For a deeper dive into viewpoints and teachings of Giving LOVE the Last WORD, here is a glimpse into the book’s “Appendix” comprising of questions Nathaniel Tok—a high school senior and founder of the Future Scholar Foundation—posed to Pamela in a conversation.
Read the book to learn how Pamela addresses Nathaniel’s questions.To join the conversation, contact ELA with your questions and comments.
*** In “An Invitation,” one of the book’s essays, you talked about how language can be used as both a tool for self-discovery and regulating fear (along with the concept of diaphragmatic breathing). I thought this contrast was really interesting between the "critical-creative" brain and the "animal-survival" brain. Do you think language is ultimately limited in its power to transform deeply forged emotional patterns? Is it possible that words can help rewire fearful responses as opposed to just keeping them in check if fear itself operates on a primal and nonverbal level?
*** I really liked how you wove language with physical experience; it gave this piece a very intriguing feel. Not quite sure how to fully describe it, but at times—I think especially when you were talking about the diaphragmatic breathing—I felt not only mentally but also physically engaged. I took notice of my own breath and also remembered all the times when I used words to ground myself.
*** You framed fear as something that operates within individual survival mechanisms and societal structures like the media which is definitely true. Since fear is indeed both primal and systemic, and should be checked, is it love that is suppressing it when love releases your breath after fear holds it? Or, must love be paired with systemic/societal change of some kind to be fully effective? (I know this might not be entirely realistic, but just a thought that emerged...)
[Pamela’s actual quote: When fear holds my breath, it’s always love that releases it.]
*** At the end of “An Invitation” you say:
If and when love seems scarce and difficult to locate, especially when fear strikes and goes overboard in anticipation and pre-emptive defense, I invite you to join with me in summoning love from the wellspring of knowledge, curiosity, tender essence, and beloved breath of being.
I think with this essay’s closing statement I wasn't quite sure what you were getting at...was there anything specific you meant by summoning love?
*** In the essay “A Far Cry,” I know you critiqued Yale's RULER emotional intelligence program because it often asks participants to cherry pick only bright and cheery feelings, categorizing them. Do you think a different framework would be more effective, or do you feel like categorizing them in the first place (not just as bad or good, but at all) should not be the main focus? I feel like there could potentially be value in encouraging the experiencing of more bright feelings—not in a cherry picking ONLY bright feelings kind of way, but more so in making an effort to maintain a somewhat optimistic view of things. What do you think about this in relation to cherry picking?
*** In your first lexicon word in the book, "Advocate," your prompt on the page says: "What feeling, thought, and ethic would you, or do you, speak out for and in what ways?" I was thinking about this prompt while re-reading through your book, and was wondering—do you think silence can be a form of advocacy in certain situations? I couldn't really place my finger on any examples while thinking about this, but was wondering if you had any anti-prompt answers, if you will.
*** In “Author’s Note” you wrote:
Fear is a powerful force and founded, of course, in countless circumstances and, more often than many of us realize, it’s a trigger, a memory, a fixation on the familiar...an echo!"
I thought the idea of fear as an echo was quite interesting since it implied that so much of what we perceive as immediate fear is actually almost like a reminder or even reverberation of our past experiences. If fear is an echo, what happens when we make a conscious effort (without Love) to stop ourselves from responding to it—do you think that is even possible if fear is so primal? Does the fear fade, or does it demand louder and louder acknowledgment until it is fully addressed? What role do you think memory plays in redirecting, disarming, transforming fear? In what ways does that relate to love (if any)?
