"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." (R.Niebuhr)
For much of my life I have been sucked easily into ranting about the way things should be, versus the way they are. The recent confrontation with viral demons is a case in point. I could do little to improve my condition. At best, I could accept reality and allow the time to heal. Instead, I beat the walls of my inner prison with fury and outrage. I railed at the injustice of illness on a long-awaited vacation. I resented the loss of voice during a rare and special visit.
The Serenity Prayer offers a cooling message. "Accept the things I cannot change." When I tap into that message, I begin to let go…stop resisting…flow.
The prayer does not, however, stop with acceptance. It moves on to courage: "the courage to change the things I can." Just as I sometimes rant about things beyond my control, I can also whine helplessly when, perhaps, I could make a difference. I complain about my own bad habits: “When will I ever lose those 20 ugly pounds?” I complain about government: “Why don’t they just buck up and do the right thing?” I complain about others: “How can they be so insensitive, coming up with a plan that drives me crazy.”
What, if anything, can we do in situations such as these? Are they really beyond our control? Should we be charting the shortest path from here to Serenity?
Sometimes “the wisdom to know the difference” reminds us to take a closer look. If I want to change a habit, I must do something different from what is not working now. It will take courage. If I want to engage the civic process, I must learn how it works and commit to engage. It will take courage. If I want to influence family plans, I may have to let go of being “nice.” It will take courage.
I may decide, after all, that I am not willing to make the effort, the sacrifice, or the trade-off to change the situation at hand. In choosing not to act, I relinquish the right to complain and I pray for the serenity of knowing that I had a choice to act, and chose to let it go.
What are the dilemmas between serenity and courage in your life? How do you distinguish the voice of wisdom from the voice of cowardice? Do you find serenity in truly accepting things as they are, and letting go of how you want them to be?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Celebrating: One Hundred Candles
No, it’s not about years. It’s about issues. This is the one-hundredth issue of Reflections. Two years ago, I was journaling every day, and regularly swapping insights with friends. Then, one day I felt an impulse to expand the circle of sharing. Though I enjoyed the prospect of wider dialog, I was daunted by the commitment to writing every week.
One hundred weeks later, I look back with gratitude and delight. I find it rewarding to write for you on a regular schedule. The weekly commitment challenges me to reflect continually, seeking ways of responding ever more creatively to Life. I find it even more rewarding when you respond that Reflections resonates for you. Each exchange deepens and enriches the experiences we share.
Thanks for coming along. Thanks in particular for writing back in direct reply, on Blogspot, or on Facebook. I am celebrating 100 by declaring this a “light” week for my writing. It’s your turn. I welcome your ideas on where to travel next, and ask for your help in enlarging the circle during the next 100 weeks.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
One hundred weeks later, I look back with gratitude and delight. I find it rewarding to write for you on a regular schedule. The weekly commitment challenges me to reflect continually, seeking ways of responding ever more creatively to Life. I find it even more rewarding when you respond that Reflections resonates for you. Each exchange deepens and enriches the experiences we share.
Thanks for coming along. Thanks in particular for writing back in direct reply, on Blogspot, or on Facebook. I am celebrating 100 by declaring this a “light” week for my writing. It’s your turn. I welcome your ideas on where to travel next, and ask for your help in enlarging the circle during the next 100 weeks.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Hope and Fear: The Unspoken Threat
Last week, I shared mixed feelings about travel, and mentioned some of the threats and fears that guard the door to the runway as I head for a distant adventure. I did not mention the threat that I find most daunting. I did not want to wake it from a nap in the corner and draw its attention to my escape. It woke and hunted me down.
That first night in Georgia, a raging sore through clamped down on my vocal chords, kicked off a disabling week of laryngitis, and eventually led, step by step, to the full viral catastrophe.
