Liberty Call

When I was in the U.S. Navy, I loved “liberty.” Leave was awesome, but it was a fixed amount and when you used it up it was gone, but liberty was a renewable resource.

For those who don’t know, “liberty” was time off—duty free time—and was generally granted when:

1. Your unit was in a place that accommodated off-duty activities (whether in port or on base)
2. Your daily work was done
3. You were not assigned “watch” or other supervisory duties during the liberty period

Those who have never served in the military may not appreciate the significance of liberty (I think other branches may have called it “on a pass”)—you are accustomed to having a work schedule, and your employer has no claim on you outside that schedule, certainly no authority to control your movements when not working—but for service members, the military absolutely has the right to control your movements. Even when off duty, I had no inherent right to leave my ship unless I’d been granted liberty by Command.

Perhaps you can see, then, why I loved liberty call.

Liberty call meant that I had no duties whatsoever until liberty ended. I could go out and get drunk (I often did—this was before I got sober and long before I got happy), I could stay up all night, I could shop or gorge or do any legal thing (legal according to the Uniform Code of Military Justice, admittedly a higher standard than civil law). It was freedom, for a night or a weekend, in San Diego or Singapore or Perth or Subic Bay, P.I.

You might be wondering why I’m dredging up all this admttedly-ancient history, and who would blame you? Five paragraphs and I still haven’t got to the point! Bear with me—it’s all relevant.

A couple of days ago, I read a post that made me think of…“elements”…I would like to be part of my life, but aren’t. Not so long ago, thinking about what I crave but lack would evoke feelings of bitterness and resentment and grief, but my practice has helped me grow beyond those reactions, and my reaction on this most recent occasion was very much like what I used to feel at liberty call. I realized that if those elements were part of my life, they would impose duties, as well, and while I would joyfully accept those duties (I would love to perform those duties in that service), I could also rejoice in not having them right now.

It was…“liberating”…to feel that way—to know that because those elements are not part of my life right now, I have greater “freedom” than I would if they were—even though I would trade that liberty for the sake of those elements without a qualm.

It’s another manifestation of “It’s all good,” and I’m happy to discover how far I’ve come in about a year.

I’m happy, full stop.

I’m happy!

Loneliness

For as lonely as I feel, you’d think I’d avoid solitude.

The truth is that I don’t hate being “alone”—sometimes it’s exactly what I need, and generally it’s at least restful—but I don’t enjoy “loneliness.”

Loneliness is different from solitude. Loneliness is a feeling, one that can be experienced even when in good company. In my experience, it’s feeling separated, standing apart. It has relatively little to do with others’ actions and a great deal to do with my actions and perceptions. That suggests that I can change it—can choose not to be lonely, since it’s my actions and perceptions that shape that sense of loneliness—but I have not yet learned how.

It’s tempting to blame my loneliness on others, to say:

• “Nobody thinks to include me!”
• “Nobody talks to me!”
• “Nobody loves me!”

but really, it isn’t true. I’m a great guy, people do talk to me, I’m well-liked and even loved…

What happens is that I don’t let others know I’d like to be included and I don’t initiate conversations. It’s true there are reasons I don’t do those things, just like there are reasons I tend to keep to myself in social situations and reasons I tend to leave early, but those reasons aren’t justifications to blame others for my loneliness.

I don’t want to heap blame upon myself, either. I’ll take responsibility, but like I said, there are reasons I behave the way I do. Accepting responsibility for my actions is a shift in perception; I once believed that “No one thinks to include me,” “Nobody talks to me,” and “Nobody loves me!” Now I don’t project motives like I once did, and that counts as growth. :-)

Why, then, don’t I let people know I’d like to be included? Why don’t I initiate conversations with others? Why do I keep to myself and leave social situations early?

My initial answer—the one that is my conscious justification for my actions—is that I don’t like to impose or intrude. It’s true, as far as it goes; I wouldn’t want anyone to feel obligated to include me, so I make myself small and take pains not to presume a welcome in the absence of an explicit invitation. Additionally, I am shy, and keeping to myself is a manifestation of that shyness. If you’ve ever read any of the internet articles purporting to describe introverts, you may recognize that many of the traits attributed to introverts are mine.

