You pray in your distress and in your need; would that you might pray also in the fullness of your joy and in your days of abundance.
Kahlil Gibran
Do I pray “in my distress and in my need”? I would say I strive to have a prayerful orientation to how I lead my life. It’s just that I pray in many different ways, most of them not very traditional. The Holy Rosary, for example, doesn’t do much for me and a good or bad sermon can make or break the quality of my prayer at Mass. Prayer, from my perspective, should transform me as much or more as my circumstances. In fact, when I am transformed, the way I react to my life’s challenges is also transformed and it results in much improved circumstances. It also has the effect of leading to a much improved prayer life, so the cycle grows and grows.
So how did I pray during my recent time of distress and need? It depended on my circumstances. Sometimes it was a quiet, subdued kind of prayer, even mute on occasion. At those times I was so emotionally or physically drained, so spiritually out of sorts, that I merely rested in the conviction that I was in the arms of a loving, just, and merciful God who would know exactly what my needs were and the best way to attend to them. Other times I was in so much pain or was so angry that I could only sob uncontrollably and wrestle with a God that seemed distant and silent. From a distance it may have seemed like I wasn’t praying at all and it even seemed like that to me once in a while, but I know I was continuing to pray “all ways” because in the end I became a different person.
I once read a book that changed my attitude about prayer: Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer by David Steindl-Rast and Henri J. M. Nouwen. I used to worry that I didn’t pray well enough or often enough, but this book made me realize that living in an attitude of gratitude for God’s abundant love was the best kind of prayer: a constant one. There’s no room for guilt or perfectionism when I recognize my utter dependence on God’s loving care and celebrate it with joyful appreciation.
I am still growing and evolving, of course, and I have some good and some bad days like most everyone else. But I experience joy and affirmation more often than not, and I feel my heart overflowing with peace and gratitude very, very often. So these days, the days of my joy and abundance, it’s more likely that I will be singing or dancing or celebrating God’s goodness while sharing a meal with a loved one, watching a sunset, listening to my grandson’s gurgles, admiring a flower or a cloud or a building. It’s not a conventional way of prayer but it sure is deep and full of gratitude!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
On Art and Revelation
Art is a step from what is obvious and well-known toward what is arcane and concealed.
Kahlil Gibran
Kahlil Gibran
Some time ago my daughter was having a conversation with an artist friend of hers who showed us her latest creative explorations with found pictures and masks. She had used black masks to expose and enhance a small portion of a photograph by covering up the majority of it. It achieved the striking effect of making this small detail that was exposed seem weightier, packed with more information and emotion than if seen in its original context. I looked at it with the wondrous eyes of a child and felt like I could climb into the small open spaces between the masks and crawl into hidden, secret worlds packed with jewels and amazing stories as yet untold. My heart filled with awe and excitement and I wanted to run out right away and attempt to create something just as beautiful and powerful. Would I have the courage to trust my instincts and create something that could be called art? What would that look like?
Some time before meeting this artist, my daughter and I had sat in her car, waiting for a parking space to come open and she had said something very profound: “Memory is a necessary failure.” She was referring to the discrepancies between various accounts of one occurrence and how our memory tends to obscure certain aspects of the experience and enhance and distort others. We need our memories to survive, but they always fail to portray reality accurately.
We often hear someone refer to someone’s “photographic memory” as being 100% accurate, and consider photographs and videos as accurate portrayals and memorials of past incidents. Journal entries and personal memories are often accorded similar characteristics of historical accuracy. I myself like to think that the memories I record here are accurate and fair portrayals of my experience, but today I’ve realized that what I am doing here is more an artistic production than a historical record. The stories I tell disclose as well as obscure aspects of that experience, and as I disclose and reveal my innermost secrets and observations, I am merely hyperfocusing on a tiny fraction of my past while obscuring its much larger context.
I often feel a level of anxiety when I realize how distorted my memories can seem to others that have shared an experience with me. I pride myself in being honest and fair and try my hardest to record my memories that way, but I know that I can only describe what I can see in my heart and I am blind to things that others can clearly see. I can only imagine what is lost to my vision, and often my imagination is quite limited. Nevertheless, I hope that in these pages I can exercise a degree of control as to what I tell and don’t tell, what I show and don’t show, and in that way help others to climb into my secret world through that little space between carefully placed masks. Hopefully, the joy of discovery someone feels when focusing on these sharply revealed fractions of reality will overshadow any regrets or pain that the concealment of the larger picture may cause. That is my honest intention and I trust you will accept my sincere apologies otherwise. Even more than that, I would be really glad if you, my readers, would share your own memories and perspectives that will shed light on what I have obscured.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
On Children’s Personal Growth and Moral Development
Coming generations will learn equality from poverty, and love from woes.
Kahlil Gibran
I recently visited my daughter who has made some very conscious and deliberate choices about her lifestyle. I was expecting some big changes in her living circumstances, but it is one thing to imagine her situation and another one to actually experience it. When I parked my rented Toyota Camry in front of her dilapidated apartment with its unpainted woodwork, unkempt yard, and rundown stairs my heart felt a deep tug. It was a rainy and cold afternoon so there was very little light coming in through the windows to lift my spirits and my first impression was a shocking feeling that my precious child was living perilously close to poverty.
It didn’t take me long to realize, though, that there was joy and poetry in her little home, decorated as it was in an Early Salvation Army style, full of hand-me-downs and salvaged objects. Her artistic and egalitarian streak showed in her arrangements of furniture, lighting, and wall décor. Everything she had put together “made sense”. It was truly her expression of who she is, her values, and her choices. Instead of pity I felt pride and gratitude for her life.
It gets even better. This young woman I had so carefully nurtured and protected invited a close circle of her friends to have dinner with us. One of them was single and came with her shaggy, boisterous dog, another brought her sixty-something mom, a third one brought her ten year old daughter, a fourth one came late and left early because she’d had to wait to tuck her children in bed and had to return to care for her family. And what cultural diversity in the group! Yet these were all strong, committed women who live for and out of their convictions, share their joys and sorrows with each other, nurture each other’s passion for art, and try to help each other grow. Out of their deep sharing, a strong bond has formed that does not leave anyone out.
So today I celebrate the richness of my daughter’s life, the joyful attitude she has developed through her handling of life’s big and small hurdles, the way she manages her money and allows herself profound pleasures. I celebrate her courage in choosing a simple and healthy lifestyle and practicing her values in everything she does. This woman is not perfect (I could write a whole blog on her weaknesses and idiosyncrasies that drive me nuts), but today I recognize those wonderful character traits that I value so much and have brought us so close together. She has built them through her moral courage and her profound reflections on her experience of limitations and tears.