Getting sick, especially while traveling, is a unique kind of misery. There is no way to hide and retreat until it clears. There is a need to keep moving despite the absence of strength or energy. There is a need to communicate, even if it is painful and ineffective to speak. There is the worry of infecting others, invading their space with sniffling and coughing and giving them good reason to fear that they are next. Sometimes the symptoms overcome the strongest of drugs and, quite frankly, you are going to be someone’s unwelcome seatmate.
Physical discomfort is reason enough to fear this demon; however the effect on mental and emotional comfort is even worse. My thoughts and feelings formed uncontrollably into a bitter and angry flood of reproach and despair. Hard as I tried, I could not access the sources of hope, optimism and joy that are typically close at hand.
I was possessed. I slogged through the week in a spirit of grim determination. Surrounded by caring friends and family, I had every reason to feel peace in the midst of chaos, but it eluded me. Silver linings were, at best, tarnished by the toxicity of my inner view.
What can I share from this experience, other than a self-indulgent rant? I discovered (again) that hopeful thoughts are not always available on demand. The pipeline to reframing challenges, accepting “what is,” and practicing gratitude can get clogged.
When the feelings of peace, love, and joy stop flowing we are left with the basics--focusing on the next few steps. Get gas. Study the map. Find a bathroom. Buy tissues. Keep track of keys, cell phone, driver’s license, credit card. Eat. See a doctor(wait 3 hours). Check in. Deal with the new “e-boarding pass.” Whisper and croak. Hack and gag. Snuffle. Acknowledge the love and nurturing of others who want so much to make it better, even when nothing can help.
It is humbling to be disabled by a virus, and even more humbling to be disabled by a mood. Neither body nor spirit is always able to resist infection. The silver lining in this case is on the other side of the cloud. The cloud passes. Your friends and family have not given up on you. Joy, hope, and inner peace are waiting and happy to return. Eventually.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
That first night in Georgia, a raging sore through clamped down on my vocal chords, kicked off a disabling week of laryngitis, and eventually led, step by step, to the full viral catastrophe.
Getting sick, especially while traveling, is a unique kind of misery. There is no way to hide and retreat until it clears. There is a need to keep moving despite the absence of strength or energy. There is a need to communicate, even if it is painful and ineffective to speak. There is the worry of infecting others, invading their space with sniffling and coughing and giving them good reason to fear that they are next. Sometimes the symptoms overcome the strongest of drugs and, quite frankly, you are going to be someone’s unwelcome seatmate.
Physical discomfort is reason enough to fear this demon; however the effect on mental and emotional comfort is even worse. My thoughts and feelings formed uncontrollably into a bitter and angry flood of reproach and despair. Hard as I tried, I could not access the sources of hope, optimism and joy that are typically close at hand.
I was possessed. I slogged through the week in a spirit of grim determination. Surrounded by caring friends and family, I had every reason to feel peace in the midst of chaos, but it eluded me. Silver linings were, at best, tarnished by the toxicity of my inner view.
What can I share from this experience, other than a self-indulgent rant? I discovered (again) that hopeful thoughts are not always available on demand. The pipeline to reframing challenges, accepting “what is,” and practicing gratitude can get clogged.
When the feelings of peace, love, and joy stop flowing we are left with the basics--focusing on the next few steps. Get gas. Study the map. Find a bathroom. Buy tissues. Keep track of keys, cell phone, driver’s license, credit card. Eat. See a doctor(wait 3 hours). Check in. Deal with the new “e-boarding pass.” Whisper and croak. Hack and gag. Snuffle. Acknowledge the love and nurturing of others who want so much to make it better, even when nothing can help.
It is humbling to be disabled by a virus, and even more humbling to be disabled by a mood. Neither body nor spirit is always able to resist infection. The silver lining in this case is on the other side of the cloud. The cloud passes. Your friends and family have not given up on you. Joy, hope, and inner peace are waiting and happy to return. Eventually.
