Recently in Looking at Life Category

There are days you feel excited and full of life, revved up and ready to go, where you wake up and immediately say, "good morning, god!" and then there are days where your get up and go has clearly gotten up and gone; when you wake up and immediately say instead, "good god, morning!"

I was thinking earlier today, lost in the abstract idea that - on the whole - we are so incredibly resilient, and yet we rarely give ourselves enough credit for being that. We easily beat ourselves up over our mistakes, even inviting others to the self-bashing party by pointing out the mistakes others may have missed. But at some point, we abandon the idea and resign ourselves to our circumstance. At the least, we co-exist with the pain; at best, we embrace the lesson of the circumstance and use that lesson to avoid painful situations in the future. We do go on.

So, faced with the thought of unending and unyielding pain, being overwhelmed, how do we continue to go on? How do we do it? By focusing on the journey and not the destination; by being present in our circumstance and neither clinging to what's behind us, nor avoiding what's in front of us or being fearful of where the destination ultimately is.

Think of it this way: Life is not supposed to be a sidewalk, a succession of squares of cement that are identical, spreading in front of us endlessly toward some unseen end point, though we often choose to walk that path. Our life path is actually designed to be more like a series of flagstone steps, each unique, each step leading us to the next one, in a pattern of our making. We must pay attention to where we place each foot on the path, moving forward one step at a time in order to continue our journey. Sometimes we may have to pause and contemplate where the next flagstone is. Or, if a stone is missing, we may even have to leap forward to the next slate.

So, if you find yourself overwhelmed with where you are tonight or what's coming up next, instead of choosing the "sidewalk" comprised of endless, formless, blocks, head for the path in front of you that is laid out in a series of winding curves amidst the beauty of your own backyard - the uniqueness, the symmetry, the simplicity, the beauty, of the flagstone steps of your life.

Rounding the doorway into the kitchen, I was surprised to see my youngest daughter, Elizabeth, then five years old, already sitting at the table. Her legs dangled off the ladder back chair as she proudly munched on a Pop Tart she had retrieved from a low shelf in the pantry all by herself. A grape juice box with a straw punched through the top sat precariously near the edge of her placemat.

When she looked up and saw me, she proudly smiled and in her very most authoritative voice said, "You know, Mommy, I think we should have a fifteen-minute rule. That's where no one can talk to you when you get up until after fifteen minutes." I could only marvel and nod my assent to her five-year old wisdom.

Finishing her makeshift breakfast and wiping the crumbs from her face with a carefully-placed napkin, Elizabeth bounded from her chair and raced to her bedroom.

"Time to get dressed for my first day of school!" she proclaimed over her shoulder.

"Do you want me to help you?" I asked, automatically heading toward the direction of her voice to assist her morning routine.

"No, it's ok. I'm in kindergarten now. I can do it myself," she called back.

"I-can-do-it-myself." In those five words I instantly understood that the process of her growing up, her independence, had truly begun. I felt time slip away just a little bit faster than it had before, the same feeling I had had when her older brothers had proudly marched on their way several years earlier. Before I could indulge the feeling, I heard Elizabeth calling from her room.

"Does the zipper go in front or the back?" she said.

"The side," I replied, "on the left - the hand you don't write with."

"Ok! Thank you, Mommy!" she responded.

I sat down on the sofa in the den, waiting, and resisting the temptation to stand by her door to be only a few steps away from any help she might let me give her, when suddenly she came running into the room. She raced in front of me, threw her arms in the air, and said, "TA-DA!" as she whirled in an excited circle.

"Look, Mommy! When I twirl around, my skirt flies up in the air and it's so pretty! I love my new, red, pleated-plaid-skirt!" she said, carefully enunciating the words, her smile reaching from ear-to-ear.

"Let's get your hair combed so we can walk down to the bus stop," I said, smiling.

My practiced hands quickly braided her long, dark hair, and I fastened red ribbons in a bow on the rubber bands at the bottom of each braid. She grabbed her new book bag and pink Barbie lunch box, and hand-in-hand we walked down the driveway to wait for the big yellow bus to come around the corner.

"There it is!" she said excitedly, jumping up and down! "The school bus is coming! The school bus is coming!"

As the long, lumbering bus came to a halt and she climbed its steps, my heart was in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. I willed them not to spill over until the bus had pulled away, as I searched for her silhouette walking down the aisle. She found a seat next to a window and pressed her lips against the glass in a big kiss, and I blew her a kiss back as the bus pulled away.

As she grew, she struggled to speak her truth in an environment where, while her efforts resonated in her own heart, they were contrary to those around her. She saw opportunities and created her own path among the possibilities, many of which never came to fruition, while her loved ones chose a comfortable roadway long-since paved by others.

They had regular jobs, a healthy bank account, a 401k, and a home. She had her dreams, her beliefs, her life experiences well beyond theirs, but little else to tangibly show for her heart, her passion, her efforts, her time in this world.

The years went by, and the more they achieved, it seemed the less she had in comparison. They reached out in the way they understood and tried to be helpful by presenting logical arguments why their way was the right way, and hers was not; by laying out the simplicity and the security of their lives, and pointing out their perception of what her life lacked. She found her words in reply to have no sound, for they rang hollow, even - at times - to herself. She felt lost.

In despair, in comparison, their words made her feel less of a woman than she thought herself to be even if that was not their intention, and soon she began sinking into a deep hole, one that seemed to have no way out. to her, the choice seemed a loss either way: be true to herself and continue a life of pain and struggle, but unwilling to give up on what she knew of her heart, or be untrue to herself and feel dead on the inside while pretending and living their life on the outside.

Sitting in her dark hole, she began to cry, the pain of so many years upon her, the hopelessness of the situation surrounding her. The tears flowed and flowed as her heart cried out and demanded to be heard. And soon, an amazing miracle happened. Her tears began to fill the hole. By releasing her pain and surrendering her need to control it or define herself by it, she was lifted up. The tears continued to flow and the waters of the experiences of her life carried her higher, until finally she found herself standing beside what was once her hole, but was now what made her whole - her salvation. She realized her life was not what put her down into the darkness, it was her perception of her life. And she then realized that she was who she was because of her experiences, not in spite of them.

Sometimes, from the depths of our despair comes the greatest connectivity to, and understanding of, self, and from that moment on, while we may have been alive before, we begin to truly live.

If you are going through a tough time right now, trust self; surrender your pain; and know with absolute certainty that what will come from embracing and understanding the growth of each challenge will ultimately raise you to a greater understanding of self.