Choosing Wisdom Over Control

On the wall at my gym this morning I saw a plaque on the wall that read, “Innovation—If you want to predict the future, create it.” I have always struggled with simplistic positive-thinking quips. They sound really good on the surface but ignore how much of life we simply can’t control. That’s why I’ll take the Serenity Prayer any day over simple positive thinking, self-help techniques. “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” This covers it all. As soon as we think that everything is in our control, we are in big trouble. But that doesn’t mean we’re off the hook. We don’t get to “let go and let God.” Our real work, once we move past magical thinking and unrealistic responsibility-taking, starts when we get wise about what we can control and what we can’t control.

What makes this discernment especially hard, though, is that we live in a consumer culture. Everywhere we turn we are being sold something: food, diet advice, pharmaceuticals, clothes, style tips, homes, décor, parenting advice, and even spirituality. The real message underneath all the ads, though, is this, “If you get or do the right stuff, you can be in control.” Spoiler alert, this is nonsense. Terrible, unfair, unjust, and painful things happen no matter how much you go to the gym, how great your skin looks, how much clean eating you do, how organized you are, how many self-help books you read, or how much you pray. I know this seems like terrible news, but it’s actually liberating good news! It means you can stop wasting all of your precious energy on self-defeating perfectionism and start investing your energy in practices that make you humble, resilient, kind, and wise.

That’s what real serenity is. Real serenity comes when we cultivate loving relationships, surrender to the Grace of God whose love we can’t earn, and participate in practices that soften our hearts and strengthen our spirits. Serenity comes when we attend to what is merciful and just and find ways to use our gifts and talents to add to the mercy and justice already at work in the world. Serenity comes when we stop obsessing about happiness and take steps toward wholeness. We can and do create the future. We create the future when we love our people when they’re hard to love. We create the future when we smile and talk to someone we don’t know at in our faith communities, instead of circling up with familiar people. We create the future when we take an hour for ourselves and fill it with exercise, meditation, worship, reading, listening to a beautiful piece of music, or gazing out at a beautiful view. We create the future when we talk with a counselor to work through pain and loss that has a life-draining hold on us. We create the future when we make art, pursue research, and explore our curiosity. We create the future when we speak truth to power.

The bad news is that we will never be in control. The great news is that control is overrated; wisdom is not. Get wise about what keeps you from loving and accepting love. Get wise about what keeps you from forgiving and being forgiven. Get wise about what gives you deep joy. Get wise about what you can change and what you can’t or shouldn’t change. Get wise about what you are gifted at doing, and how you can use those gifts to make a more merciful and just world. Most of all, get wise about the ways in which self-reliance can get in the way of Grace. True wisdom happens when we admit how much we don’t know and how great is our need of one another. So, don’t worry about being in control. Work on being whole. Don’t worry about predicting the future. Work on showing up in your present. It won’t be easy. It won’t be painless, but the wisdom, community, and Grace you will find there will be the greatest gift you will ever receive.

Bunnies, Burrows, and the Power of "Yes. And..."

My living room couch sits in front of a big picture window. Through the fabric of my gauzy white translucent curtains I can see people walking their dogs, moms pushing strollers, dads walking hand in hand with their pre-schoolers, and animals busying themselves in my yard as if to say, "I like what you've done with the place, but we're just going to have to make these few key changes. The current layout just isn't quite working for us." This morning I watched a bunny preparing a nest in a hole she had made in my yard. My son and I watched from the couch as she pulled up blades of grass and carried them in neat little mouth-bundles back to the nest. Each time someone walked past she would look up like and act all nonchalant for a second before digging back in to her project.

I know that some of my neighbors go all Mr. MacGregor on the chipmunks, squirrels, and bunnies in their yards. They don’t want their lawn damaged, or property value diminished. Yes, and as I watched my lawn bunny undertake her work I felt happy that my yard was making space for another little home—a safe space for new life. My daughter recently attended the Science Fiction convention with her dad. One of the talks was on a genre of science fiction called “solar punk.” These stories are set in a future world in which solar power is the norm, and the architecture is adapted to the natural environment. Glass buildings curve and spiral around trees and plants. Vertical gardens punctuate the skyline. All transportation is underground, leaving city streets for foot and bike traffic only. As I enjoyed watching the bunny carve out a hole for her babies, I realized that I would rather have a hole in my lawn full of baby bunnies than a flawless yard with no room for the creatures who inhabited it in the first place. Yes, I’m a bleeding heart of the first order, and I don’t see that as a bad thing.

