Episode Details

A young monk arrives at an old monastery. Among his daily tasks, he is assigned to replicate sacred church canons by hand. He soon observes that each replica is copied from a preceding replica and asks the abbot: “Father, is this not problematic? One mistake could perpetuate through every subsequent copy.” The abbot shrugs and responds, “We have been copying from copies for centuries.” But, wanting to encourage the young monk’s earnestness, he submits to check the original manuscripts for discrepancies.

So, the abbot disappears down a dark staircase to a vault in a cave beneath the monastery. Hours pass and he does not reappear. By now concerned, the young monk descends the staircase and discovers the abbot on the floor, ancient scrolls scattered about, wild-eyed and muttering to himself.

"Father, are you alright?" the novice pleads.

The abbot manages to stutter a single word in response. The young monk slowly, questioningly, sounds it back: “cel-e-brate?”  

“Yes, yes – that’s it! We had it all wrong, my boy. The word was ‘CELEBRATE!’”

~

I love this old dharma joke. Its cheekiness is underpinned by valuable teachings like how a beginner’s mind can grant a fresh perspective and how ritual can devolve into absurdity if its original energy is forgotten. It also makes light of a disposition that seems exclusive to our species – namely, to be unnecessarily hard on ourselves. The sacred revelation of this story is to celebrate.

My mother invoked the aphorism nothing’s ever easy as counsel throughout my growing years. During apartment moves and breakups, at 2 a.m., when I called, bleary-eyed, from a campus library and, repeatedly, through the season of a nervous breakdown (mine, not hers). Among a class of women pioneers in the legal field and a single mom, she worked staggeringly long hours, sacrificed amply, and rarely complained. More than advice, nothing’s ever easy was an anthem and an affirmation: like The Little Engine That Could, it was her way of chugging I think I can, I think I can up the mountain.

My mother was then the age I am now, and I understand how her perseverance was born of a necessary resolve. If she could reframe hardship as reliable rather than unexpected, she could calmly measure the weight of any presenting challenge and steady her course onward and upward. She could overcome. And so, she did.

But every belief has its implications. If we take ourselves too seriously and are convinced that our growth depends on our gravity (the word “serious” comes from the Latin root “serious,” which means "weighty, important, or grave"), we risk veering with programmatic precision toward celibate and not leaving room for celebrate.

Here’s how it happens.

Negativity bias refers to our neurobiological stickiness around negative events or emotions. We weigh perceived threats more heavily than positive or benign factors – it’s a matter of primal electrical activity, information processing, and evolutionary advantage. One constructive comment could be cozied into an outpouring of approval and admiration, for example, and we assume that the constructive comment is the only honest one. We are preferentially sensitized to the pea beneath the mattress.

Modern media algorithmically harnesses and exploits this psychological predilection for negative news to keep our attention. Fear is a hungry beast. Consistent exposure to toxicity and traumatic imagery has become the norm, even for those of us who are media literate and intend to set healthy boundaries for our nervous systems. What’s more, when negativity bias combines with availability bias, the tendency to perseverate and overestimate the importance of the examples that immediately come to mind when considering a topic, and confirmation bias, the tendency to seek out, remember,