of an electric blower is something almost everyone expects and feel we have the right to…because it’s often the case.
Ironically then, Seneca found those most prone to fits of frustration were the wealthiest of his friends. Their opulent prosperity creating a robust expectation that, with enough money, life would go their way.
When it inevitably didn’t, even in the smallest of ways, the fortunate folk would fly off the handle, ranting and raving at the injustice.
Or, in Pollio (a friend of Seneca’s) case, they’d toss their slave into a pool of blood-sucking eels as punishment for breaking a tray of crystal glasses. Harsh, but not illogical to Seneca; Pollio simply believed in a world where expensive glasses weren’t broken.
Few of us believe in a world where rain showers never hit, however, many of us do believe in a world where keys are never misplaced, bagpipes aren’t played, or traffic isn’t jammed.
To our credit, we aren’t entirely to blame for the irrational sense of entitlement. From childhood, we’re taught the world is meritocratic; a place where the ‘good’ are rewarded and the ‘bad’ punished. Parents, justice systems and movie plots and everything in-between all enforcing the same idea: what happens to you is a reflection of you.
An attractive worldview, slightly undermined by the fact that it’s totally untrue.
No matter how good we are (or try to be), undeserved disaster will come for us all. Restaurants will be fully booked, and job applications rejected. Food poisoning will hit on holiday and weekends will be ruined by rain, often through no direct fault of our own.
Yet this warped worldview leaves us feeling short-changed by a universe that doesn’t seem to operate as fairly as we deserve.
If you lived in 40 A.D, these moments would be when one would find comfort and clarity in Fortuna. A Roman goddess of fortune who bestowed luck and adversity on people with the moral blindness of a tornado. Her ever-present blindfold a glaringly obvious reminder that bad things would absolutely happen to good people.
However, eventually, gods and goddesses were replaced by science and logic; systems that may be more plausible than a blindfolded goddess but don’t do nearly as good a job at describing the world it really is, one of senseless, unpredictable misfortune.
No wonder we’re left confused and frustrated when seemingly undeserved adversity comes our way.
Fortunately, a lifetime of frustration can be saved if we, in Alain De Botton’s ever-eloquent words, “reconcile ourselves to the necessary imperfectability of existence”.
Or, in far less eloquent words: accept life is a bitch sometimes and adjust our expectations accordingly.
It seems like an intimidating task but really involves asking yourself two simple questions when faced with life’s daily frustrations:
Why do I believe in a world where _____ does/doesn’t happen?
Should I?
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Sarah.
Thought provoking.