            Perspective can change everything. From a homeowner’s point of view, my lawn bunny is committing yard destruction. From the bunny’s perspective it’s simply undertaking home construction. As I sat next to my son on the couch watching him marveling at the bunny (instead of his video games) I realized that our relationships are all a matter of perspective. We think we know what our roles are, and we act accordingly. When our child screams at us we might think it’s disrespect. When our spouse or partner needs time alone we might take it personally. When our friendships change, we might assume we did something wrong, or that they don’t care enough. When our community changes, we might feel like it’s sad that it’s not the way it used to be.

            What if we shifted our perspective and stepped into another’s shoes for a moment? What if we said "yes" to our perspective, but then added "and" and considered the other's perspective. When our child screams, yes, it might be disrespectful, and they want attention and connection and don’t know how to ask for it. When our spouse or partner needs time alone, yes, we feel disconnected from them, and they might feel overwhelmed and need some space to process that. When our friendships change, yes, we're hurt that she or he isn't calling, and he or she may be facing a lot of difficult challenges and doesn't quite know how to be honest with themselves, much less be authentic with their friends. When our community changes, yes, we miss the comfort of the old ways, and new things are emerging.

            We are creatures of habit. We want to feel secure, certain, and comfortable. We like to think that we can figure things out then proceed accordingly. After all, we didn’t spend money and time manicuring a perfect lawn, raising kids, nurturing relationships, and investing in our community for nothing! Sometimes, though, what looks like destruction from one point of view is really construction from another. Sometimes it’s hard to make space for a new perspective, a new way of relating, or a new way of showing up in our community. Sometimes what feels like an intrusion or inconvenience is actually an invitation to share ourselves, and our spaces, in new and potentially life-giving ways. Sometimes, instead of reacting to a “problem” right away, we can take a moment to shift our perspective, see things from another angle, and allow space for a new way. Sometimes, as students of improvisation will tell you, it’s amazing what can be created when we are willing to set aside our scripts and expectations and simply say, “Yes. And…”

Trading in The Giving Tree Life for the Beloved Life

Social media is full of quotes, reminders, and articles about the importance of living your best life, of self-care, and of striving for happiness. We all know that we only have this one precious life. We all know that we need to put our own oxygen mask on before helping others. So why is this so hard to do? Most of us spend lots of time telling ourselves what we should do, and very little time doing it.  It’s true that most of us are short on time and long on important duties and obligations. But that’s not really an excuse. What we seem to struggle with the most (myself included) is a wicked combination of a martyr complex and fear paralysis.

On one hand we believe, even if unconsciously, that forgetting ourselves to care for others is a noble thing. To some extent, it’s what people of faith are called to do. We should not be so self-absorbed that we fail to recognize and work to repair the brokenness and injustices in our world. However, we are not called to empty ourselves. We are not called to be the living embodiment of The Giving Tree  (a book that is nothing but a cautionary tale for the martyr complex—it’s what a total lack of self-care and boundaries leads to)! Somewhere along the way some of us got the message that if we really love people we will sacrifice whatever is necessary to make them happy. What we need to remember is that we can’t make anyone else happy. That’s not our job! We can love people, help people, support people, and care for people. What we can’t do is fix or change people. Martyring ourselves will not inspire others to change. It will only deprive us of the oxygen we need to flourish—the oxygen of self-care, nourishment, quiet, exercise, creativity, connection, and play. A tree that has been cut down to a stump can’t clean the air, house the birds, provide shade, or bear fruit. Boundaries help us preserve what we need to nourish who we were created to be. Boundaries help us bear fruit in our lives. Boundaries preserve the means by which we can be repairers, healers, activists, innovators, and creators. We do not need to empty ourselves in order to fill others’ cups.  

