Paradox

You’ve probably heard the saying “you can’t have it both ways.” And there are many instances that is true. However, there are many, many where it is not.

I’ve come to appreciate more and more the word paradox and all it represents. The definition of paradox I found that I like best is “a situation or statement where certain facts or information appear to be contradictory but may still be accurate.”

Perhaps a good example is feeling alone in a crowd. Have you ever felt like that? You are standing in a sea of people, not alone. But deep inside, you experience the ache of loneliness. Someone told me recently she had been invited to go to a party that wasn’t really her scene, so she declined. At the same time, she had a fear of missing out. That’s paradox.

We are all examples of paradox. We human beings are very complex creatures. We can hold two opposing things together.

Many of us are quick to judge ourselves and each other as introvert or extrovert, good or bad, nice or mean, strong or weak, etc. I think if we’re honest, we’re often both. A lot of public speakers admit to being introverts, they are most comfortable alone in their own space. And every one of us, if we admit it, can be very nice but also have a mean streak at times. There is also a powerful feeling, the strength that comes when we can accept how powerless we really are.

We are living in a time when paradox is not favored or popular, there is a lot of expectation of either/or thinking. We feel the pressure to choose a side or belief, and a need to convince others we are right. We fear being wrong.

How do we free ourselves of that either/or thinking? I think a good place to start is b looking inside our self, practice not resisting the paradox and complexity of life, ourselves and each other.

Freedom will come to us when we can respectfully disagree and allow the other the freedom to have their own belief and opinions.

Control Issues

I was listening to a podcast and the speaker was talking about the differences and benefits of both primary and secondary control.

Um, what? I had not heard of this before, these two different kinds of control, so of course I was intrigued. Especially as a recovering control addict.

Primary control is when we do things to change the circumstances of a situation in order to lessen our dislike or anxiety about it. We try to change a situation, experience or our environment to fit our needs and desires. Secondary control is when we focus our effort on changing the way we think to better adjust to our situation.

My first thoughts were that maybe secondary control should really be labeled as primary because that is more often what we have the most influence over. But then I realized the reason trying to change circumstances or situations is labeled as primary control is because that’s what we human beings do. We strive to “fix” or more honestly, control things so the outcome makes us feel good or fits into the box of our beliefs. We don’t like it when things don’t go the way we want them to.

I was quickly brought back to the post I wrote a few months ago, titled Quiet Confidence. I shared in the post about having an experience that got me really worked up and I was pretty angry. Looking back at that time, and now knowing these terms of primary and secondary control, secondary control was not even on my mind. I was embroiled in trying to exert some primary control.

Guess what? It didn’t work. I did however, with a little effort, get to the secondary control the following morning.

I do believe we need both. Primary control is a valuable tool as there are times we may need to leave an unsafe situation or a toxic environment for our health, safety or sanity.

Secondary control is also vital in this world today. If you pay attention to the news or media, go to a public event or just about anywhere these days, there are many instances to witness the “us” versus “them” mentality, and see how often people are saying someone with a different opinion is always wrong or just plain stupid.

I wonder if secondary control may be what changes the world. It all starts in the mirror.

Brushstrokes

I read something in a book the other day, it talked about our life being a masterpiece and paying attention to all the tiny brushstrokes. I’ve thought about that several times since then.

Have you ever studied a painting? I’m not talking about a picture or portrait, but an actual painting, where you can see on the canvas all the separate, individual brushstrokes?

I have such a painting hanging in our spare bedroom. It’s one my parents had in their house and it looks like a cafe’ on a lane in Italy. When we went through my mother’s things, I discovered I didn’t want to let the painting go outside of the family. Not only does it remind me of my mom, there’s just something about it that speaks to me, and my heart responds in a way I can’t really comprehend or even explain.

After the tiny brushstroke sentence kept nagging at me, I stood and really looked at the painting. I studied it in a way I hadn’t before. I examined how the artist laid down certain colors next to others to give varying depths and shades, how some lines had a heavier streak of paint than others. While many of the strokes were intentional, it appeared to me there were some that looked like the brush just randomly plopped down a bit of color.

I think the author of the book I referred to was on to something. Are we so focused on the painting of our life as a whole, our need to see the “finished product” that we ignore the small, daily choices we make, those brushstrokes of thoughts and emotions, the decisions and habits we practice that make up our lives?

Or is our perception that we are bogged down by the daily grind, trying to obtain a life that appears a certain way, to satisfy our own ideal or to please others, that we are missing out on the beauty and wonder of life that each of those tiny brushstrokes represent?

