Lessons: Verse One
There are things I've learned I never thought I'd have to, but have changed my life. These, I think, are the real lessons worth learning. And by learning, I really just mean practicing. Because what is learning anyway except for a devoted focus ever expanding and ever-growing?
Anyway, I don't think I've always had a great relationship with knowledge, or specifically gaining knowledge / wisdom. People who know me might call me wise — a compliment I cherish but don't often truly believe of myself — but I'd tell them I don't love knowledge and wisdom for their own sake. I've often found my pursuit of knowledge rooted in fear and shame, a mechanism for a feigned version of protection: "maybe, if I know what I'm doing, I won't get hurt. Maybe, if I know what I'm doing, they won't get hurt." This has led to a complicated history of learning, re-learning, performing, justifying, and running that has elevated the "learning" and put undo pressure on the "learner."
What does that tangent have to do with this post? Actually, not that much; BUT it does remind me that lessons aren't some "prize" that life spreads out for us like a scavenger hunt, leaving vague and frustrating clues for us to find. No, lessons are more like states of being - you don't really have much control of when they "come and go" (ever wonder why we have to learn the same lessons over and over again?) and you're meant to simply savor them, living in the moment of what they have for you.
Lessons are experiences you can certainly use in the future to make better decisions or be a better human, sure, but more than that they're verses in a song, or instruments in a symphony. Their swells in and out of the song add texture and depth to the main chorus or theme, but aren't meant to be held onto or overplayed, or isolated. Lessons hold their beauty in the communion of their counterparts - time, friendship, love, faith, circumstance, and change.
In that light, here are a few lessons playing in my life. I never would've picked them or sought them out, and perhaps I spent some of my life refusing their melodies, but taking a listen has utterly shifted my perspective and my spirit.
1. Not Everything is Significant
This is a biggie, and takes some openness to accept. Especially if you're one of those people who goes beyond the normal human capacity for meaning-making, who lives a rich and detailed fantasy life about the various ways situations can play out. It's like imagination chess, applied to everyday conversations and circumstances. I'm one of those human beings that thinks EVERYTHING has meaning. I think everything in life is beautiful and intricate, and that holding onto this belief creates an expansive view of people's uniqueness and life's vibrancy.
More than that, it actually feels like an injustice at times for me to believe something is ever "just" something. For example, I like to think that everything happens for a reason, and that even the most mundane of things have glimpses of glory and purpose to them (any other Type Fours feeling me on this??? #enneageek). For example, I like to park in the same area of my complex's parking lot. Some days, when I'm particularly in my head about where my life is heading, and wondering if I need to make any major changes, I notice when my "normal" parking spots are available or not available. Sometimes — ok, most times — I make meaning out of it: "my spot isn't available and I can't stop thinking how much I want to go back to things that are familiar to me... I bet this is telling me to move on, since clearly I can't park here today." OR "my spot isn't available and I can't stop thinking how much I want to go back to things that are familiar to me... I bet this is telling me how much these things matter to me and how I should keep trying to get back to them, since they're clearly not going away." *sigh*
Anyway, long lesson short, I realized that endlessly searching for meaning in everything was not only utterly exhausting, but at times infinitely frustrating. There were many sleepless nights my mind would run laps around a conversation, a word, a misunderstanding I simply couldn't make sense of.
Like I said, exhausting and frustrating. I was open to every other option for why I couldn't find the meaning / answer (usually options that blamed me or the other person) but I never once entertained the option that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to find the significance or meaning in something. Maybe, there wasn't even meaning or significance to be found at all (GASP, I know).
Don't hear me becoming fatalistic, or khaki, or square here. I still think life is intricate, and I believe in signs and symbols and timing. At the same time, I have to admit allowing life to (at times) be insignificant has given me some cozy layers of peace and flexibility and patience with myself and others. It's like, instead of spending all my mental energy setting up the chess pieces of the meaning-making game, I'm reciting this mantra of permission: Rachel, not everything has significance. You can force it, if you want, but you may find that fabricating meaning doesn't build you (and others) up so much as it destroys you by demanding infinitely more amounts of your attention. Your thoughts are precious seeds to be sown, they can't help but grow, so plant wisely.
