Maybe it’s just me...
Maybe I’m the only one in whom hope wages a constant war with discouragement, disappointment, and despair, winning some battles and losing others but never ever decisively enough to end the war. Maybe I’m the only one...
But probably not. While the balance of power is likely different in every individual case, I imagine each of us deals with this war waged on the battlefield of our hearts. And sometimes each of us is tempted to just surrender hope and let the unholy trio triumph.
I know I’m sometimes tempted...
Hope depends on morale and morale depends (to some degree) on confidence, and confidence is not among my entrenched habits of mind. In some settings, I am quite confident, but in others—especially some where my desire is great—I lack confidence. It can make “going for” what I desire challenging, and while I wait for the outcome, I seesaw between hope and despair, sometimes rapidly.
Hope has a slight edge, simply because I’m unable any longer to sustain despair for too long, but it’s never something certain, never something I can take for granted. It wasn’t that long ago that despair owned me, and I cannot forget that, but somehow I’ve made hope the consolation prize (I just realized this!), and that’s not a great thing. Hope should be the default setting, and it really isn’t the default for me.
I most often feel the concussive reverberations of this battle in the context of theatrical auditions. I love “doing” theatre, but I am not so confident of my ability or suitability that I believe I will win a desired role. The best I can do is hope, and I sometimes do that badly. Since moving to Maui, I feel very much like the “new kid”—add to that the intimidating quality and depth of the Maui talent pool, and hope seems a frail reed indeed.
And yet, though it be frail indeed, I grasp at that reed. Although I treat hope as a consolation prize rather than a default setting, still I welcome hope. Despite its insufficiency, hope is my hero, because “hope springs eternal.” Hope is a perennial flower, the cat that “came back the very next day,” the “bad penny” that always turns up. I get frustrated, I feel defeated, I give up, I surrender...and a few hours or days or months later, hope resurrects itself and I rise with it.
And I strive to make hope my default instead of my consolation. Circumstances can be discouraging and outcomes are beyond my control—I do what I can and do my best to hope for the best without feeling entitled (in the interest of full disclosure, I am not always altogether successful at this).
We’ve all heard (and most of us have given) the advice, “Don’t get your hopes up,” but while I’m sometimes tempted—by doubt, discouragement, disappointment, and despair—I resist. I believe that while it absolutely makes me vulnerable and opens me up to hurt, hope is nevertheless worth all the risk, worth even the hurt.
It’s even worth the hurt...
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Friday, June 29, 2012
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:
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:
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:
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
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 serenityThe 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.
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
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.”
Saturday, June 23, 2012
I’ve Been Wrong About “wrong” Before
I had two phone interviews this week—one Tuesday and the other Wednesday—and I’ve already heard back from both schools. One elected to hire someone else, and the other offered me a position. The one that offered me a position would like me to respond by Wednesday. Good news! I won’t be unemployed when I move to Hawai`i!
I’m probably going to wait until pretty close to Wednesday to respond—while the odds don’t look great, it’s possible that another school or two will be interested in what I have to offer and I do have some (minor) qualms about the position offered—but barring the unforeseen I now know where I'm going.
It’s exciting! More exciting than I was really looking for, in fact...
You see, all my plans so far have been predicated on the hope that I’d find a position on O‘ahu. It’s the most developed island with the largest population, so (I reasoned) it was the place most likely to have the most opportunities. It made sense to me, at any rate.
I have other reasons for hoping that something on O‘ahu would come through. There’s a good-sized church family there, which would provide great support. And it’s the island my brother has to live on when he moves to Hawai‘i (in the next half year or so). We’ve been plotting to room together, and since we both do many of the same things and have many of the same interests—scuba diving, hiking, swimming, stand-up paddleboarding, kayaking, etc.—being on the same island would give each of us a ready partner for the active life we both love.
But I have an offer.
It’s the “wrong” island, the “wrong” grade level, and the “wrong” subject...and unless something better (a lot better) comes along in the next four days, I’m going to accept it with enthusiasm and love the heck out of it, welcoming the challenges it bears with it.
Maybe it’s for the best; maybe it’s for my best. Maui may be the “wrong” island, but it is beautiful and wonderful—it’s got forests and beaches and a really great outdoors overall. 8th grade may be the “wrong” grade level, but there are marvelous opportunities to make a real difference in the lives of 8th graders. And English may be the “wrong” subject, but I do love it, and I’ve known all along that it was unlikely I’d find a position teaching the “right” one. And (more to the point) if I go there I wouldn’t have much of a support network at all.
Maybe that’s what I need. I’ve said before that among the virtues of this adventure are the risks I have to take. Maybe O‘ahu is too easy. Maybe what I really need is to go "all in" and face the world alone.
It isn’t as if I’ll be completely alone, after all; There are a few church members on Maui, and I’ll have coworkers who I hope will become friends. And family and friends are always available via social network, email, and phone. But maybe the real adventure is going into a place where I have very few connections—too few to weave a safety net—and find my path; find myself.
Maybe the “wrong” island, the “wrong” grade level, and the “wrong” subject are just what I need. I’m open to the possibility...