Upon reflection I realize that (of course!) there’s more going on. There’s the habit of avoidance formed by ancient fear of rejection or hurt, the habit of “playing small” so others can have the spotlight, the habit of playing it safe (when the last thing I want is safety)…old habits formed in the crucible of self-loathing and tempered in the quenching bath of doubt. That crucible is cold, that quenching bath long dry, but the habits persist.

Still, I crave social interaction, deeply desire a sense of belonging, and really love that sense of connection with another human being. It’s one of the things (not by any means the only thing) I love about doing theatre: as long as I’m in a show, I’m part of an ‘ohana and I belong.

My decision recently to not compete for a role in the Maui on Stage production of Legally Blonde: the Musical was a difficult one for just this reason. It’s the first time since my third month on Maui that I haven’t been in a show, and without school in June and July, neither of my customary social settings will pertain. It was difficult to opt out, and although I think I did the “right thing” for me, I am uneasy about a summer without a show.

The other option was to compete for a role not because the role interested me or offered a meaningful acting “stretch,” but just because I couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from my friends over the summer. I’ve done that before, many times, and it would have been easy to do that again. This time I believe I’m strong enough to stand on my own, but I’m not certain of it; hence my uneasiness.

And all this is just part of my loneliness. The lack (for almost my entire adult life) of a romantic relationship leaves a sharper taste in my mouth. All the same issues apply but the stakes are even higher, and I have less of a track record in romantic endeavors than in just about anything. I’ve had more broken toes than romantic relationships (even counting high school and church camp romances).

That’s particularly bittersweet since I’ve come to understand how wonderful I really am. When I thought poorly of myself, it seemed only reasonable that I wasn’t anyone’s romantic partner. Now, knowing myself to be good and worthy (and damn good-looking), it stings. I was always good and worthy (and damn good-looking), but without the self-confidence I have now, I sabotaged every attempt ever made to rescue me from myself. And timing is everything…

I’m lonely. I don’t intend to stay lonely, but I don’t think I’m owed companionship, either. If I don’t learn to reshape my actions and perceptions, loneliness may remain my “albatross.” Yet even if I do reshape my actions and perceptions, nothing is certain. No one is (or should ever be) obligated to include someone for any reason, and there is no guarantee that a change in me will produce a change in my circumstances. Although I don’t believe in “destiny,” I might be destined to be alone. “It is what it is,” as the saying goes.

And it’s all good. I remain hopeful (if not exactly optimistic), and I continue to seek and to grow. If in the end, solitude is my lot—my choice in the eyes of some—I am now and will be happy.

And sad… sometimes, they go together. :-)

Illusions

The universe is a funny place, and even funnier since the advent of social media. For example, I have 868 “friends” on my Facebook “friends list” (don’t look at me that way! I know almost all of them “in real life”). Granted, not all of them appear in my feed, but quite a number of them do, and therefore many silly, sentimental, faux-inspirational, sometimes inauthentic quotes, aphorisms, and sayings cross before my eyes on a daily basis.

The same is true of my Twitter feed (and less true of Google+ just because I’ve encircled different people who use the service differently), but everywhere I turn I’m inundated with “sayings,” most of dubious provenance. And yet...

And yet, I frequently find gems among the dross, and sometimes the inauthentic or misattributed quotes are as bright and beautiful as the authentic and accurate ones.

What’s more (and what prompted this blog entry), a surprising number of those gems are absolutely apropos to what I’m going through right now.

This journey, as previously discussed, has been a voyage of discovery and development and growth. I’ve been stretched and exercised and challenged, and the lessons just keep coming. That’s a good thing—in fact, it’s a great thing—and I think what’s happening is that I’m unconsciously attuned to the lessons I’m learning, so when a quote or aphorism addresses those lessons, it grabs my attention. Take two items that crossed my view just this morning:

• “I have no idea what’s going to happen, and I love it.” Unattributed
• “Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping if it were not.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Both of these (and many others) go directly to the area where I am growing the most: finally relinquishing the illusion of control.

None of us really has much control at all. None of us has much influence on the future. We are responsible for our choices, and our choices have some effect, but much of what we experience is completely beyond our control.

That isn’t a very comfortable reality, so most of us, for most of our lives, reject it. We create a fantasy in which we are masters of our destiny, and that fantasy has value; because we believe it, we work hard to make things turn out the way we want them to. Without it, many would be tempted to lives of passivity, being acted upon but never acting.