I lean naturally to the dark side, the melancholic side, the minor key, the deep end. I'll more often than not find myself wanting the best, but noticing (and attaching to) the worst. I'm a frustrated idealist, which basically means I have the heart of an optimist, the eyes of a pessimist, the ears of a cynic, and the voice of a sage. With these tools in my belt, I somehow developed the belief that in order to "mean what I said" I had to show some kind of contrition or remorse... like the tone of what I said needed to be as weighty as the matter I was speaking about.
Do you remember those times as a kid, when someone in the group would make a mistake or hurt the others' feelings, and the adult in the room would turn to the "perpetrator" and say something to the effect of, "Now, say you're sorry." And the kid would apologize, muttering over words that barely resembled "I," "am," and "sorry." This never satisfied the adult, who would retort, "say it like you mean it." In shame, the kid would try again, sounding more defeated than sorry, really.
I guess I've carried experiences like that and let them spread into other areas of my speech. I thought that somehow, the more sad, ashamed, or "heavy" my voice was, the more likely the other person was to take me seriously and know that I "meant" what I said. Further, I thought that I needed to be sad or downcast in order to "truly feel" the weight of my mistake or conviction before moving on. That I had to both publicly and privately display the burden of the thing I wanted to change before I changed it, so that I could give merit to my suffering or my sin (I mean, you can't get rid of what isn't real, right? So, I tired to make everything that troubled me as sad as possible, to make it as real as possible).
This whole tightrope walking routine (which sounds ridiculous even as I'm typing it!) was something I did unconsciously, and really didn't have awareness of until about 2 months ago. I'm thoroughly enjoying the presence of this lesson, reminding me I can be both lighthearted and sincere at the same time. My lightheartedness doesn't negate my authenticity or my heart. It was almost as if I likened sadness to a pair of ballet slippers I had to dawn before calling myself a ballerina. Now, I dance to Swan Lake in socks, slippers, tennis shoes, or barefoot. I know now it's the dance, not the attire, that makes a dancer.
...
Ya'll, I have like 10 more lessons I was gonna write about, but I dug DEEP into these first two, haha. Oh well, it was worth it.
What lessons have you been graced with lately? Any lessons you've had a hard time learning? Or maybe at first resisted but now cherish?
Anyway, I don't think I've always had a great relationship with knowledge, or specifically gaining knowledge / wisdom. People who know me might call me wise — a compliment I cherish but don't often truly believe of myself — but I'd tell them I don't love knowledge and wisdom for their own sake. I've often found my pursuit of knowledge rooted in fear and shame, a mechanism for a feigned version of protection: "maybe, if I know what I'm doing, I won't get hurt. Maybe, if I know what I'm doing, they won't get hurt." This has led to a complicated history of learning, re-learning, performing, justifying, and running that has elevated the "learning" and put undo pressure on the "learner."
Learning lessons was my best recipe in the Pursuit of Happiness bake-off. I wanted that blue ribbon, darn it.
What does that tangent have to do with this post? Actually, not that much; BUT it does remind me that lessons aren't some "prize" that life spreads out for us like a scavenger hunt, leaving vague and frustrating clues for us to find. No, lessons are more like states of being - you don't really have much control of when they "come and go" (ever wonder why we have to learn the same lessons over and over again?) and you're meant to simply savor them, living in the moment of what they have for you.
Lessons are experiences you can certainly use in the future to make better decisions or be a better human, sure, but more than that they're verses in a song, or instruments in a symphony. Their swells in and out of the song add texture and depth to the main chorus or theme, but aren't meant to be held onto or overplayed, or isolated. Lessons hold their beauty in the communion of their counterparts - time, friendship, love, faith, circumstance, and change.
In that light, here are a few lessons playing in my life. I never would've picked them or sought them out, and perhaps I spent some of my life refusing their melodies, but taking a listen has utterly shifted my perspective and my spirit.
1. Not Everything is Significant
This is a biggie, and takes some openness to accept. Especially if you're one of those people who goes beyond the normal human capacity for meaning-making, who lives a rich and detailed fantasy life about the various ways situations can play out. It's like imagination chess, applied to everyday conversations and circumstances. I'm one of those human beings that thinks EVERYTHING has meaning. I think everything in life is beautiful and intricate, and that holding onto this belief creates an expansive view of people's uniqueness and life's vibrancy.
