If Only They Knew to Love the Silence

When you are all alone, there is a quiet in the morning that can never, ever happen when someone else is there -- no matter how much you love and appreciate their presence. 

In that quiet space, there is the divine, the whole of all things. There is infinity and closeness. There is nothing to fear when the world is quiet and dark and fresh, the day not yet dawn. There is such beauty in quiet. Breaking the silence feels like spoiling it all, and it may never come again. And you are grateful when it does. 

Learning to love the quiet can be difficult if you think that happiness resides in the voices of children and lovers and friends, in the cacophony that they deliver each day, freshly made like bread warm from the oven, the aroma preceding the taste. 

And if you think that is life ... there is so much more. Sound would not have meaning if not for quiet. If not for the lack of, the deficit, the absence of. 

I don't appreciate it enough, but this morning I awoke giving gratitude for the quiet that envelopes me, warm and comforting and impermanent. For as the day comes in, the sun rises, the birds begin their song, the rattle and hum of the world starts up, the motor of the universe churning in its infinite manner, filling all the little crevices where silence once was. 

Where does the silence go? Where does it retreat? Is it under the bed, in the closet, or the basement or attic? Where does silence go when my head begins to race with thoughts getting ahead of time and plotting out the next design of the next day, and the next? Silence is always there, as necessary as light, as air, as water. An essential element often maligned, misused or forgotten. 

If they only knew to love the silence, all other love would be easier, freer, more complete because in the silence there is that all important thing -- the absence of all. The nothing that is everything and even in most silence there is something, a distant hum of the freeway, or a neighbor four doors down starting the car or feeding the dog. Sounds so distant and feint that you can barely discern them, and yet they are filling in the space between you and me. The sound between this minute and that. The sound between having and losing, between birth and death. 

It is the absence of voice, of laughter, of rattle, of hum that creates its own world of meaning. If you learn to love the silence -- that space between everything -- you discover beauty and respite. A place to rest between breath, between cord, and tone.  So much more is said in that space between thought and word. When there is no future, no past, only present. The silence between thought and word is where the truth spills out. Give someone silence and they will draw their own conclusion and write their own story. 

If they only knew to love the silence they would never long for anything else. There would be no cause for envy or doubt or fear or sadness. These emotions would be felt for what they are: noise and clammer cluttering up the still small space that is filled with divine essence. Silence is what is present in the ancient wood where the redwood have stood for centuries, holding the stillness in their branches, allowing for peace. Perhaps that is why churches were built, to hold the silence. 

Those who never rise before dawn may never know this God time, this God presence. The lack of everything and the abundance of all. If they only knew to embrace the quietude of life, there would be no reason to argue or lie or cheat or steal or harm one another. That's why meditation is so important. Why taking time, and making time to be without noise, even the clatter of your own thoughts, allows for something greater to come in. God is in the silence. 

If only they knew to love the silence, the world would take a breath and pause and hold its collective tongue and just listen ... and be reborn.

It's Official. I'm the Worst Mother in the World

Two weeks ago I dropped my one and only child off at college and I haven’t looked back. I’ve called him once — just once! —  to make sure he was alive. (He is.) But otherwise I haven’t obsessed or worried or even shed a tear. There must be something fatally wrong with me. Right?

1st day of kindergarten

For years, I dreaded the day Jack would leave my home and go off to college. Sure, I wanted my son to succeed, but the thought of my only kid leaving me made me queazy. 

This was the boy I taught to fish and play tennis, spent untold hours reading bedtime stories, playing Hot Wheels and building elaborate tracks for Thomas the Tank Engine. But thankfully, children grow up slowly -- and there's this thing called puberty that really helps you detach, or at least put some distance between you and your son's stinky feet.

In January, when Jack was accepted to his first-choice college, Auburn, with an academic scholarship to boot, reality kicked in. My son was leaving me behind to begin living a life that largely would not include me. The thought made me sad. 

But then I realized … it was just a thought. And a thought in and of itself  has no power over me — or shouldn’t — unless I give it power. And often I do. 

My thought goes like this: “Jack is leaving me behind! He doesn’t need me anymore. I will be alone.” But that’s not true. Yes, my son is leaving to go to college, and I am not going to move into his dorm room with him. (And everyone is really happy about that.) And he doesn’t need me anymore in the way he did when he was younger. (Thank God.) Nor will he be living under my roof 24/7. (Again, thank you!) 