I hope not. I know my life is full of those rich, little moments that bring it color and beauty. I want to pay attention, to appreciate the opportunities to hang out with family, laughing and reminiscing, the bonds of friendships I have, of listening to a gentle, steady rain, and then seeing the first rays of sunshine after the rain is over, of seeing someone smile, the kind that expands and lights up their eyes.

So the next time you need some hope, I encourage you to see your own life like a painting, and recognize all the tiny brushstrokes that are part of it. Let yourself see the textures and hues and varying shades that make it the beautiful masterpiece that it is.

Visual Acuity

I recently experienced some vision problems. But not with my physical eyes. It’s been more of a spiritual/emotional blurriness.

My family recently went on an extended family vacation. We had a lot of fun and I enjoyed getting to hang out with some in the family I don’t get to see that often. Upon my return home, circumstances continued that kept me from returning to a more normal routine. I now realize, routines help me stay focused.

If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know I strive to accept the messiness of life, and to be okay with uncertainty and change. I admit, humbly, that this time I was having a harder time.

It’s taken me a few days to even gather my thoughts enough to make sense out of it. Have you ever looked through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars? If not, try it sometime. Everything seems so far away it is nearly impossible to understand what you’re seeing. That’s how I felt, like my fulcrum was so far away I could not grasp it. I was struggling to get my bearings, to feel that balance.

Today I was reading through an old journal and noticed a quote at the top of the page by Rainer Maria Rilke. It said “Let everything happen to you: Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.” The last two things are what I really needed to hear. Just keep going and no feeling is final.

Reading this was like turning the binoculars around and helping me see things differently, gaining a little perspective. I was able to get closer to my center of gravity, that place where I know that even when things are not going the way I planned or expected, it’s going to be okay.

I know I’m not all the way there yet, but just leaning on my past experiences of “this too shall pass” helps clarify the blurred edges of life.

Three Little Words

There are three little words in the English language that I think could make a difference if they were spoken more often.

If you really pay attention, I’m not sure how often you hear them. These days, they are not the most popular words to hear. You may be wondering what they are.

I don’t know.

Yes, those are the three words I’m talking about: I don’t know. Why is that? There seems to be an abundance of people who are willing and happy to tell you their opinion and what they think. About anything. About everything. And often without even needing to be asked.

You will see it if you watch or listen to any national news program or a read an article in a newspaper or magazine. Just scroll through any social media app and you won’t have any trouble recognizing this trait. I recently discovered there is a word for this behavior. I had no idea! It is called ultracrepidarianism. It is defined as the habit of giving opinions and advice on matters outside of one’s knowledge or competence.

I think we all might know one or two of people who fall into that category.

Wouldn’t it be refreshing to hear a lot more people say I don’t know? Unfortunately, most of us humans don’t like sitting with the lack of certitude and the mystery of life. We want concrete answers and solutions to almost everything. And we want them fast.

I just find that it’s a little easier to listen to and connect with someone who can admit they don’t have the answers to some of life’s mysteries.

I can even enjoy discussing those things in life that tend to perplex me. The more open and diverse the group, the more fascinating the discussion can be.

Just watch what happens, though, if someone in the room has a need to demonstrate the trait mentioned above. Some people often tend to become quiet, shut down. I know I often do. I don’t enjoy getting into a debate with someone like that. I imagine they would find me weak or perhaps ignorant. I’m learning to be okay with that.

I do wonder, though, what this world would look like if more of us could become comfortable living with uncertainty and the messiness of life.

I don’t know. But I would really like to find out.

Let’s Edit

Last fall before I returned to work after having surgery on my thumb, I started writing a new book. No, I don’t have a working title, it has not yet come to me.

I’ve been working the last several weeks on editing the first few chapters. As I started the editing process, I would read something and decide it needed more depth, or something that was said or had happened I didn’t really like so I would re-work the sentence, sometimes even the entire paragraph.

That got me thinking. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could do that with our lives? Perhaps edit some pieces of our own story? Not everything, mind you, because I do believe that everything we go through can provide an opportunity for learning and potential growth. Yet I can think of a few things I would like to go back to and do a revision.

I’ve been lucky with my children in that when they were teenagers, they didn’t go through extreme situations that some teens endure.  But there were moments of conflict when my parenting was less than stellar.  One particular argument with my daughter I did not handle well.  I do remember it, but I had apparently blocked out some of the hurtful things I said to her. She remembered. 