Kahlil Gibran
I recently visited my daughter who has made some very conscious and deliberate choices about her lifestyle. I was expecting some big changes in her living circumstances, but it is one thing to imagine her situation and another one to actually experience it. When I parked my rented Toyota Camry in front of her dilapidated apartment with its unpainted woodwork, unkempt yard, and rundown stairs my heart felt a deep tug. It was a rainy and cold afternoon so there was very little light coming in through the windows to lift my spirits and my first impression was a shocking feeling that my precious child was living perilously close to poverty.
It didn’t take me long to realize, though, that there was joy and poetry in her little home, decorated as it was in an Early Salvation Army style, full of hand-me-downs and salvaged objects. Her artistic and egalitarian streak showed in her arrangements of furniture, lighting, and wall décor. Everything she had put together “made sense”. It was truly her expression of who she is, her values, and her choices. Instead of pity I felt pride and gratitude for her life.
It gets even better. This young woman I had so carefully nurtured and protected invited a close circle of her friends to have dinner with us. One of them was single and came with her shaggy, boisterous dog, another brought her sixty-something mom, a third one brought her ten year old daughter, a fourth one came late and left early because she’d had to wait to tuck her children in bed and had to return to care for her family. And what cultural diversity in the group! Yet these were all strong, committed women who live for and out of their convictions, share their joys and sorrows with each other, nurture each other’s passion for art, and try to help each other grow. Out of their deep sharing, a strong bond has formed that does not leave anyone out.
So today I celebrate the richness of my daughter’s life, the joyful attitude she has developed through her handling of life’s big and small hurdles, the way she manages her money and allows herself profound pleasures. I celebrate her courage in choosing a simple and healthy lifestyle and practicing her values in everything she does. This woman is not perfect (I could write a whole blog on her weaknesses and idiosyncrasies that drive me nuts), but today I recognize those wonderful character traits that I value so much and have brought us so close together. She has built them through her moral courage and her profound reflections on her experience of limitations and tears.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
On Silver and (Self-)Respect
"No lower can a man descend than to interpret his dreams into gold and silver."
Kahlil Gibran
Have you ever heard of a Financial Planner firing a client before he’s even hired? Neither had I until I experienced that a few days ago. My husband and I recently took a class on planning for retirement. Honestly, I should say I took the class and he took less than half of it because he was too busy. At the end of the class we signed up for individual “lab work” with our teacher, a very knowledgeable and agreeable man who seemed to be very grounded, and, although he never mentioned any religious convictions, very spiritual. It was a very detailed and fast-paced class in which my biggest insight was how little I knew about retirement planning in general and our own financial situation in particular.
In order to prepare for the lab, I spent one long evening digging around for our personal information, four hours reviewing it with my husband, and many more hours gathering more documents, sorting them out, and filling out all kinds of financial questionnaires. I even went on the Internet and used various financial planning tools available to get an idea what kind of recommendations are in vogue these days so I could compare it with whatever my personal guru had to say. I stuffed my attaché case and headed to the meeting, knowing that my husband, again, would be late.
I walked into a cheerful, bright, and solid looking office and soon Mr. P ushered me to his office. I explained to him we should not wait for my husband and we immediately got down to business, the business of sharing what my own and my husband’s relationship with money is or my interpretation of it. I brought up the parable of the Rich Young Man and my instincts about Mr. P were proven right when he asked me what I thought of the parable of the Talents. He asked several questions about my husband’s retirement plans (none), when I would like to see him retired (fully retired, never), etc. Smoothly, we moved unto more mundane issues and spent the better part of an hour sorting out all the information I had gathered and explaining the differences of opinion regarding investment strategies that my husband and I had had during our long marriage. Sixty-five minutes into our meeting he still had not shown up.
Mr. P looked into my eyes with a surprisingly perplexed kindness, “I really don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “You have done a lot of work and there is a lot more work that needs to be done, but the fact that your husband hasn’t shown up yet worries me a lot.”It shows no respect for me…” before he could finish his sentence I exclaimed, as the insight hit me, “And no respect for me either!”
As if on cue, the missing person materialized out of nowhere, apparently convinced he was “only” forty minutes late. We resumed the conversation where Mr. P and I had left off after he asked my husband several philosophical questions which my husband answered in his usual evasive and fatalistic way, “My profession does not allow me to….” “Well, as I was telling your wife before you got here,” replied Mr. P, “your life seems to be quite a mess right now and it looks like you haven’t set your priorities straight yet. The fact that you came in so late, that you are so unhappy, have neglected your physical health, and feel so overwhelmed in general, tells me, and I don’t take this in any way personally, that you don’t respect me very much, you don’t respect your wife, and you don’t respect yourself either. You go get your life together, take a year or two, and then when you have everything sorted out, come back to me and I’ll be glad to work with you! Otherwise, even if we fixed your financial affairs, you would still be unhappy.”
You’d think a bomb had exploded in front of us! We were stunned. I wanted to cry for a million different reasons that would take forever to untangle. My husband looked shocked and hurt and incredulous: he could NOT have heard that! In his world, Financial Planners never ignored a dollar dangled in their faces… how insensitive could this guy be? He can’t possibly be talking about ME…. It took us a few minutes of mutual questions and answers before we had the strength to stand up and say goodbye. I hugged Mr. P, “Thank you.”
My husband carried my heavy briefcase to the parking lot. “No one in the world knows what my life is like… At one point I looked at you and you looked… vindicated!” he said angrily. I looked into his eyes with my tearful ones and responded, “I don’t want to be right. I want to be happy!”
Kahlil Gibran
Have you ever heard of a Financial Planner firing a client before he’s even hired? Neither had I until I experienced that a few days ago. My husband and I recently took a class on planning for retirement. Honestly, I should say I took the class and he took less than half of it because he was too busy. At the end of the class we signed up for individual “lab work” with our teacher, a very knowledgeable and agreeable man who seemed to be very grounded, and, although he never mentioned any religious convictions, very spiritual. It was a very detailed and fast-paced class in which my biggest insight was how little I knew about retirement planning in general and our own financial situation in particular.
In order to prepare for the lab, I spent one long evening digging around for our personal information, four hours reviewing it with my husband, and many more hours gathering more documents, sorting them out, and filling out all kinds of financial questionnaires. I even went on the Internet and used various financial planning tools available to get an idea what kind of recommendations are in vogue these days so I could compare it with whatever my personal guru had to say. I stuffed my attaché case and headed to the meeting, knowing that my husband, again, would be late.
