A Brief Interlude (#13)

For those who were wondering, the middle of last week turned into a hot mess; therefore, I failed to make time for my Wednesday post. By Thursday afternoon, events occurred that inspired me to collect the pieces, and rearrange them into something better. Embracing the waves of relief, levity, and serenity, brought on by positive self-reflection and several conversations, I made the decision to pass on my regular Thursday weekly checkup. Not surprisingly, on the eve of a busy weekend, following several days of physical struggles and emotional stress, Friday became my new sabbath. I took time to recover: I ate my way to contentment and equilibrium.

Alas, when it rains, it pours. On Saturday afternoon, while two close friends and I were discussing the consequences Covid-19 has had on our lives, news came that would require us to rush out and have our children quarantined and tested. I am not concerned for our children’s health; indeed, I suspect they will all come up negative. However, just being placed in quarantine, and handed so much uncertainty, has thrown planning for the next two weeks beyond clarity and understanding.

But in moments like this, you learn things about yourself. And, while a resolution to a current crisis may not be laid out in front of you, you realize that “just okay” is not a bad position to be in.

For the moment...

(The artist is Elizabeth Sparhawk-Jones, and this work, The Dreamers, is a later painting. I found two articles about her: The Girl Behind the Counter: Elizabeth Sparhawk-Jones, and Elizabeth Sparhawk-Jones: An Overlooked Phenomenon. I have not read them, though I plan on it at some point. There were a few other of her paintings that I  found intriguing.)

This past week’s trials, my inability to produce two blog posts, and a discussion about anxiety and politics, have brought back something my boss and mentor once said to me: “Nothing human is foreign to me.” This phrase has become a sort of mantra for me when navigating the complexities of human interactions and relationships. However, to properly unpack this statement would require a much longer post, and I am not in the position to produce it. At this moment, I have not the strength, intellect, nor skill to express and explore the context and impact of this statement on my life. Neither do I have the courage to share with the world my complex relationship with my mentor. At some point I will let it all go, and inspect the scars of those last few years.

For now, I will reveal the following. Last week tested my patience. An event nearly overcame my ability to step back and analyze a volatile situation. I nearly snapped. While what I wanted say had truth behind them, the manner of expression, came from a dark, selfish, self-righteous place. And the damage would have left wounds that I would not have been able to heal.

 

My soul would have lost more than what my pride would have gained. 

For nearly twelve hours, anger and resentment tried to fuel an inferno in my mind. And for twelve hours, my mentor’s words played a major part in reducing them to smoldering embers. 

Some times you need to speak up, and some times you need to listen. Knowing the difference is a sign of great wisdom.