A few years ago, we were talking over FaceTime as she lives several states away. This argument between us had been brought up. As the story was being retold, she relayed some of the things I had said. I was shocked and horrified by the things I had said. I believe her. I even think I understand my faulty thought process back then, yet I still can’t take those words back. 

If only I could use my delete button, like I do on my computer when writing my new book, and revise that whole conversation. I know I could have done better. 

I also remember the day after our FaceTime conversation, when my hurtful words were recounted to me. I could not get it out of my mind. How much I must have hurt her. That day after work, I called her. I told her how sorry I was. I knew that it was not necessarily her behavior that spawned those terrible words, it was me in reactive mode, feeling like a bad mom, rather than her being a normal teenager. I let her hear me, her mom, vulnerable and feeling guilt and remorse. We had a good conversation that day, and I hope it healed some old wounds.

So even though I can’t alter that particular chapter in our lives, I do believe if we allow ourselves to be honest, learn, do better and make amends, perhaps we can create a second edition of our story.

Default Mode

My husband and I had a discussion the other day, and like most married couples, our brains are wired differently and we don’t always see things the same. We also don’t have the same communication styles.

Whereas I have the default mode of wanting to discuss something right away and dive right into the deep end of a situation, his default is often wanting more time to digest things, and dip his toe in and test the waters first. I read and listen on how to live in uncertainty and accepting all the shades of gray in this crazy, messed up world, whereas he would prefer to have things concrete and black and white and analyze all the different outcomes that can happen.

Even after 28 years, we still struggle to navigate our differences. I think the problem is we often tend to define our own default mode as the right way. The challenge of marriage, of any relationship really, is to be able to hold both ways together, and that it is okay.

During this recent discussion, we were talking about some circumstances that were causing his default mode to be highly activated. He had an internal storm raging and was analyzing and seeking answers that may never be known. I know from experience that I can’t stop his storm and I struggle with the frustration of that, which causes my own little internal storm.

Shortly after our discussion, I read an advice column in the newspaper and the person was questioning how to stop worrying about one particular issue that possibly could happen. I appreciated how the columnist answered. She basically took him down the path to several different outcomes, any one of them that could happen. It was how she ended it that struck me. She said could he perhaps let things run their course and then trust himself to handle whatever happens.

I thought, that’s it! That is what I was struggling to convey and what I wanted him to grasp. Neither of us has the answers right now, and instead of being tripped up about whose way is the better way, could we just walk side by side, allow things to unfold and trust that together we can handle whatever happens?

I think that’s a default mode we could both agree on.

Flare-Ups

Have you ever have had an old injury or a chronic condition that you don’t think about often, you can maneuver through each day and have learned how to compensate for it so that it doesn’t take center stage in your life? Only to suddenly experience a flare-up, sometimes mild and other times so intense it takes your breath away? I have.

I have also experienced that with grief. This year will mark the ninth anniversary of my dad’s death and the second for my mom. I know I will always miss them, however it saddens me to realize there are days when thoughts of them are rare.

There are also those days when the grief flares up and catches me by surprise.

A physical flare-up can often occur when I’m not taking as good care of myself as I should, like not getting enough rest or exercise, not eating good foods or drinking enough water. When I look back and pay attention, I realize it is the same for a grief flare-up. Stress can also exacerbate both.

This week I had a few hectic days that left me feeling a little deflated, like a bike tire that isn’t entirely flat, it has some air in it, but not enough for a smooth ride.

At the end of one those days, I received an email, it was the last email I received right before shutting down my computer. Someone had come across a picture they had of my dad and I and sent it to me. It was the last picture ever taken of the two of us. When I opened it, I could feel my heart clench a bit. I tamped down those feelings. Not here, I told myself. Not now. This was a flare-up waiting to happen.

The good news for me is that I have now learned to not resist it. I learned that the hard way. A few years after my dad died, I started experiencing a near constant, low level anxiety which would sometimes become intense. I had never experienced anything like this before. I actually thought I was dying. I thought it was my body telling me I had cancer or maybe heart disease. At an appointment with my family physician, she encouraged me to address the anxiety and recommended an excellent psychologist in her practice. It was during my first appointment that we discovered it was the grief that I had not dealt with that was causing this anxiety. Once I began acknowledging it and let myself experience the grief, my anxiety greatly diminished.

I have also learned that if I don’t allow the flare-up to occur, if I resist by tamping it down or shoving it in a corner of my mind because I’m afraid of experiencing it, it will still show up. I may not know when or how, but it will happen.