I walked into a cheerful, bright, and solid looking office and soon Mr. P ushered me to his office. I explained to him we should not wait for my husband and we immediately got down to business, the business of sharing what my own and my husband’s relationship with money is or my interpretation of it. I brought up the parable of the Rich Young Man and my instincts about Mr. P were proven right when he asked me what I thought of the parable of the Talents. He asked several questions about my husband’s retirement plans (none), when I would like to see him retired (fully retired, never), etc. Smoothly, we moved unto more mundane issues and spent the better part of an hour sorting out all the information I had gathered and explaining the differences of opinion regarding investment strategies that my husband and I had had during our long marriage. Sixty-five minutes into our meeting he still had not shown up.
Mr. P looked into my eyes with a surprisingly perplexed kindness, “I really don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “You have done a lot of work and there is a lot more work that needs to be done, but the fact that your husband hasn’t shown up yet worries me a lot.”It shows no respect for me…” before he could finish his sentence I exclaimed, as the insight hit me, “And no respect for me either!”
As if on cue, the missing person materialized out of nowhere, apparently convinced he was “only” forty minutes late. We resumed the conversation where Mr. P and I had left off after he asked my husband several philosophical questions which my husband answered in his usual evasive and fatalistic way, “My profession does not allow me to….” “Well, as I was telling your wife before you got here,” replied Mr. P, “your life seems to be quite a mess right now and it looks like you haven’t set your priorities straight yet. The fact that you came in so late, that you are so unhappy, have neglected your physical health, and feel so overwhelmed in general, tells me, and I don’t take this in any way personally, that you don’t respect me very much, you don’t respect your wife, and you don’t respect yourself either. You go get your life together, take a year or two, and then when you have everything sorted out, come back to me and I’ll be glad to work with you! Otherwise, even if we fixed your financial affairs, you would still be unhappy.”
You’d think a bomb had exploded in front of us! We were stunned. I wanted to cry for a million different reasons that would take forever to untangle. My husband looked shocked and hurt and incredulous: he could NOT have heard that! In his world, Financial Planners never ignored a dollar dangled in their faces… how insensitive could this guy be? He can’t possibly be talking about ME…. It took us a few minutes of mutual questions and answers before we had the strength to stand up and say goodbye. I hugged Mr. P, “Thank you.”
My husband carried my heavy briefcase to the parking lot. “No one in the world knows what my life is like… At one point I looked at you and you looked… vindicated!” he said angrily. I looked into his eyes with my tearful ones and responded, “I don’t want to be right. I want to be happy!”
Saturday, October 17, 2009
On Guilt and Human Evolution
That deed which in our guilt we today call weakness, will appear tomorrow as an essential link in the complete chain of Man.
Kahlil Gibran
This new quote is a tough one. The language is a bit archaic and hard to interpret. I tried reading the Spanish translation (El extravío que aquí llamamos debilidad aparecerá mañana como un necesario eslabón para completar la cadena de la vida del hombre); reading it in the context of the English version, and consulting all my resources. This paraphrase is my interpretation of what I think KG would have said if he was speaking to today’s audience:
An action of mine that I describe in a negative fashion today may seem tomorrow to be an essential connection in the final development of humanity.
Whether this is an accurate rendering of Gibran’s thoughts or not, I believe I am beginning to make sense of it.
Last night we had a little family gathering at my place and my husband seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn, sullen, and depressed. We didn’t speak much, and when he left, I had this overwhelming sense of sadness and guilt that really caught me by surprise. It made all the joy I had been feeling lately evaporate.
All of a sudden, I had a name for my feelings: survivor’s guilt! It was a revelation to me and I decided to reflect on it a bit. It felt like my heart was rebuking me, “Who are you to be feeling happy and hopeful when your husband is in such distress? You are the one who’s caused this pain in his life. You should not have been so selfish!” I listened carefully to this inner dialogue and realized it was crazy talk. Yes, I had made the decision to move out of the house we shared, but it was not a decision I made lightly. It took me many decades to get to this point. I had to do it if I wanted not only to survive emotionally, spiritually, and even physically, but I needed distance from him and some privacy if I was to sort out my emotions, figure out how I had contributed to our mutual unhappiness, and thrive as a human being. I had made mistakes throughout the years, but the essential problem for me was my pain at his abandonment and his desire to have the problem go away by simply ignoring it. I had a right to be happy, but that didn’t mean that I was glad to see his pain. A sad and unfortunate situation indeed!
Tonight we had dinner together and it was very somber and subdued. At one point, he was very short with me and I asked him if he was angry at me, which he denied. All my usual defenses went immediately on alert. I desperately wanted to get away, but I hung in there. “We seem to be having a hard time knowing what to say to each other,” was my ice breaker. His answer was slow in coming and very quiet: “Yes.”
Gradually, we began to open up to each other and he shared some of his emotional struggles and how happy he was that he had decided to go to therapy. “I am tired of being unhappy,” he said. “I want to drop this burden of misery that I carry with me everywhere. Today a friend asked me if I was sick and I said no, but she insisted that she had known me for way too long and she could tell I was not doing well. I finally admitted to her what was going on.” For a good half hour or more, we shared our fears and hopes and agreed that this separation is a good thing if we want to be whole and contented ever again. We agreed we had a lot of work to do and that we loved each other and ourselves enough to allow ourselves to consider that it might even be a permanent rupture. It felt like we were making some solid progress on our journey to spiritual health and wholeness.
In the end, I realize now, what yesterday had seemed like a bad decision, a grave mistake, a lack of character on my part, now we both recognize as a necessary and essential step in our personal growth as individuals and as a couple. Perhaps that’s what KG was trying to say after all.
Kahlil Gibran
This new quote is a tough one. The language is a bit archaic and hard to interpret. I tried reading the Spanish translation (El extravío que aquí llamamos debilidad aparecerá mañana como un necesario eslabón para completar la cadena de la vida del hombre); reading it in the context of the English version, and consulting all my resources. This paraphrase is my interpretation of what I think KG would have said if he was speaking to today’s audience:
An action of mine that I describe in a negative fashion today may seem tomorrow to be an essential connection in the final development of humanity.
Whether this is an accurate rendering of Gibran’s thoughts or not, I believe I am beginning to make sense of it.
Last night we had a little family gathering at my place and my husband seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn, sullen, and depressed. We didn’t speak much, and when he left, I had this overwhelming sense of sadness and guilt that really caught me by surprise. It made all the joy I had been feeling lately evaporate.
All of a sudden, I had a name for my feelings: survivor’s guilt! It was a revelation to me and I decided to reflect on it a bit. It felt like my heart was rebuking me, “Who are you to be feeling happy and hopeful when your husband is in such distress? You are the one who’s caused this pain in his life. You should not have been so selfish!” I listened carefully to this inner dialogue and realized it was crazy talk. Yes, I had made the decision to move out of the house we shared, but it was not a decision I made lightly. It took me many decades to get to this point. I had to do it if I wanted not only to survive emotionally, spiritually, and even physically, but I needed distance from him and some privacy if I was to sort out my emotions, figure out how I had contributed to our mutual unhappiness, and thrive as a human being. I had made mistakes throughout the years, but the essential problem for me was my pain at his abandonment and his desire to have the problem go away by simply ignoring it. I had a right to be happy, but that didn’t mean that I was glad to see his pain. A sad and unfortunate situation indeed!
