Forty-eight hours in:
Ever since I was a pre-teen, angered by my parents’ authority to tell me when to go to bed, when to play outside (play what? with whom? in the heat and humidity of South Carolina?), I’ve been driven to work for control over my own life. This drove me to leave for college at 16 years old, to select a career that allows a great deal of control over my day, and now to retire relatively early and practice saying “no” to potential commitments.
To be honest, I think my love of painting (especially in opaque media) manifests my desire to control.
Now that I’ve gained that measure of control I’ve striven for, I need to learn to let go of some elements of control. Most importantly, how can I deeply recognize that I don’t (never have, never will) control the key elements of health, wealth, and death? Less importantly, how can I become more resilient in the face of tiny shocks: a sudden noise, someone walking into a room unexpectedly, a dead bird on our deck, a power outage, things like that?
What can I learn from times when I have shown resilience – when something happened that could have made me “crumble,” but I didn’t?
1. Play to my strengths. My predilection for organization is not a bad thing. In fact, it’s an important basis for resilience – I know what and where my resources and strengths are.
2. Just tell myself to be resilient. I would like to be less high-strung and startled by surprises, but I think that may be the way my nervous system is wired. So when I’m startled, flick that switch that says “Surprise (or dismay) has been registered. Get over it.”
3. Use temporal perspective. At my age, everything is temporary. Let’s say a disgusting, gun-toting, bigoted, ill-tempered, homophobic couple buys a house next door or across the street. Within five years, either they or we will have moved away or died. At 25, five years is a long time (time enough to get through college, or marriage and first child, or grad school). At my age, five years is merely another 1800 days.
4. Try repeating three mantras, perhaps as I get out of the shower, as I stretch, and during that 2:30-3:30 a.m. hour when I am usually wide awake in bed:
a. I am not in control.
b. I am part of everything, and everything is part of me.
c. Death represents the loss of body and ego. It will be wondrous.
Perhaps work on the wording until they’re more rhythmic and more meaningful.