Not the Post I Had in Mind

I'm feeling good right now. After a week of sinus congestion, itchy eyes, and activity overload I'm at ease at home, having spent a low-key Mother's Day out with my family. I love that my girls are old enough now to enjoy a movie like Jane Eyre and my husband willing enough to see it with us. If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.

Even more, it's been a week of encounters with failure which has interestingly enough lifted me out of a personal funk. The lift began with last week's post on being wrong. What a great find that TED clip was. Throughout the week references to failure and making mistakes serendipitously crossed my path, beginning with comments by fellow blogger Sabio Lanz. In response to the Kathryn Shulz TED lecture he wrote:

What we do when someone disagrees with us. We assume one of the following:

1. They are ignorant
2. They are idiots
3. They are evil

How about:

4. I wonder what delusions and joys we share in spite of our disagreement?

5. How can I let our differences positively effect me and maybe change me?

The last two items--Sabio's contributions--jarred me out of a habitual way of looking at the world. This habitual way is to assume hostility from those whose views differ from my own. I don't know if this is an evolutionary, instinctive trait. My storyline flows from an assumption that having left the faith of my childhood, my local community, family, friends, and most co-workers has put me in a precarious position. I assume they all think I'm hellbound for not believing what I don't believe. This religious departure has been a sticking point for me personally, a place to get hung up. I've interpreted my differences of perception with my faithful neighbors in ways that have left me feeling isolated. In varying degrees I've dealt with the feelings and managed to get along however awkwardly, sometimes biting my tongue, sometimes sticking my foot in my mouth. I have not made it a habit, however, to wonder what delusions and joys I might share with these folks in spite of our disagreement, let alone ask how I can let our differences positively affect me and perhaps, gulp, change me. I recognized right away that this is an ego thing--an attempt of my impermanent "I" to assert and define itself in fixed terms. My sinuses cleared at the same time I felt myself breathing easier about acknowledging impermanence. I felt myself let go of some of my wariness about making my secular way through a highly religious crowd.

The following day, Thursday, I sat in the faculty lunch room listening to a co-worker talk about how a suicide presented an opportunity to share with someone the "Lord's" plan. My gut reaction was to look away, try to eat a little faster, and find  a way to excuse myself. Instead, I looked up at this individual and tried to see the human being in front of me--complex, just as impermanent and difficult to define as myself. I did not share the particular delusion of which he spoke, but I wondered which other delusions we might share. (My tongue is in cheek here with the word 'delusions,' please know that) We both seemed to feel heavy over the thought of another individual calling it quits. We also have common concerns about the children we teach. Surely there is more to our common humanity. The rest of the afternoon I felt lighter, happier, more interested in the people around me.

Thursday night Glee Season 2 Disc one arrived from Netflix in my mailbox. I'm embarrassed to admit I watch this, but I'm only human, so there you go. The episode "Grilled Cheesus" was genius and touched all the right thematic buttons for this week. One character makes a grilled cheese on an old Foreman grill and sees the face of Jesus burned into the toast. He prays to the sandwich and three of his wishes are granted. The episode explores an array of spiritual options through cheesy show tunes and popular music while relying the heart attack of the casts' gay character's father to lend it the appropriate gravitas. Kurt, the gay character, doesn't believe in God and is put off by the offers of prayers by the other members of the Glee Club. I related. He gets to experience in this episode letting differences positively affect and change him. No, he is not converted, but he recognizes his need for these others, and comes to appreciate his friends' sincere efforts to comfort and support him. Lighter and lighter still.

The big questions--who are we? Why are we here? Why does any of this exist? How did life come to be? How should we live? What happens when we die?--these are bewildering conundrums. As the school counselor tells the disabused Cheesus dude, everyone has to deal with them. I feel a little less inclined to judge those around me who take comfort in the face of these questions by believing in a personal God who looks out for them. I find my meaning through other avenues, through attempting to live as honestly and consciously as I can. I know I fail to live up to this ideal daily. I appreciated reading this week the words of Yogi/Zen meditator Michael Stone

By committing to a practice of being quiet, waking up the intelligence of the body, and listening and communicating as best I can, I try to embody the teachings of the dharma in everything I do. This kind of commitment always gets me in trouble because I continually fail. Failing becomes the practice.

So I continually fail in reaching my ideals of compassion, health, yoga/meditation practice. My philosophy doesn't spare me from the day to day troubles of having to deal with people, some of whom I like and others who rub me the wrong way (and those who feel similarly about me). But failing becomes the practice, and I'm OK with that. I'm taking on a renewed sense of commitment to my practice, to waking up from my funks and delusions when I can, and to being happy in this puzzling but breathtaking universe and world of people, places and things.