Tonight we had dinner together and it was very somber and subdued. At one point, he was very short with me and I asked him if he was angry at me, which he denied. All my usual defenses went immediately on alert. I desperately wanted to get away, but I hung in there. “We seem to be having a hard time knowing what to say to each other,” was my ice breaker. His answer was slow in coming and very quiet: “Yes.”
Gradually, we began to open up to each other and he shared some of his emotional struggles and how happy he was that he had decided to go to therapy. “I am tired of being unhappy,” he said. “I want to drop this burden of misery that I carry with me everywhere. Today a friend asked me if I was sick and I said no, but she insisted that she had known me for way too long and she could tell I was not doing well. I finally admitted to her what was going on.” For a good half hour or more, we shared our fears and hopes and agreed that this separation is a good thing if we want to be whole and contented ever again. We agreed we had a lot of work to do and that we loved each other and ourselves enough to allow ourselves to consider that it might even be a permanent rupture. It felt like we were making some solid progress on our journey to spiritual health and wholeness.
In the end, I realize now, what yesterday had seemed like a bad decision, a grave mistake, a lack of character on my part, now we both recognize as a necessary and essential step in our personal growth as individuals and as a couple. Perhaps that’s what KG was trying to say after all.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
On Kindness, Truth, and Contentment
Truth is a deep kindness that teaches us to be content in our everyday life and share with the people the same happiness.
Kahlil Gibran
Truth a deep kindness? What in the world? I would have never thought of describing truth in this fashion! What I’ve heard about truth is that it is what the church tells you it is, or maybe what the newspapers print or the newscasters announce, or what one discovers doing research or by torturing the enemy. I had a professor at the university that accused his political enemies of believing that they had “the truth grabbed by the tail” when it was obvious to anyone listening to him that he was the one that “had it.” Truth, it seems, is something to argue about, something to control, or something pá darle a alguien por la cabeza (to hit someone over the head with). But a deep kindness? How can that be?
As a matter of fact, I recently had a very difficult conversation with someone I love very much because I made a statement of a historical fact, a truth if you will, and she took it not simply as an unkind statement, but as defamatory and unfair. Any “truth” that makes her look bad or undermines her fragile self esteem is not to be stated under any circumstances or else. How can stating the truth under those particular circumstances be anything but unkind?
During the last few weeks I have been experiencing a very peaceful and kind truth and perhaps reflecting on this experience may help us intuit what KG is trying to share above. I have recently faced two sides of one “truth”: I am very unhappy living with my husband, and I am very happy living on my own. I could say that the first part is an unkind truth because it focuses on all the things that are wrong in my marriage, like my hypercriticism of my husband’s inhumane working style and his neglecting our relationship in favor of his profession. Dwelling on it makes me angry and bitter and uncharitable. The other part of the same truth is that I am very much at peace in my own company, not worrying about things I can’t control, eating when my body needs to, sleeping long and peacefully, discovering parts of me I had never had a chance to relate to, focusing on the present and not the past or the future. This is a very kind truth because it makes me smile when I dwell on it, and who can be mean or ungrateful while smiling from the heart? It’s a truth that makes me a better, healthier, happier, kinder person, and much nicer to relate to.
Kahlil Gibran’s statement may be easier to interpret in the context of the parable it was included in. There is a difficult and delicate paradox there: on one hand “Truth is a deep kindness that teaches us to be content in our everyday life and share with the people the same happiness,” yet “it does not disclose its desirability except to those who first feel the influence of falsehood.” In my case, I thought I was living in the toxic context of a negative truth: “my husband loves his work more than me.” In reality I was living a lie: “I need to sacrifice my life and happiness in order to make this marriage work.”
I had to discover the falsehood of that statement before I could embrace the profound and kind truth that life does not have to be miserable, that there is no real marriage if there is no intimacy, that it’s better to be alone than in bad company, that there is joy in being one’s best friend. It’s a truth that makes me happy in a much smaller and less luxurious home, eating simpler meals, going down the stairs to walk my dog instead of letting him out the door a few times a day, making time for lovely people in my life, being glad to see my husband when we choose to meet instead of getting angry because he’s late again, being happy instead of depressed. It’s a truth and a joy that I am happy to share!
Kahlil Gibran
Truth a deep kindness? What in the world? I would have never thought of describing truth in this fashion! What I’ve heard about truth is that it is what the church tells you it is, or maybe what the newspapers print or the newscasters announce, or what one discovers doing research or by torturing the enemy. I had a professor at the university that accused his political enemies of believing that they had “the truth grabbed by the tail” when it was obvious to anyone listening to him that he was the one that “had it.” Truth, it seems, is something to argue about, something to control, or something pá darle a alguien por la cabeza (to hit someone over the head with). But a deep kindness? How can that be?
As a matter of fact, I recently had a very difficult conversation with someone I love very much because I made a statement of a historical fact, a truth if you will, and she took it not simply as an unkind statement, but as defamatory and unfair. Any “truth” that makes her look bad or undermines her fragile self esteem is not to be stated under any circumstances or else. How can stating the truth under those particular circumstances be anything but unkind?
During the last few weeks I have been experiencing a very peaceful and kind truth and perhaps reflecting on this experience may help us intuit what KG is trying to share above. I have recently faced two sides of one “truth”: I am very unhappy living with my husband, and I am very happy living on my own. I could say that the first part is an unkind truth because it focuses on all the things that are wrong in my marriage, like my hypercriticism of my husband’s inhumane working style and his neglecting our relationship in favor of his profession. Dwelling on it makes me angry and bitter and uncharitable. The other part of the same truth is that I am very much at peace in my own company, not worrying about things I can’t control, eating when my body needs to, sleeping long and peacefully, discovering parts of me I had never had a chance to relate to, focusing on the present and not the past or the future. This is a very kind truth because it makes me smile when I dwell on it, and who can be mean or ungrateful while smiling from the heart? It’s a truth that makes me a better, healthier, happier, kinder person, and much nicer to relate to.
Kahlil Gibran’s statement may be easier to interpret in the context of the parable it was included in. There is a difficult and delicate paradox there: on one hand “Truth is a deep kindness that teaches us to be content in our everyday life and share with the people the same happiness,” yet “it does not disclose its desirability except to those who first feel the influence of falsehood.” In my case, I thought I was living in the toxic context of a negative truth: “my husband loves his work more than me.” In reality I was living a lie: “I need to sacrifice my life and happiness in order to make this marriage work.”
