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.

Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway

Yesterday I was supposed to be travelling over to Evesham for a meeting, and then going on to spend the evening with my parents. Then I got an e-mail from the person I was supposed to be meeting, asking whether I thought it was wise to travel, in view of the threatened snow. I phoned them up, we had a conversation, and I decided it would be safer to meet on Skype. Which we did, and it was good.

But it meant that I then had to phone my parents and let them know I wouldn't be coming - my mother had expressed concerns about the weather earlier in the week, so the news was half-expected. But I feel really sad that I didn't see them.

And then, the threat didn't materialise - there was a little snow, but not much - "just enough to cover a Hobbit's toes" as Tolkien once wrote. I could easily have made the journey.

Which has reminded me of the quote by Susan Jeffers "Feel the fear, and do it anyway." I should have followed my gut feeling, and taken the risk. If worst had come to worst, I would have had to stay the night in Worcestershire - hardly a penance.

The things we fear very often fail to materialise. It is much better to live in the present, and to live life to the fullest. I love the quote by Helen Keller: "Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold."  Yesterday, I forgot that advice, to my regret.

In this case, my fear only spoiled my fun - I didn't get to see my parents. But fear can do dreadful things. When people are afraid, they often lash out in defensive anger. Fear of the unknown very often leads to hatred. Bertrand Russell says: "Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom." And Gandhi wrote: "The enemy is fear. We think it is hate, but it is fear."

Brene Brown has written an important book, 'Braving the Wilderness', which is partly about engaging with strangers with civility and respect, rather than fearing them, because they are unknown. She writes:

"One of the biggest drivers of the sorting that's happening today is the proliferation of the belief that 'you're either with us or you're against us.' It's an emotional line that we hear everyone, from politicians to movie heroes and villains, invoke on a regular basis. ... It's a move to force people to take sides." She goes on to write: "The ability to think past either/or situations is the foundation of critical thinking, but still, it requires courage. Getting curious and asking questions happens outside our bunkers of certainty ... The only true option is to refuse to accept the terms of the argument by challenging the framing of the debate [because] answers that have the force of emotion behind them but are not based in fact rarely provide strategic and effective solutions to nuanced problems."

In other words, if we are afraid of something, our fear is often based on lack of knowledge, or by false either/or dichotomies. Our job, as thinking human beings, is to look past the either/or position, and engage with whatever the issue / people concerned. Which means we have to overcome our fear of the unknown, open up our vulnerability, and be brave. Which is hard, but so worthwhile.

Trusting the System

It has been an eventful week! On Wednesday, my children-no-longer-children and I spent the day at Alton Towers, enjoying a last family day out together before they both go off to university this weekend.

And I was persuaded by my daughter to have a go on the new attraction, a fourteen-loop rollercoaster called The Smiler. From the ground it looked terrifying. But, not wanting to appear a wuss, and not wanting to disappoint her, I joined the queue, which lasted for 50 minutes. During that period, I had plenty of time to regret my decision, as we could watch the ride from below, and people were spending a lot of time upside down, from what I could see. My stomach was full of butterflies, and I really wasn't happy.

image: dailymail.co.uk

Then our turn came. The harness was secured and the ride - which lasted nearly three minutes, which is quite long for a rollercoaster - began.

And yes, I was frightened. As we looped over and under, and round and round I had oodles of time to wonder what would happen if something broke. The only thing that got me through without screaming was the mantra "Trust the system." In other words, I realised that at a place like Alton Towers, safety is paramount, and this was a new ride, which would be maintained to the highest standards. And that therefore I was Quite Safe and in No Danger At All.

And the recognition at the end that the fear is generally worse than the reality, and that I had survived.

This recognition is holding me in good stead now, as I help the children to pack their worldly belongings, in preparation for their departures for university - my daughter on Saturday, my son on Sunday - both freshers. I am, of course, thrilled and delighted that both of them have got into their first choice of uni, and am so happy for them as they start a new phase in their lives.

But my goodness, I'm going to miss them. And of course I'm going to worry about them endlessly in the early days. But I'm hanging on to the knowledge that I can only give them two things - roots to grow and wings to fly (to coin a cliché). And that like when I was on the rollercoaster, I need to trust the system, and have faith that their future reality will be life-enhancing and good, and that I will survive missing them, and look forward to them coming home full of stories about their new lives.

And I know that I am so very lucky - I won't be alone - my beloved husband and cat will still be here. My new reality will be quieter, but not lonely. So I give thanks.