A more accurate thought is this: “Jack is moving towards his own goals and dreams which don’t need to include me, which is healthy. And I am moving towards my goals and dreams which don’t always include him, which is also healthy.” (The “I will be alone” statement is just over-the-top melodrama. I mean, I could be alone if I want to be alone, but that’s also a choice I make.)

When it comes down to it, all my attitudes are a choice. I can choose to look at a turn of events as a loss or a gain. I can choose to be happy for my son and for myself in this new stage of our lives, or I can choose to be nostalgic and maudlin. Why would I want to choose to be miserable when my son is experiencing a sense of accomplishment? Why would I want to dwell on the negative when it’s just as easy to find the good? 

First day of college

Last Wednesday, as I made the two hour drive home from Auburn after depositing Jack and his worldly goods on campus, I considered how easy it would be to feel sad. But I chose to feel satisfied, contented, even happy for him and for myself. After all, sending a kid to college is a great accomplishment even under the best conditions; and we had, shall I say, our share of challenges along the way. 

So no, I’m not sad about Jack’s departure. I don’t feel lonely or depressed. The dreaded day came and went and I’m relieved and happy that he’s on his way to adulthood. I almost feel guilty for not feeling sad. Almost. Instead I’m happy with the knowledge that our lives are unfolding exactly as they should. This is what Buddhists call non-attachment. Although it may sound crass it is actually a form of unconditional love. Imagine that?

I certainly didn’t always make the best choices as Jack was growing up. In fact, I made some really bad ones along the way. But somehow it seems that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the worst mother in the world after all.

Shopping for One-ness

Today, for the first time in 24 years I grocery shopped for one. 

It's been 24 years since I've been without a husband or child in the house. Almost a quarter of a century since I made purchases that were solely for my consumption. During that time, there's no telling how many hundreds of  trips I've made to the grocery store always thinking of one person or another. 

Today was different.

I thought shopping only for myself might be depressing, but today I strolled the aisles studying the produce and happily picking out mushrooms, heirloom tomatoes, arugula, corn, avocados and limes as though I was shopping for the first time. As I loaded the cart with Kettle chips, goat cheese, a small piece of salmon, a petite ribeye steak, and a bag of roasted almonds, I was very conscious of the fact that the only person I had to please was me. And I was very pleased.

How many decisions did I make in the past 24 years to please someone else? How many times did I walk down the aisles of life ignoring my own taste, setting aside my principles, or not considering my goals because someone else's seemed to matter more? I'll answer that for you: Too many.

There's nothing wrong with taking others into consideration when making decisions. As a parent, you have to do that all the time. But if I'm subjugating my own preferences in relationships, then I need to examine my motives. Because, in my experience, when I do something that is outside of my principles, I end up resenting the other person for it -- as well as resenting myself.  

Case in point: All of my adult life, I've loved mushrooms but when I married and discovered that my husband didn't share my feelings for fungi, I stopped preparing dishes that called for them. Granted, I didn't really care that much about mushrooms, but it was a little thing that I denied myself because of someone else's opinion. There were bigger ways I deferred my preferences and tastes in that marriage, and eventually those differences became insurmountable. In the end, I resented my ex for so many things I denied myself. And I realize now that wasn't his fault. It was mine. 

So today as I perused the isles at Aldi, filling my cart with single-sized portions and items that only I would eat, I felt a glimmer of freedom. For the first time in a very long time, I realized the satisfaction that comes from being one and whole. 

 

August 21, 2020

The Ultimate Gratitude List: 21 Crappy Things That Enrich My Life

I believe in the power of gratitude. In the past ten years, there were times when a sense of gratitude carried me through really difficult emotional times. Recalling all the wonderful, positive aspects of my life has a calming effect when I'm anxious. Making a gratitude list changes my thought stream from the "Life sucks!" channel every time.

But if I really want to dig deep and find perspective, I have to look beyond the pleasant, happy gifts I've received in my life to some not so obvious ones. So, for the record, here's a different kind of gratitude list that's more honest and inclusive:

I am grateful for ....

1. Losing my job at Time years ago. If I continued working 40+ hours a week, I would have  also continued ignoring things about my life and my choices that really needed attention.