I had to discover the falsehood of that statement before I could embrace the profound and kind truth that life does not have to be miserable, that there is no real marriage if there is no intimacy, that it’s better to be alone than in bad company, that there is joy in being one’s best friend. It’s a truth that makes me happy in a much smaller and less luxurious home, eating simpler meals, going down the stairs to walk my dog instead of letting him out the door a few times a day, making time for lovely people in my life, being glad to see my husband when we choose to meet instead of getting angry because he’s late again, being happy instead of depressed. It’s a truth and a joy that I am happy to share!
Monday, October 12, 2009
On Friendship and Peace
Your friend is your needs answered. He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving. And he is your board and your fireside. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
Kahlil Gibran
There is nothing sweeter than a true friend, and today I tasted that sweetness with a relatively new friend. For many years I have been relatively isolated, too busy to make time for my friends, but lately I have made it a priority to stay in touch with my good friends, new and old, and they have all proven to be a blessing to me.
I needed company, someone to listern to me and to bounce my thoughts and feelings, my joys and my tears off of. I have been starving for friends for some time now. Good friends that know when to listen silently and with their full hearts; when to express an opinion in a gentle and loving way; when to laugh with me, and when to watch me cry. Someone who loves me enough to let me know if I'm straying off my path, which could be different from hers; to refrain from judging me or the people I may be frustrated about, knowing that people can grow and change, and that labels often hurt relationships beyond repair. Someone who will not fan the fires of my anger or sadness or self-pity, but contemplate their ferocity and help transform that energy into something positive.
I have been so blessed through my friends lately! They have each fulfilled a particular need in a very special way, and today I feel satisfied, grateful, and at peace. The love I've put into those relationships has ben returned to me ten thousand fold!
Kahlil Gibran
There is nothing sweeter than a true friend, and today I tasted that sweetness with a relatively new friend. For many years I have been relatively isolated, too busy to make time for my friends, but lately I have made it a priority to stay in touch with my good friends, new and old, and they have all proven to be a blessing to me.
I needed company, someone to listern to me and to bounce my thoughts and feelings, my joys and my tears off of. I have been starving for friends for some time now. Good friends that know when to listen silently and with their full hearts; when to express an opinion in a gentle and loving way; when to laugh with me, and when to watch me cry. Someone who loves me enough to let me know if I'm straying off my path, which could be different from hers; to refrain from judging me or the people I may be frustrated about, knowing that people can grow and change, and that labels often hurt relationships beyond repair. Someone who will not fan the fires of my anger or sadness or self-pity, but contemplate their ferocity and help transform that energy into something positive.
I have been so blessed through my friends lately! They have each fulfilled a particular need in a very special way, and today I feel satisfied, grateful, and at peace. The love I've put into those relationships has ben returned to me ten thousand fold!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
On Sadness and Joy
Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.
Kahlil Gibran
I had such a lovely morning today, full of the joy of family, babies, children, companionship. It was so wonderful to hold my newborn grandson in my arms until he fell asleep bursting with little smiles of contentment; to watch my young granddaughter earnestly and passionately dancing to romantic ballads as if in a trance; to see the pride in my daughter and son-in-law’s faces as they contemplate their children thriving and growing surrounded by love; to see my husband blissfully playing the role of the absent-minded host; to cook a simple brunch for my loved ones. What simple and delicious joy to be alive and smothered in love!
Time flew by, and soon the little family had to go home so my husband and I could work on our retirement plans or lack thereof. Hugs, kisses, goodbyes; time to get to work. In a manner of minutes the joy was gone and a wall of sadness grew between us brick by brick by lonely brick. What strangers we are to each other after so many years sharing our lives! So many hopes and dreams, worries and concerns, triumphs and frustrations that we’ve never shared with each other because we didn’t have the time and privacy to do so! How acutely aware of these losses I have been for the best part of my life, and how blissfully unaware my hard-working husband has been! How it angered him to be forced to face the fact that he’s been AWOL from our home and marriage all these years! My sadness could not contain these revelations that have become part of my bones and sinews since I was such a young woman I that was barely more than a child.
It is not easy for him to realize I have chosen to retire from my housewife career before I die an early and painful spiritual death. He cannot formulate in his mind or even breathe the word retirement without having it get stuck in his throat and choking on it. Work is his life, his identity, his religion, his mistress, his all. It has sucked his imagination, his strength, his sense of humor, his passion for our friendship and togetherness, and lately, even his health.
My sadness grew and deepened as we continued to make an effort to communicate with each other, and his anxiety and frustration blossomed into anger and accusations that I considered totally unfounded and born of ignorance and alienation. I wanted to leave as fast as I could and find solace in my quiet little apartment where I could try to forget why I had felt there was no other way for me to survive as a healthy individual as long as we slept in the same bed and shared this beautiful house that rarely has been a home for me. My heart was turning into stone.
I packed my computer, printer, battery backup, and office supplies to take with me and he offered to help me carry them up the stairs to my place. At first I wanted to refuse so I could put him away from my life for the time being, but then the sky started to sob uncontrollably with sheets of watery grief and lightning groans, so I had to humbly and gratefully accept the offer he’d generously made as a peace offering.
We ran to our cars and got drenched in the process. It was even worse a few minutes later when we unloaded my stuff. I was soaked to my underwear like my heart bleeding with grief. He was very sheepish and sweet when he said goodbye. I said, “This has been extremely hard for me.” “Me too,” he replied, with sadness and a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I couldn’t wait to close the door and dissolve into tears, but something in me wanted to climb the wall of pain and hurt and sadness and feast my eyes on the love and hope on the other side.
I didn’t have the strength right away to tear down my wall of sadness and peek at a hopeful future with or without my childhood sweetheart. But I didn’t want to stay mired in pain. I decided to go to a movie by myself; a slow moving story about a very poor woman all alone in the world who loves nature and struggles to make ends meet as a maid. She honors her gift of painting and produces some amazingly beautiful works that bring her much joy and some financial security. There is a reversal of fortune and she goes mad and ends up in an asylum, but at the end of the film she is recovered enough to move to a room where she can walk out into a beautiful garden and sit under a tree with a blissful look on her face.
I really enjoyed the movie and was inspired to honor my creativity in any way possible. When I got home and started to write I realized that I had traversed my wall of sadness and, like the heroine in the movie, I had walked into a peaceful garden of simple joys and hope: my gift from God for my faithfulness and trust.