I’ve been wrong about “wrong” before.
I’m probably going to wait until pretty close to Wednesday to respond—while the odds don’t look great, it’s possible that another school or two will be interested in what I have to offer and I do have some (minor) qualms about the position offered—but barring the unforeseen I now know where I'm going.
It’s exciting! More exciting than I was really looking for, in fact...
You see, all my plans so far have been predicated on the hope that I’d find a position on O‘ahu. It’s the most developed island with the largest population, so (I reasoned) it was the place most likely to have the most opportunities. It made sense to me, at any rate.
I have other reasons for hoping that something on O‘ahu would come through. There’s a good-sized church family there, which would provide great support. And it’s the island my brother has to live on when he moves to Hawai‘i (in the next half year or so). We’ve been plotting to room together, and since we both do many of the same things and have many of the same interests—scuba diving, hiking, swimming, stand-up paddleboarding, kayaking, etc.—being on the same island would give each of us a ready partner for the active life we both love.
But I have an offer.
It’s the “wrong” island, the “wrong” grade level, and the “wrong” subject...and unless something better (a lot better) comes along in the next four days, I’m going to accept it with enthusiasm and love the heck out of it, welcoming the challenges it bears with it.
Maybe it’s for the best; maybe it’s for my best. Maui may be the “wrong” island, but it is beautiful and wonderful—it’s got forests and beaches and a really great outdoors overall. 8th grade may be the “wrong” grade level, but there are marvelous opportunities to make a real difference in the lives of 8th graders. And English may be the “wrong” subject, but I do love it, and I’ve known all along that it was unlikely I’d find a position teaching the “right” one. And (more to the point) if I go there I wouldn’t have much of a support network at all.
Maybe that’s what I need. I’ve said before that among the virtues of this adventure are the risks I have to take. Maybe O‘ahu is too easy. Maybe what I really need is to go "all in" and face the world alone.
It isn’t as if I’ll be completely alone, after all; There are a few church members on Maui, and I’ll have coworkers who I hope will become friends. And family and friends are always available via social network, email, and phone. But maybe the real adventure is going into a place where I have very few connections—too few to weave a safety net—and find my path; find myself.
Maybe the “wrong” island, the “wrong” grade level, and the “wrong” subject are just what I need. I’m open to the possibility...
I’ve been wrong about “wrong” before.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Breathless
I'm actually doing this. I'm not going to do it; I'm doing it. That's an important distinction. I'm going, and that takes my breath away.
At first I was breathless with fear: paralyzing, stupefying,appalling terror. There was no question what made my hands sweat, my limbs shake, my gut clench, my breath catch: it was fear, pure and simple—that visceral reaction to threat that kept our primal ancestors alive in a menacing world. And fear is still part of it...
But fear is not all of it, not any more. Fear is not even the biggest part of it.
I'm breathless with anticipated grief. I am leaving my family, my theatre family, my friends, my best friend, my students (the only children I've known)... and I feel that loss as if I was already gone. "I miss you" doesn't come close to what I'm feeling, and I haven't even gone yet. I tear up every time I remember those I'm leaving.
I'm breathless with excitement. I feel the things I've always felt before a first date: anticipation, nervousness, hope. There's no knowing how it's going to be: if there will be "chemistry," if we'll be "compatible," if we'll "fit," who we'll be to one another. It's exciting!
I'm breathless with awe. Awe at the prospect of being where my heart has called me for so long, awe at the thought of remaking myself in a new place, awe at the boundless possibilities (including the possibility of epic failure). Awe at the amazing support of family and friends from whom "never was heard a discouraging word," but rather endless encouragement.
Breathless.
Tonight I'm reserving my (one way) ticket. Early in June, I'll book passage for my Harley.
I'm going.
At first I was breathless with fear: paralyzing, stupefying,appalling terror. There was no question what made my hands sweat, my limbs shake, my gut clench, my breath catch: it was fear, pure and simple—that visceral reaction to threat that kept our primal ancestors alive in a menacing world. And fear is still part of it...
But fear is not all of it, not any more. Fear is not even the biggest part of it.
I'm breathless with anticipated grief. I am leaving my family, my theatre family, my friends, my best friend, my students (the only children I've known)... and I feel that loss as if I was already gone. "I miss you" doesn't come close to what I'm feeling, and I haven't even gone yet. I tear up every time I remember those I'm leaving.
I'm breathless with excitement. I feel the things I've always felt before a first date: anticipation, nervousness, hope. There's no knowing how it's going to be: if there will be "chemistry," if we'll be "compatible," if we'll "fit," who we'll be to one another. It's exciting!
I'm breathless with awe. Awe at the prospect of being where my heart has called me for so long, awe at the thought of remaking myself in a new place, awe at the boundless possibilities (including the possibility of epic failure). Awe at the amazing support of family and friends from whom "never was heard a discouraging word," but rather endless encouragement.
Breathless.
Tonight I'm reserving my (one way) ticket. Early in June, I'll book passage for my Harley.
I'm going.
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