The Present Alone is True

The German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer once wrote, "The present alone is true and real: it is real, fulfilled time and our existence lies exclusively in it."

Which reminder I sorely needed to hear today... I woke up at a quarter to five from a nightmare about my forthcoming operation and *immediately* began to catastrophise about anything and everything which might go wrong, and how I was going to deal with it / them. 

Which is a Complete Waste of my time and energy and emotions. It will turn out how it turns out and I will cope with it. I need to remember that so many people are so much worse off than I am, and to stop indulging in this crazy-making fear of the future, fear of the unknown. Which is only making me miserable, and gets me precisely nowhere. One of the more ridiculous worries was how I was going to wear a dress on Christmas Day, when I couldn't wear tights because of the surgical boot. (I know, crazy, right?) So I've treated myself to a pair of legwarmers, one of which I'll wear on the "good" leg. Sorted.

Instead, I will strive to live in the present which, as Schopenhauer reminds us, "alone is true and real." So just now, I'm writing this blogpost, then I'm going to go downstairs and get this year's round robin Christmas letter written, so that I can get all the Christmas cards done tomorrow. Then I'm going out for a coffee with a dear friend, then going round to see my son and his family, including my two precious grandsons. And this evening, I will complete my latest crochet project, a Rainforest Retreat shawl made from the seven colours of the rainbow balls of wool I bought in Salzburg in September. I have one round plus the border to go, and I'm loving how it's turned out.

Truly, I have so much to be grateful for.

I am doing all I can to be as up to date with my work as I can be, before the 5th. After which, I must just let it go, rest and recover. The District will survive fine without me, and after the first few weeks, I should be able to at least do some work on my laptop. 

But for now, I know I'll delay that much-desired recovery if I mis-spend those first few weeks stressing about all the things I *ought* to be doing. So I'm planning to spend the time reading and writing, stitching and crocheting - four sedentary pastimes which I love.

Let It Go. The hardest three words in the English language.... But at least I'm aware of the futility of worrying, and know that I simply have to go with the flow and be grateful for the skill of the podiatric surgeon.

Truly, I have so much to be grateful for.

TGIF: Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration and Faith

I completely agree with the German humourist, poet, illustrator and painter, Wilhelm Busch, who once wrote, "Happiness often comes from paying attention to small things, unhappiness often from neglecting small things."

Because I believe that being open to, aware of, awake to the "small things" around us, the small experiences which happen to us, can give us a great and very useful sense of perspective. Let me give you a recent example: yesterday, I was driving to Danetre Hospital for my pre-op assessment, and feeling moderately terrified. But the autumn foliage on the trees by the side of the road was absolutely glorious to see - all the shades of yellow, orange, brown, copper, bronze, burgundy and red - and seeing them, appreciating their beauty, soothed my fears immensely.

And during my appointment, the consultant surgeon who is going to do my operation treated me with respect and kindness, explaining clearly what is going to happen, and listening to and answering all my questions. Which helped to pull me out of my fear and to begin to feel a certain quiet confidence that all would be well. 

I'm sure that during the next couple of weeks, I will have regular intervals of fear and trembling, but I also know that my habit of noticing the "small things" will help  to bring me back to myself - the self who has faith that everything will work out okay; that I might be uncomfortable for a few weeks, but in the end, it will have been worth it.

Brené Brown has much to say about the benefits of gratitude. She writes in The Gifts of Imperfection, "We need both happiness and joy.... But in addition to creating happiness in our lives, I've learned that we need to cultivate the spiritual practices that lead to joyfulness, especially gratitude. In my own life, I'd like to experience more happiness, but I want to live from a place of gratitude and joy."

And, "I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, inspiration and faith."

I couldn't agree more. Which is why one of my spiritual practices is an evening gratitude practice - under the heading 'Small Pleasures', I record in my journal at least three things that have made me feel grateful that day. They can be tiny things, such as "Fitbit synced!" or huge things, like the recent birth of my grandson. Or regular quiet pleasures, like "nice, relaxing evening with Maz, Luna, and crochet."

And because I record these small pleasures every day, I have some ammunition to overcome the feelings of dread and fear.... And that conversely, if I did not have a daily gratitude practice, I believe it would be only too easy to get lost in the negativity, thus causing myself unnecessary suffering. So my resolution for the next few weeks is: I will do my best to do all the things the surgeon advises me to do, then trust that everything will work out well.

"Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration, Faith." I commend them to you as a better, more joyful way of living, more sure and reliable than "Thank God It's Friday." 

Aim for the Moon

 The German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche has some good advice for us: "Aim for the moon. Even if you miss it, you'll end up among the stars."

Aiming for the moon requires a certain combination of qualities: an innate optimism, a large dollop of self-belief, and the courage to try and fail, then try again. If any of those elements is missing, it will be more difficult for us to aim high. 

If we do not have at least a little innate optimism, we'll tend to concentrate on what might go wrong instead of on what might go right. And will shrink from taking risks, just in case... When we ask the "what if?" question, our brain will supply us with negative possibilities, rather than encouragement. 

If we don't believe in ourselves and our abilities, we will find it harder to aim high, because imposter syndrome will raise its ugly head, "Who do you think you are to aim high? Other people are much better at [whatever it is] than you. You don't deserve to be here, doing this." 

If we are frightened of failure, we might rather not do anything, than try and risk not succeeding. Failure doesn't feel good and it takes a special kind of courage to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves down and stubbornly try again. I've blogged about this here.

I believe it is fatal to listen to the pessimistic, self-doubting, mouse-scared voices in our heads - they will hold us back from growing into our best selves, from aiming for the moon. And I can testify to the joys of being an innate optimist, with some self-belief and courage. I have always "gone for it" and the rewards have been enormous. My life has been much happier for it.

Considering End of Life Choices

 I have just returned from a rich retreat with some Unitarian friends, during which we played a fascinating card game called 'The Conversation Game'. The cards are available from Conversations for Life.

Each participant was given 36 cards, each of which has a particular statement about possible end of life / dying choices written on it, and we were invited to divide them into three piles without thinking about it too much, according to the following criteria:

    Pile 1: things that we really want to be in place

    Pile 2: things that are less important to us, but we'd probably still quite like, depending on the circumstances

    Pile 3: things that we are not bothered about or which we actively do *not* want to happen.

Then, following that initial sort through, we were invited to take a more leisurely browse through the three piles, before finalising them into three equal piles of 12 cards (for today, for now, because each of us were aware that our choices might change when we were actually at the point of dying). 

Then we were invited to share however many of our choices we wished to, taking Pile 3 first, then Pile 1, and finally Pile 2, giving our reasons for placing each statement in that pile. And it was fascinating to hear each other's choices and to notice the differences between us, and how much what the other participants said caused each of us to think at different points, "Oh, yeah, right, I need to move that one into X pile." in the light of the received wisdom of the group.

I've ordered my own set of cards, because I believe they'd be really useful to share with Unitarian congregations or engagement groups...