Kahlil Gibran
I had such a lovely morning today, full of the joy of family, babies, children, companionship. It was so wonderful to hold my newborn grandson in my arms until he fell asleep bursting with little smiles of contentment; to watch my young granddaughter earnestly and passionately dancing to romantic ballads as if in a trance; to see the pride in my daughter and son-in-law’s faces as they contemplate their children thriving and growing surrounded by love; to see my husband blissfully playing the role of the absent-minded host; to cook a simple brunch for my loved ones. What simple and delicious joy to be alive and smothered in love!
Time flew by, and soon the little family had to go home so my husband and I could work on our retirement plans or lack thereof. Hugs, kisses, goodbyes; time to get to work. In a manner of minutes the joy was gone and a wall of sadness grew between us brick by brick by lonely brick. What strangers we are to each other after so many years sharing our lives! So many hopes and dreams, worries and concerns, triumphs and frustrations that we’ve never shared with each other because we didn’t have the time and privacy to do so! How acutely aware of these losses I have been for the best part of my life, and how blissfully unaware my hard-working husband has been! How it angered him to be forced to face the fact that he’s been AWOL from our home and marriage all these years! My sadness could not contain these revelations that have become part of my bones and sinews since I was such a young woman I that was barely more than a child.
It is not easy for him to realize I have chosen to retire from my housewife career before I die an early and painful spiritual death. He cannot formulate in his mind or even breathe the word retirement without having it get stuck in his throat and choking on it. Work is his life, his identity, his religion, his mistress, his all. It has sucked his imagination, his strength, his sense of humor, his passion for our friendship and togetherness, and lately, even his health.
My sadness grew and deepened as we continued to make an effort to communicate with each other, and his anxiety and frustration blossomed into anger and accusations that I considered totally unfounded and born of ignorance and alienation. I wanted to leave as fast as I could and find solace in my quiet little apartment where I could try to forget why I had felt there was no other way for me to survive as a healthy individual as long as we slept in the same bed and shared this beautiful house that rarely has been a home for me. My heart was turning into stone.
I packed my computer, printer, battery backup, and office supplies to take with me and he offered to help me carry them up the stairs to my place. At first I wanted to refuse so I could put him away from my life for the time being, but then the sky started to sob uncontrollably with sheets of watery grief and lightning groans, so I had to humbly and gratefully accept the offer he’d generously made as a peace offering.
We ran to our cars and got drenched in the process. It was even worse a few minutes later when we unloaded my stuff. I was soaked to my underwear like my heart bleeding with grief. He was very sheepish and sweet when he said goodbye. I said, “This has been extremely hard for me.” “Me too,” he replied, with sadness and a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I couldn’t wait to close the door and dissolve into tears, but something in me wanted to climb the wall of pain and hurt and sadness and feast my eyes on the love and hope on the other side.
I didn’t have the strength right away to tear down my wall of sadness and peek at a hopeful future with or without my childhood sweetheart. But I didn’t want to stay mired in pain. I decided to go to a movie by myself; a slow moving story about a very poor woman all alone in the world who loves nature and struggles to make ends meet as a maid. She honors her gift of painting and produces some amazingly beautiful works that bring her much joy and some financial security. There is a reversal of fortune and she goes mad and ends up in an asylum, but at the end of the film she is recovered enough to move to a room where she can walk out into a beautiful garden and sit under a tree with a blissful look on her face.
I really enjoyed the movie and was inspired to honor my creativity in any way possible. When I got home and started to write I realized that I had traversed my wall of sadness and, like the heroine in the movie, I had walked into a peaceful garden of simple joys and hope: my gift from God for my faithfulness and trust.
Friday, October 9, 2009
On Communication and Meaning
"Half of what I say is meaningless; but I say it so that the other half may reach you."
Kahlil Gibran
I often persuade myself that I have something important, even crucial to say; a secret I have to share for the redemption of humanity. That important, that conceited, I know! So I set off on my writing and speaking journey, a mission of sorts, and try to string a necklace of carefully chosen words and thoughts to bring joy to your life, my beloved friends. When I’m done crafting this gift I magnanimously wish to bestow on you, I realize that half the pearls are fake and some of the golden shine comes from the rays of the sun and not from the intrinsic value of my ideas.
What to do? I panic. All this time and effort dedicated to something that may or may not be appreciated; may or may not be valuable after all!
I sit under the shadow of the cypress by the water’s edge and consider throwing away my flawed and insignificant work, but KG inspires me and encourages me not to give up. If even a fraction of my words are true and rich and they can touch your heart, then it’s worth it to throw my secrets to the wind and hope that some sweet and lovely part of them may reach you.
Kahlil Gibran
I often persuade myself that I have something important, even crucial to say; a secret I have to share for the redemption of humanity. That important, that conceited, I know! So I set off on my writing and speaking journey, a mission of sorts, and try to string a necklace of carefully chosen words and thoughts to bring joy to your life, my beloved friends. When I’m done crafting this gift I magnanimously wish to bestow on you, I realize that half the pearls are fake and some of the golden shine comes from the rays of the sun and not from the intrinsic value of my ideas.
What to do? I panic. All this time and effort dedicated to something that may or may not be appreciated; may or may not be valuable after all!
I sit under the shadow of the cypress by the water’s edge and consider throwing away my flawed and insignificant work, but KG inspires me and encourages me not to give up. If even a fraction of my words are true and rich and they can touch your heart, then it’s worth it to throw my secrets to the wind and hope that some sweet and lovely part of them may reach you.
On Love and Spiritual Affinity
"It is wrong to think that love comes from long companionship and persevering courtship. Love is the offspring of spiritual affinity and unless that affinity is created in a moment, it will not be created for years or even generations." Kahlil Gibran
I was still a child when I fell in love with my husband, a child himself. First I was attracted to his handsome and cheerful face, then to his musical talent, his values, and gradually to his tender and generous sexuality. We spent countless hours literally gazing into each other’s eyes, trying to discover the depth of our spirits. We talked endlessly about our hopes and fears and dreams, our love for our country and our families, our desire to impact the world in a positive way, our faith, and our spirituality. We seemed to be a perfect match. We had a common calling and a vocation for marriage.
So after many years of courtship we considered ourselves fully grown adults that knew each other to the bone and we got married. Marriage changed our relationship practically overnight. Perhaps it was the nature of our lifestyle, cultural expectations, familial pressures, personal anxieties and shortcomings. Who knows? The fact is that we started to drift apart right away and it caught us by surprise and unawares.
He immersed himself in his career, I in taking care of him and our children. We led parallel lives and on occasion found time to be together and be good friends. Most of the time he was emotionally distant and spent long hours away from home. I pursued him in any way I could imagine and assumed responsibility for all household and childrearing activities and even for our sexual encounters. He found other loves and I forgave him because he chose me instead. His family of origin drove a wedge between us, but I was convinced that, in time, I could get them to love and accept me. His career sucked the life and joy out of him, but I believed him when he said that this or that change coming up in a couple of months or a couple of years would bring us back together again.