More than that, it actually feels like an injustice at times for me to believe something is ever "just" something. For example, I like to think that everything happens for a reason, and that even the most mundane of things have glimpses of glory and purpose to them (any other Type Fours feeling me on this??? #enneageek). For example, I like to park in the same area of my complex's parking lot. Some days, when I'm particularly in my head about where my life is heading, and wondering if I need to make any major changes, I notice when my "normal" parking spots are available or not available. Sometimes — ok, most times — I make meaning out of it: "my spot isn't available and I can't stop thinking how much I want to go back to things that are familiar to me... I bet this is telling me to move on, since clearly I can't park here today." OR "my spot isn't available and I can't stop thinking how much I want to go back to things that are familiar to me... I bet this is telling me how much these things matter to me and how I should keep trying to get back to them, since they're clearly not going away." *sigh*
Anyway, long lesson short, I realized that endlessly searching for meaning in everything was not only utterly exhausting, but at times infinitely frustrating. There were many sleepless nights my mind would run laps around a conversation, a word, a misunderstanding I simply couldn't make sense of.
"Why did that bother me, why did it bother them? Why did he say that? Why didn't I say that? What did I mean by that? What did she mean when she said that? Why did those plans fall through? Why did that meme come up on instagram at this specific time? Why do I feel this way? Why can't I get happy about this? What is this feeling trying to tell me? What is this tension trying to tell me? Why aren't I hungry? Why don't I want cereal for breakfast today? ETC ETC ETC ETC
Like I said, exhausting and frustrating. I was open to every other option for why I couldn't find the meaning / answer (usually options that blamed me or the other person) but I never once entertained the option that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to find the significance or meaning in something. Maybe, there wasn't even meaning or significance to be found at all (GASP, I know).
Don't hear me becoming fatalistic, or khaki, or square here. I still think life is intricate, and I believe in signs and symbols and timing. At the same time, I have to admit allowing life to (at times) be insignificant has given me some cozy layers of peace and flexibility and patience with myself and others. It's like, instead of spending all my mental energy setting up the chess pieces of the meaning-making game, I'm reciting this mantra of permission: Rachel, not everything has significance. You can force it, if you want, but you may find that fabricating meaning doesn't build you (and others) up so much as it destroys you by demanding infinitely more amounts of your attention. Your thoughts are precious seeds to be sown, they can't help but grow, so plant wisely.
2. I Don't Have to be Sad to be Sincere
I lean naturally to the dark side, the melancholic side, the minor key, the deep end. I'll more often than not find myself wanting the best, but noticing (and attaching to) the worst. I'm a frustrated idealist, which basically means I have the heart of an optimist, the eyes of a pessimist, the ears of a cynic, and the voice of a sage. With these tools in my belt, I somehow developed the belief that in order to "mean what I said" I had to show some kind of contrition or remorse... like the tone of what I said needed to be as weighty as the matter I was speaking about.
Do you remember those times as a kid, when someone in the group would make a mistake or hurt the others' feelings, and the adult in the room would turn to the "perpetrator" and say something to the effect of, "Now, say you're sorry." And the kid would apologize, muttering over words that barely resembled "I," "am," and "sorry." This never satisfied the adult, who would retort, "say it like you mean it." In shame, the kid would try again, sounding more defeated than sorry, really.
I guess I've carried experiences like that and let them spread into other areas of my speech. I thought that somehow, the more sad, ashamed, or "heavy" my voice was, the more likely the other person was to take me seriously and know that I "meant" what I said. Further, I thought that I needed to be sad or downcast in order to "truly feel" the weight of my mistake or conviction before moving on. That I had to both publicly and privately display the burden of the thing I wanted to change before I changed it, so that I could give merit to my suffering or my sin (I mean, you can't get rid of what isn't real, right? So, I tired to make everything that troubled me as sad as possible, to make it as real as possible).
This whole tightrope walking routine (which sounds ridiculous even as I'm typing it!) was something I did unconsciously, and really didn't have awareness of until about 2 months ago. I'm thoroughly enjoying the presence of this lesson, reminding me I can be both lighthearted and sincere at the same time. My lightheartedness doesn't negate my authenticity or my heart. It was almost as if I likened sadness to a pair of ballet slippers I had to dawn before calling myself a ballerina. Now, I dance to Swan Lake in socks, slippers, tennis shoes, or barefoot. I know now it's the dance, not the attire, that makes a dancer.
...
Ya'll, I have like 10 more lessons I was gonna write about, but I dug DEEP into these first two, haha. Oh well, it was worth it.
What lessons have you been graced with lately? Any lessons you've had a hard time learning? Or maybe at first resisted but now cherish?
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