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!

Not Without Ambition

It’s such a human thing, to set goals and select destinations. “I’m going to lose 10 pounds,” or “I intend to retire at age 55,” or “I plan to visit all the inhabited continents on the earth” vie with perhaps more lofty examples like “I will be kinder,” or “I just want to be happy,” or “I will achieve enlightenment.” And maybe it isn’t such a bad thing that we set goals and select destinations, only…

Only what if you actually achieve them? What happens after you lose 10 pounds or achieve enlightenment? What do you do if you actually succeed?

If you’ve ever dieted to “lose 10 pounds,” you know what happens after you succeed. Usually, you gain back the 10, plus a dividend. Never having achieved “enlightenment,” I can’t really speak to that particular goal, but in general it has been my experience that accomplishing a goal—be it weight loss or being happy or whatever—does not always mean keeping its product, nor will we necessarily be satisfied even if we do. the achievement or accomplishment often feels hollow, and we’re left asking, “Is this all there is?”

My dad took early retirement from the school district that employed him as a teacher. He loved teaching (and to this day I run into former students of his who tell me how significant he was in their academic lives), but found himself at odds with out-of-touch administrators and foolish policies; retiring was a matter of principle, and Dad was always a man of principle. He retired without a qualm and didn’t look back, but for a while after, things looked a little iffy. One of the smartest men I’ve ever known, but he didn’t seem to know quite what to do with himself. He had achieved a milestone, but didn’t know where to go after. Eventually, he decided to serve the public in elected office (water board), and all was well.

That’s the trouble with goals as we usually think of them: they mark the end of striving, and it’s the striving itself—the journey, rather than the destination—that fulfills us. The outcome and the action taken to achieve it are inextricably linked for us; when we stop acting, the outcome recedes from us.

Almost accidentally, I’ve found an answer to this quandary. Instead of framing my ambitions in terms of accomplishments, I articulate them as practices: actions and consequent outcomes as a series of ongoing disciplines or journeys, not as actions that end when the goal is achieved. “Losing 10 pounds” becomes “living healthy,” “wanting to be happy” becomes “living a happy life,” and “achieving enlightenment” becomes “always seeking greater enlightenment.”

I’m discovering that the best way to be happy is to “do” happy: to always be doing what makes me happy, to always be choosing what makes me happy, to always be seeking greater and richer and deeper happiness.

There’s no end to a practice, and that’s a good thing; it reduces the pressure to “get it,” and makes it easier to celebrate progress. After all, it’s in growing toward the sun that a tree becomes a tree; it’s the journey that makes the hero, and not the journey’s end.

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.”