2. Becoming sad, angry and disillusioned enough to go through a (second) divorce. Had I stayed married, I would not have taken care of myself and sought this spiritual path.

3. All the jobs I've applied for — and didn't land. If I had been hired for those positions, I would not have written all the stories I have written, nor met the people I've met while writing those stories, etc.

4. The really awful editorial job I did land for where I was overworked and underpaid. That job sustained me for a while and helped show me that I am much happier as a freelance writer, and (ultimately) led me to a job I LOVE.

5. Income Tax Return filing, because it means I have an income to report.

6. The holidays and other times when I felt very, very alone. Without those times I would not appreciate all the wonderful people I have in my life today.

7.The times when I had colds and infections and felt like crap. Without those illnesses, I would not fully appreciate the majority of the times when I am well.

8. The sorrow I've felt when friends have died too soon. The loss of friends creates a void in my life, but it also serves to immortalize them in my heart.

9.  The many rejection notices I've received for my writing submissions. Yes, each one is a disappointment, but they also server to reset my professional compass. As a writer, I've never been sure in which direction to go, so eliminating options is one way to find a truer course.

10. The times I've felt slighted, left out, or looked over. I am a more compassionate, more inclusive person today because of these experiences.

11. People who annoy the living crap out of me and cause me to feel angry, frustrated or disgusted because of their narrow-minded opinions, self-centered acts or just plain stupidity. Chances are I do/say the similar things and by reacting to these jerks I get a chance to see myself clearer. (Ugh!)

12. Young, carefree, beautiful people who never seem to worry and cause me to feel old and neurotic. Seeing youth reminds me that I was that way once, and I can choose to have that youthful optimism again, if I lighten up. (It also makes me appreciate the wisdom I've gathered along the way. I really would not want to be 20 or 25 or even 30 again!)

13. The aches and pains I sometimes feel in my knees and elbows. Yes, I'm aging but these discomforts remind me that I'm still alive and active and trying to remain that way.

14. Menopause ... Um, well at least my own mood swings help me relate to my teenage son (see #15).

15. A son who is going through puberty. Yes, he acts like a jerk at times, but I appreciate that this is part of the process of his growth and maturity and I am forever grateful to have him in my life and have the privilege of watching him grow up. (Hormonal outbursts are also a wonderful opportunity for me to practice compassion and patience.)

16. The lines on my face and the extra padding on my thighs. Signs of age mean that I am alive. The alternate is not so comforting. And now that I'm older, I can let go of vanity and self-comparison and live more authentically.


17. Dirty dishes in the sink, dust on the bookshelves, and loads of laundry to fold. Housework means I have a home that's lived in and enjoyed, that I have food to prepare and people to prepare it for, and clothes to wear.

18. Sadness, disappointment, anger, frustration and every negative thought. My emotions help me see where I need to improve when responding to the realities of life.

19. Corrupt, disillusioned, selfish, cruel and ignorant people (aka assholes). They provide me with opportunities to practice compassion, forgiveness, patience and peaceful resolution.

20. Traffic. Being stuck behind a line of cars makes me slow down and consider all the nameless people driving on the road around me who I don't know but who are also on their journeys. It provides me with an opportunity to practice equanimity — we all want and deserve happiness.

21. Great love lost. I'm still working on generating gratitude for this one because it is still so raw and hurtful. The disappointment of realizing that someone you love doesn't reciprocate your affection is devastating to the heart and soul. Even if I want to believe that this is "for the best" and that the end of a relationship opens me up for unseen opportunities, the sudden disappearance of the lovely family we built together leaves a void that literally SUCKS. But I supposed, knowing that I can love despite the pain is something for which to be grateful. As the Tin Man said to Dorothy, "I now know I have a heart, because it is breaking." There were times when my love was not "true." This one was, and some people go their entire lives without allowing themselves to feel unconditional love. As hard as this one is, I'm grateful.

This is not an exhaustive list but you get the idea. In fact, the very act of making this list provided me with a sense of peace. And after all, that is what this journey is all about? Finding peace in/with an imperfect world. I guess the best way to do that is to find "the good". If we can do that, then loss and heartache lose their sting, and suffering is no longer without meaning.

Yes, I am grateful, so very grateful, for all I've been given.