So on that day after opening my email and seeing the last picture with my dad, I shut down my computer and walked out of the building to head home. I pulled out my cell phone and pressed the microphone button to leave a voice text for my daughter. This is what we often do. We share our days, our ups and downs, our funny stories.

I shared a little about my day and then I told her about the picture. I’m sure she knew which one I was talking about. I struggled to get the words out. I let myself feel it and I cried. I didn’t know exactly when she would listen to it, but I knew from past experience she would take my grief flare-up, and hold it tenderly in her heart.

If I don’t allow myself to feel the grief flare-up, it will get stuck inside of me somewhere. So now, when I have these moments, I think of them as my mom and dad, drifting into my mind, like a gentle breeze on a warm summer day. They come for a short visit, reminding me of how much love we shared.

Turn Right

A while back I did a post titled Practice Makes Perfect and talked about my struggles with trying to be perfect. I think for those of us who believe in the triune God and have read the verse in Matthew “Be perfect, therefore, as your Heavenly Father is perfect,” (5:48) we strive for this and then often beat ourselves up when we fail. I know I do.

A few years ago I was praying and telling Jesus my desire to live perfectly and to respond to Him perfectly. I sensed Him telling me that is not what He wants from me, because perfection is not possible for us human beings.

I had also come across something that said the original Greek word for perfect is teleios. That word can also be translated in a few different ways. It ended up in many translations of the Bible as perfect but it can also mean complete and whole.

I remember thinking “What?” Whole? Let me read it that way. “Be ye whole, just as your heavenly Father is whole.” Hmmm.

So then I got out my trusty dictionary (my phone app, of course) and looked up the word whole. Two definitions are 1) recovered from a wound or injury: restored and 2) being healed. Oh. My. Gosh. Restored? Healed? Isn’t that what Jesus was? Isn’t that what I want?

Anymore, perfection is not my goal. I want to be restored and healed. And honestly, that is a long process. I will be in the “restoring” and “healing” process the rest of my life.

So back then, when I was telling Jesus my desire to live and follow Him perfectly, I sensed Him telling me He wants me to, again and again, and then yet again, turn my face towards Him. The distractions of being human will constantly try to keep me from doing this. Now that I am aware, the more I can consciously choose.

I know I just want to turn. I see myself at a T intersection. I can turn left and strive for perfection (and fail) or I can turn right, towards wholeness and restoration and healing, trusting that my faith will eventually lead me there.

Turn right, my friends. Let us all turn right.

Home Base

Some of the reading I’ve been doing has been describing that almost always, our thoughts and behavior start from one of two places: fear or love. The more I read and consider it, and the more I pay attention, I can see the truth in it.

And as I thought of it, the word home base has been popping up in my head. In baseball, it is the place that the batter starts, and if he gets a hit, it is the base he must return to in order to score a point.

But the dictionary also defines home base as the place in which someone or something lives or operates. That is what I wanted to explore.

I would like my home base to be love, and not fear. Some days, it can be quite the task to have that as my starting point.

It’s much easier to have our home base be love when things are going our way. When the sailing is smooth and there are no obstacles in our way. But what happens when they aren’t? Fear usually takes over.

And what are we afraid of? Perhaps we are afraid of not getting our way, losing control of a situation, or looking or feeling like a failure. But I think it all boils down to our fear of not feeling good or okay. A feeling most of us spend so much time trying to avoid. We strive to orchestrate life and circumstances so that we don’t ever have to feel the uncomfortable feeling.

An example for me was a few months ago when our son told us he was planning on moving out. My response to him was “okay, let me process this and we can talk later.” What was going on inside my head was more like: Nope! It’s too soon, he’s not ready, I know it’s not the right time, etc. All of that was coming from a home base of fear.

Thankfully, because I gave myself time to think and pray about it before we talked, I was able to let go of most (not all, I admit) of the fear. Starting out in fear came out as me telling God what I thought needed to happen, with an agenda that He would somehow give me the right words to say so our son would change his mind, and telling God I needed Him to support me in this. That I, his mom knew what was best. What I heard back was God laughing, saying “really, you know what is best for him? Don’t you think it is more likely that I know more? Maybe this is exactly what is best for him right now.”

That was the turning point for me. The majority of the fear dissolved, and when we talked I could then respond to our son in love, supporting him in his decision, with trust and quiet confidence that it would all work out.

I’m grateful that I took the opportunity to choose wisely, and have seen the outcome of what happens when I come from a home base of love, and not fear.