We experienced much joy and pain together. We were a great team in a crisis, but we didn’t seem to be able to enjoy daily life’s routine together because he was hardly ever around on a consistent basis. When he was he was a surly and exhausted stranger, alienated from our family routine. I was so strong and self-sufficient that I survived without him and our children did too, but our love didn’t.
Not that we began to hate each other; we remained close friends. But the intimacy of our childhood days disappeared and we gradually became strangers to each other. We fought and argued, went to retreats and marriage counseling every so often, did intensive couple’s counseling, learned better communication skills and the difference between aggression and assertiveness. We traveled together; we prayed together; we went to parties and hosted parties together. We took care of our ailing parents and rescued our grown children from financial catastrophe. We even remodeled our house “together”: I did all the designing, hiring, supervising, and management of the project and he made sure there was always enough money in the bank for me to pay the vendors. We were great business partners and horrible lovers. We didn’t know how to love anymore. Our spirits had not been in synch for many decades.
One day I opened my eyes and realized I had gone many extra miles trying to fix my marriage, but he was married to his career. That lover he refused to leave. I was always playing second fiddle to her and that would never change. There was no spiritual affinity between us and who knows if there ever was any before or if there would ever be any in the future. All I knew was that I was dying inside, becoming bitter and depressed. I had to leave. And I did.
I was still a child when I fell in love with my husband, a child himself. First I was attracted to his handsome and cheerful face, then to his musical talent, his values, and gradually to his tender and generous sexuality. We spent countless hours literally gazing into each other’s eyes, trying to discover the depth of our spirits. We talked endlessly about our hopes and fears and dreams, our love for our country and our families, our desire to impact the world in a positive way, our faith, and our spirituality. We seemed to be a perfect match. We had a common calling and a vocation for marriage.
So after many years of courtship we considered ourselves fully grown adults that knew each other to the bone and we got married. Marriage changed our relationship practically overnight. Perhaps it was the nature of our lifestyle, cultural expectations, familial pressures, personal anxieties and shortcomings. Who knows? The fact is that we started to drift apart right away and it caught us by surprise and unawares.
He immersed himself in his career, I in taking care of him and our children. We led parallel lives and on occasion found time to be together and be good friends. Most of the time he was emotionally distant and spent long hours away from home. I pursued him in any way I could imagine and assumed responsibility for all household and childrearing activities and even for our sexual encounters. He found other loves and I forgave him because he chose me instead. His family of origin drove a wedge between us, but I was convinced that, in time, I could get them to love and accept me. His career sucked the life and joy out of him, but I believed him when he said that this or that change coming up in a couple of months or a couple of years would bring us back together again.
We experienced much joy and pain together. We were a great team in a crisis, but we didn’t seem to be able to enjoy daily life’s routine together because he was hardly ever around on a consistent basis. When he was he was a surly and exhausted stranger, alienated from our family routine. I was so strong and self-sufficient that I survived without him and our children did too, but our love didn’t.
Not that we began to hate each other; we remained close friends. But the intimacy of our childhood days disappeared and we gradually became strangers to each other. We fought and argued, went to retreats and marriage counseling every so often, did intensive couple’s counseling, learned better communication skills and the difference between aggression and assertiveness. We traveled together; we prayed together; we went to parties and hosted parties together. We took care of our ailing parents and rescued our grown children from financial catastrophe. We even remodeled our house “together”: I did all the designing, hiring, supervising, and management of the project and he made sure there was always enough money in the bank for me to pay the vendors. We were great business partners and horrible lovers. We didn’t know how to love anymore. Our spirits had not been in synch for many decades.
One day I opened my eyes and realized I had gone many extra miles trying to fix my marriage, but he was married to his career. That lover he refused to leave. I was always playing second fiddle to her and that would never change. There was no spiritual affinity between us and who knows if there ever was any before or if there would ever be any in the future. All I knew was that I was dying inside, becoming bitter and depressed. I had to leave. And I did.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
On Knowledge and Action
A little knowledge that acts is worth infinitely more than much knowledge that is idle.
Kahlil Gibran
Have you ever experienced the pleasant sensation of something “clicking” in your brain when you “put two and two together” or when you discover something that “makes sense” or read about some new concept that makes you go “Aha!”? For me it is an emotional, physical, and spiritual sensation that can be very addictive. It makes me terribly inquisitive, an avid reader, and an eternal student.
Every day I have to have my “fix” of knowledge, discovery, or learning and I become cranky and despondent if I don’t get it. Well, this morning I thought I’d write some profound reflections on this subject, but instead decided to work on putting up some pictures and organizing my new apartment. I spent all day and night on the project of building a homey atmosphere where I can thrive and grow for as long as it takes. Now it is past one AM and I’m exhausted but relaxed and thrilled with the results of my work. My little place is cozy and warm and, although I’m not done settling in, I know I am going to be happy here.
So what did I learn today? Not something I researched on the web or a book, but the result of my experience of getting out of my usual intellectual pursuits and into the physical construction of the place I know I need. Years of introspection, reflection, study, and learning about who I am and the circumstances I’ve been living under led to my discovery that I had to make some radical changes in my life. I had known it for years but somehow I intuitively knew the time had come and I was ready to take the leap. That little knowledge that I needed to act and that I had all I needed to do it has made a bigger difference in my life than all the knowledge I had acquired during my lifetime but had yet to act upon. Perhaps that is what KG had in mind in the quote above.
In spite of all that I know about relationships, especially about my own marriage, I keep hoping that my husband will discover what his true needs are and acts on getting them met. Meanwhile, I struggle to learn how to be a good friend to him without being an enabler and trying to rescue him. I know I also have to learn how to care for myself in a healthy and committed way.
How much inaction on my part will it take for him to take charge of his life? After almost 40 years together, old habits die hard. I know it won’t be easy for either one of us to learn what we need to. To muster the courage to act on at least a fraction of that knowledge is quite a different thing altogether!
Kahlil Gibran
Have you ever experienced the pleasant sensation of something “clicking” in your brain when you “put two and two together” or when you discover something that “makes sense” or read about some new concept that makes you go “Aha!”? For me it is an emotional, physical, and spiritual sensation that can be very addictive. It makes me terribly inquisitive, an avid reader, and an eternal student.
Every day I have to have my “fix” of knowledge, discovery, or learning and I become cranky and despondent if I don’t get it. Well, this morning I thought I’d write some profound reflections on this subject, but instead decided to work on putting up some pictures and organizing my new apartment. I spent all day and night on the project of building a homey atmosphere where I can thrive and grow for as long as it takes. Now it is past one AM and I’m exhausted but relaxed and thrilled with the results of my work. My little place is cozy and warm and, although I’m not done settling in, I know I am going to be happy here.