Then there’s the fear.  So many of the decisions we make are motivated by fear.  It’s not usually fear with a capital “F,” like fear of heights or fear of death. What paralyzes us are the fears with a lower-case “f,”: fear of change; fear of embarrassment; fear of making mistakes; and fear of bothering, inconveniencing, or upsetting others. While these fears don’t seem big, they’re actually the most paralyzing, because they point to the things that we need most in the world—belonging, security, and connection. Practicing self-care—flourishing rather than simply surviving—is fundamentally about pushing past all the “little” fears and claiming our identity as beloved children of a loving creator. I don’t mean claiming an identity that says, “I’m special, so I deserve to neglect others and pamper myself.” That’s entitlement. I mean that we must claim an identity of wholeness. We must always remember, and remind others, that we are meant to love and be loved. Fred Rogers always said that “the greatest thing we can do is to show others that they are loved and that they are capable of loving.” I know. He should be canonized as a saint YESTERDAY!  What I often ask myself (over and over, because I keep failing at it) is “Would you want your children to treat themselves the way you are treating yourself, talking to yourself, or being treated?” If the answer is no, we have work to do. We need to put ourselves on the list!

So how do we do this when we have work, bills, and loved ones who need tending? “We can’t let people down” we say to ourselves. I think the problem starts when we set goals for ourselves that are too big and too unattainable. Our resolutions are often: lose 50 pounds; save $5000 for an emergency fund; make sure our children are happy; keep a constantly clean house; overhaul our whole diet; be a better friend. These goals are noble, but HUGE! What if we simply started small. The best path out of the woods of martyrdom is marked with simple, humble stepping stones.

The first step is to just breathe.  If we pay attention to our breath, we realize that we rarely breathe slowly and deeply. Breathe slowly and deeply. The world won’t stop turning. The next step might be to simply call a friend and put an actual date on the calendar for coffee and GO! While you’re there, sipping that beautiful brew, show up in the moment. Listen with your whole attention. Laugh! Be open. Don’t bother trying to act like you have all your stuff together. Fred Rogers says that attention is a holy thing because when we really pay attention to someone, we’re doing what God does for us all the time. When you talk yourself out of exercise, because you think of it as a luxury, instead think of it as medicine that you can’t live without. The truth is, it is!

So often, we live like martyrs and are paralyzed with fears because we suffer under the delusion that there is nothing we can really change or stop doing. We think that we must have the house in the “right” neighborhood, so we take on financial obligations that guide everything else we do. We think we can’t tell the people we love what we are feeling and needing because they should be able to read our minds and already know. Or, worse, we think we’ll burden them.  We think we can’t go to that group fitness class because we’ll be the most out-of-shape one in the room. We think we can’t say “no” to our kids’ requests because they’ll think we’re mean, poor providers, or they won’t be like the other kids. We think we have to post only the positive experiences on social media because otherwise people will think we are a downer and won’t follow us.  At the heart of so many of our actions or inaction is fear that is grounded in delusion. The truth is, we do not need to live in the “right” neighborhood. There are plenty of good neighborhoods, with plenty of fabulous people. We need to spend more time being good neighbors than we do judging our neighbors.

The truth is, the people we love can’t  read our minds. I don’t quote Dr. Phil very often, but he’s right when he says, “Do you wanna be happy, or do you wanna be right?” Tell your people what you’re feeling. Tell them what you need. Maybe don’t say “I need for you not to be an idiot,” but definitely say, “I feel worried and I need a long hug.”  The truth is, you might go to that group fitness class and have someone mistake you for being pregnant. Who cares? If those people aren’t the one’s showing up for you when you’re hurting, their opinion doesn’t get to matter. 

The truth is, we’re likely to do more damage to our kids if we don’t say “no” often enough. The world is a hard place, with much to overcome. If we don’t give them practice overcoming or sacrificing, they won’t be equipped to be good neighbors and people, won’t learn compassion, and won’t know how to renounce things. We are raising humans whose job it is not simply to be happy, but to be good, kind, compassionate, people who can help repair and heal the world.

So let’s stop living Giving Tree lives, and start living beloved lives. Let’s live, not as though we are too broken or busy to be worthy of care, but as if we are too precious not to.  Somewhere on the other side of martyrdom and fear lies a humble little path of uneven stepping stones. That path isn’t clearly marked or well-worn. You should bring friends, wear sturdy, comfortable shoes, and get ready to get messy. There’s no clean or easy way through. At the end, though, there is a table where cups are overflowing,  food is nourishing, and the canopy of trees is breathtaking! No stumps, just arched branches that spent decades bathing in sunlight, drinking in fresh water, and putting down deep roots in good soil.  They didn’t have any idea what they should have done. They just did what they were created to do, and it is a thing of beauty.