I think it’s good to act on our own behalf—to do what we can to create the outcome we want—but I am learning to accept that what I can do is only part of how things turn out. I’m learning to embrace uncertainty and surprise as inevitable, unavoidable, and even desirable.

I won’t stop striving for outcomes I value—I deserve a good outcome, and those I touch deserve my best efforts on their behalf—but at the same time I must accept that many things are beyond my control. I must learn to play the hand I’m dealt, eat the meal I’m served, adapt to circumstances as they are.

There’s real value in the Serenity Prayer, and not just in the familiar first stanza:

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

—Reinhold Niebuhr

The first idea is perhaps the most difficult for those of us raised in Western culture. We have come to believe the myth that there is nothing we cannot change, but reality is not affected by what we believe. If we can learn to accept the things we cannot change (without abdicating responsibility for the things we can), we will find serenity; often that which frustrates us is the belief that we can control something we really can’t.

And if we continue through the Serenity Prayer, and not just the familiar first stanza, what do we find? A challenge to take “this sinful world as it is” (emphasis mine), and not as we would have it.

As so many of us like to say, “It is what it is,” which is to say it accomplishes nothing to bust our heads against an immovable rock. Yes, we should have courage to change the things we can (and should), but we need wisdom to know and accept the things we cannot change.

To give up the illusion of control is not the same as: “Since I gave up hope, I feel a lot better.” Hope is not superfluous. Hope counterbalances cynicism, and without hope wisdom fails. For me a better phrase—one more in keeping with the lessons I’m learning— would be:

“Since I gave up (the illusion of) control, I feel a lot happier.”

Out of the Zone

(Nuts-and-bolts posts are coming; once I finish the run of Laughter on the 23rd Floor on Sunday, I'll have more attention to focus on getting things done, so expect me to write about clearing out my classroom, garage sales, house rental, and the like shortly.)

Today's reflection begins with a quote:

"Life begins at the end of your comfort zone." -Neale Donald Walsch

This quote, which a dear friend from my undergrad days at Graceland University posted on Facebook this morning, got me thinking. It seems that I've always believed it to be true—the things that really matter to me: learning, growth, love—all happen outside my comfort zone. The things that (for me) make life life aren't really "comfortable" things.

I'm not suggesting that they're painful—it's not pain as such that makes them uncomfortable—rather, they're uneasy, messy, disruptive things...yes, disruptive. And as with exercise, there can be some discomfort—aches and the like—accompanying these wonderful, meaningful, important, significant, uncomfortable things.

As a teacher, I see the impact learning can have. Many years ago, in one of my education classes at Graceland, I read that a change in behavior is the most sensitive evidence of learning, and that idea has stuck with me. Learning changes behavior. Learning changes the learner. I see it in my classroom: when students make a personal connection with a concept or idea—when they own what is taught and truly learn it for themselves—they are affected, sometimes quite powerfully. It disrupts the status quo. I think any of us can look around and find evidence of how disruptive learning truly is, which may explain why some prefer ignorance.

To see how disruptive growth is, all you have to do is walk down the sidewalk of an older neighborhood that has trees lining the street. Your feet will tell you about growth and disruption. As those trees grew, their roots heaved and cracked the sidewalk. Our comfort zone has a definite size, and growth will exceed those boundaries sooner or latter. If we insist on planting ourselves in a pot and growing, we're going to crack a few pots in the course of it. Growth cannot both continue and be kept within our comfort zone.

Love is perhaps the least comfortable, most disruptive thing of all. Not that it isn't comforting in time of trouble so much as it's troubling in time of comfort. Love changes and challenges us; it demands more of us than simple pleasure. When another's wellbeing becomes as important to us as our own, our behavior changes. We do things differently because another's wellbeing has become as important to us as our own. And a change in behavior (to bring us full circle) evinces learning.

Somehow or another, I find myself in middle age. There was a time in my life when I thought or assumed that as one aged, comfort became more important and more appropriate. Now that I find myself older, I don't think that's true.

No matter how old I am, no matter how long I live, I will always value learning, growth, and love (and the greatest of these is love), and these things cannot be contained within my comfort zone.

For me, my comfort zone is a casket, and I'm not ready to lie down yet.

This reflection brings me comfort. It affirms to me that this grand adventure is harmonious with my values and nature. It brings me peace.

6 weeks, 3 days, 2 hours 24 minutes.