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Off and Running: Hope and Fear
It is Tuesday. I am taking an early look at Reflections because the rest of the week is devoted to travel. Jane and I are advancing our commitment to “run half marathons in half the states” with a race on the Berry College campus in Rome, Georgia. I look out the window at a fresh, white Montana landscape and hope for flowers in the South.
I have always loved travel. My parents took me as a child on long road trips each summer. We went to the airport and watched the planes take off and land. I spent a couple of summers in Mexico during college. Lyle and I honeymooned in Europe. Working for the Forest Service brought more than thirty years of meetings and training sessions around the country. Even after all this time, I love walking through air terminals reading destination-boards: Sioux Falls. San Francisco. Singapore. It’s magic! You walk through the little door and emerge hours later in a different world. Snow on the one end, flowers on the other.
I have always feared travel. Ever since childhood, I have fretted about auto accidents. Flying, while exhilarating, also means leaving the ground. Bouncing around the sky. Landing in crosswinds. Slipping on ice. I struggle with claustrophobia, especially as airlines fill the flights and cram larger passengers into smaller seats. I find it intimidating to navigate a new airport, a new rental car, a new freeway system, a new hotel.
Like so many other aspects of life, travel is a mixed bag for me. As I pack for this trip to Georgia, I am reflecting on the ambivalence I feel about adventure. When Jane and I signed up for the Half 2 Run club, I knew it would mean flying more. I knew it would mean facing my fears more often en route to my goals. I did it anyway. Why?
Somewhere, half-buried in sub-consciousness, I see aging as a journey of overcoming fear. As the years and experiences accumulate, they point out more and more threats to health, safety, and peace of mind. Bodies fail. Minds fail. Machines fail. People go crazy. Weather goes crazy. Earthquakes happen. Tornadoes happen. I am tempted to run the other way, to hide under the bed, to seek safety by facing inward and staying close to home. I want to resist that temptation, facing outward and facing up to the challenge.
Thanks for sharing my quick trip through ambivalence. I feel better now that we have talked. Back to packing.
What about you? Where in your life does a spirit of adventure collide with the instinct for security? How do you engage the power of hope to offset the temptation of fear?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
I have always loved travel. My parents took me as a child on long road trips each summer. We went to the airport and watched the planes take off and land. I spent a couple of summers in Mexico during college. Lyle and I honeymooned in Europe. Working for the Forest Service brought more than thirty years of meetings and training sessions around the country. Even after all this time, I love walking through air terminals reading destination-boards: Sioux Falls. San Francisco. Singapore. It’s magic! You walk through the little door and emerge hours later in a different world. Snow on the one end, flowers on the other.
I have always feared travel. Ever since childhood, I have fretted about auto accidents. Flying, while exhilarating, also means leaving the ground. Bouncing around the sky. Landing in crosswinds. Slipping on ice. I struggle with claustrophobia, especially as airlines fill the flights and cram larger passengers into smaller seats. I find it intimidating to navigate a new airport, a new rental car, a new freeway system, a new hotel.
Like so many other aspects of life, travel is a mixed bag for me. As I pack for this trip to Georgia, I am reflecting on the ambivalence I feel about adventure. When Jane and I signed up for the Half 2 Run club, I knew it would mean flying more. I knew it would mean facing my fears more often en route to my goals. I did it anyway. Why?
Somewhere, half-buried in sub-consciousness, I see aging as a journey of overcoming fear. As the years and experiences accumulate, they point out more and more threats to health, safety, and peace of mind. Bodies fail. Minds fail. Machines fail. People go crazy. Weather goes crazy. Earthquakes happen. Tornadoes happen. I am tempted to run the other way, to hide under the bed, to seek safety by facing inward and staying close to home. I want to resist that temptation, facing outward and facing up to the challenge.
Thanks for sharing my quick trip through ambivalence. I feel better now that we have talked. Back to packing.
What about you? Where in your life does a spirit of adventure collide with the instinct for security? How do you engage the power of hope to offset the temptation of fear?
Until the next time, go well.
Pam
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