So what did I learn today? Not something I researched on the web or a book, but the result of my experience of getting out of my usual intellectual pursuits and into the physical construction of the place I know I need. Years of introspection, reflection, study, and learning about who I am and the circumstances I’ve been living under led to my discovery that I had to make some radical changes in my life. I had known it for years but somehow I intuitively knew the time had come and I was ready to take the leap. That little knowledge that I needed to act and that I had all I needed to do it has made a bigger difference in my life than all the knowledge I had acquired during my lifetime but had yet to act upon. Perhaps that is what KG had in mind in the quote above.
In spite of all that I know about relationships, especially about my own marriage, I keep hoping that my husband will discover what his true needs are and acts on getting them met. Meanwhile, I struggle to learn how to be a good friend to him without being an enabler and trying to rescue him. I know I also have to learn how to care for myself in a healthy and committed way.
How much inaction on my part will it take for him to take charge of his life? After almost 40 years together, old habits die hard. I know it won’t be easy for either one of us to learn what we need to. To muster the courage to act on at least a fraction of that knowledge is quite a different thing altogether!
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Of Pride and Need
Generosity is giving more than you can, and pride is taking less than you need.
Kahlil Gibran
My generosity has always been a source of personal pride for me and detachment from material possessions something I strive for. Don’t get me wrong, I love beautiful things, comfort, and luxury as much as anybody else and I joke about my expensive taste, but my desire for balance, moderation and peace usually overrules my lust for luxury and pleasure. In general, I have managed to make do with less whenever I thought that was the right thing to do. I made sure my husband and children’s needs were met even if that meant doing without some basic stuff for me. I was married many years before I allowed myself to get a car that was not what my family needed or wanted and many more before I could afford the kitchen of my dreams. It took over thirty-five years to give myself permission to have that kitchen and all the accoutrements that others in my position take for granted. I only needed nine months to exchange it for my freedom.
Today Kahlil Gibran shocked me by pointing out that the definition of pride for him is taking less than one needs. By that measure I have been guilty of obstinate arrogance for most of my life! That is the opposite of what I learned from my devoutly Catholic mother. For her, self-denial and mortification of the body were akin to saintliness; pride and self-indulgence capital sins. I tried to moderate her example and not go to the extremes that she considered obligatory, but I internalized the general concepts nonetheless. Yet my studies and reflections on the Christian Scriptures showed me a different worldview, one in which moderation in everything is a good rule of thumb and where asking for and taking what one needs is to be expected. Jesus himself went to parties and enjoyed a good meal and good wine surrounded with friends, and he took the little boy’s food and not only fed five thousand but I’d bet he also ate with them. He also asked Lazarus to come down from the tree because he wanted to have a meal in his house, yet he lived and died for the love of others. Throughout my life I’ve been generous to a fault and sometimes falsely so, more because I needed to feel pride in my giving than giving out of true love. I’d like to think that that prideful pseudo-generosity was more the exception than the rule!
One day a little over a week ago, I put aside my pride and left that kitchen of my dreams, my gilded cage, for a simpler, less efficient and more peaceful one. I am proud to say I did not settle for a tiny apartment in order to save money and have my husband’s approval. I took the apartment I needed to grow and thrive in, the one with the beautiful view and the extra bedroom for children and grandchildren to come stay in whenever they want and an office/art studio to work in. I saved money in a different manner: I furnished my apartment with leftover furniture that didn’t get sold a few months ago, hand-me-down furniture from my children, and furniture from my old home that I figured my husband didn’t need to be happy. It looks beautiful, it’s comfortable and functional, and it feels like my home, not the paycheck for my sacrifices. I am happy here.
I miss many things from my old life, mostly things. I also miss my husband, but it may be that I’m missing my dream of the husband I wanted him to be. But I’m happy to be alive and strong and at peace with myself and the world; proud to have taken what I needed. That’s the right kind of pride. It comes from knowing what I truly need.
Kahlil Gibran
My generosity has always been a source of personal pride for me and detachment from material possessions something I strive for. Don’t get me wrong, I love beautiful things, comfort, and luxury as much as anybody else and I joke about my expensive taste, but my desire for balance, moderation and peace usually overrules my lust for luxury and pleasure. In general, I have managed to make do with less whenever I thought that was the right thing to do. I made sure my husband and children’s needs were met even if that meant doing without some basic stuff for me. I was married many years before I allowed myself to get a car that was not what my family needed or wanted and many more before I could afford the kitchen of my dreams. It took over thirty-five years to give myself permission to have that kitchen and all the accoutrements that others in my position take for granted. I only needed nine months to exchange it for my freedom.
Today Kahlil Gibran shocked me by pointing out that the definition of pride for him is taking less than one needs. By that measure I have been guilty of obstinate arrogance for most of my life! That is the opposite of what I learned from my devoutly Catholic mother. For her, self-denial and mortification of the body were akin to saintliness; pride and self-indulgence capital sins. I tried to moderate her example and not go to the extremes that she considered obligatory, but I internalized the general concepts nonetheless. Yet my studies and reflections on the Christian Scriptures showed me a different worldview, one in which moderation in everything is a good rule of thumb and where asking for and taking what one needs is to be expected. Jesus himself went to parties and enjoyed a good meal and good wine surrounded with friends, and he took the little boy’s food and not only fed five thousand but I’d bet he also ate with them. He also asked Lazarus to come down from the tree because he wanted to have a meal in his house, yet he lived and died for the love of others. Throughout my life I’ve been generous to a fault and sometimes falsely so, more because I needed to feel pride in my giving than giving out of true love. I’d like to think that that prideful pseudo-generosity was more the exception than the rule!
One day a little over a week ago, I put aside my pride and left that kitchen of my dreams, my gilded cage, for a simpler, less efficient and more peaceful one. I am proud to say I did not settle for a tiny apartment in order to save money and have my husband’s approval. I took the apartment I needed to grow and thrive in, the one with the beautiful view and the extra bedroom for children and grandchildren to come stay in whenever they want and an office/art studio to work in. I saved money in a different manner: I furnished my apartment with leftover furniture that didn’t get sold a few months ago, hand-me-down furniture from my children, and furniture from my old home that I figured my husband didn’t need to be happy. It looks beautiful, it’s comfortable and functional, and it feels like my home, not the paycheck for my sacrifices. I am happy here.
I miss many things from my old life, mostly things. I also miss my husband, but it may be that I’m missing my dream of the husband I wanted him to be. But I’m happy to be alive and strong and at peace with myself and the world; proud to have taken what I needed. That’s the right kind of pride. It comes from knowing what I truly need.
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