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.”

Serenity

This morning I said goodbye to my sister Karen, my brother-in-law Michael, and my niece Madison. It was a wonderful visit—we celebrated Madison’s birthday (twice!), I got to share in the moment as my sister’s sensory world opened up after fifteen years of invisible-but-very-real limits, I shared some quality time with other friends in the Rocklin area—and it’s the last time for many of those things.

For many years, now, I’ve been able to travel up to Rocklin at least a couple of times a year to visit, and Karen, Michael, and Madison have been able to travel down to the Antelope Valley at least a couple of times a year to visit Mom and me. With me moving to Hawai‘i, visits become much less frequent. It’s not going to be possible for any of us to make a (relatively) casual trip to see the others. I imagine that once I’m settled I’ll occasionally visit the Mainland, but once a year is as good as it will get and it may not get that good for a long time. Who knows when I’ll see my Rocklin friends (or Lucy or Bailey, the family dogs) again?

I’ll see Karen, Michael, and Madison once a year, probably; the traditional Hawai‘i vacation will continue and for me, they’ll be cheaper than they've been in the past. But once a year is not the same as four or more times a year. It’s the end of an era.

It’s another “last.”

For the most part, I don’t really like these lasts. (The few I have liked I’ve mostly kept to myself.) Endings, of traditions or habits or regular contact or normal practices, are hard. Some are harder than others...

Farewells are hard. Reduced contact with loved ones (family, friends, respected colleagues) is hard. Change is hard, and the more it changes things we value, the harder it is.

But change is also inevitable, and sometimes choosing the change brings some comfort. I chose this change (and I’m sorry that it leaves some of you with no choice; I’m well aware that by choosing this change I’ve imposed unwelcome changes on you), and that helps me face the pain.

If I seem serene, I am. If I seem unaffected, I’m not. I’m deeply affected. My serenity is the product of a great deal of agonizing over my choices and my decision to “seize the day.” This choice is remaking me, and I’m not gonna lie; that’s among its attractions.