I recently listened to the Ted Talk Radio podcast titled Why We Hate. One contributor, writer and journalist Anand Giridharadas, said something I thought was interesting: "The loss of what is undeserved, even though it is undeserved, is hard." His point is, no matter how unfair the advantage, or how imbalanced the power, one has to at least acknowledge that the loss of it will be felt keenly. Not that the loss is unjust, but that those who want to usher in a more balanced distribution of that power will need to do so with mercy.
And I can see that. I bristle at having to be the bigger person, to be the one to use kindness and mercy. But I also think, Well of course. They're not used to it, being the bigger person. They haven't had to; it's not an inherent quality of privilege, especially when you don't think you are privileged.
And I know what it's like, to suddenly feel the bottom drop out from under you, to feel that paradigm shift around you and have your framework no longer be valid.
For many years the Universe--capital U--was there for us. It was our own brand of divinity, freeing in our possession of it, different from any other, unique in how we perceived it.
We had not been without our pitfalls, but for the most part, we have trusted the signs, followed the inner voice and trusted what the Universe was telling us.
There was no series of tests of our faith; our Universe, when we loved it, did not do that. It was not cruel. It was not always apparent, but when it spoke, we knew it. And we listened. The principle pinnacle of our experience was that we were lucky. Things happened when we needed them to, if we paid attention to the signs. We were rewarded for our acknowledgement of the magic.
And then a quagmire. A series of events beyond our control, no signs to follow, no end in sight. And I have wondered why, when we did what we thought the Universe was telling us to do, are we in such a situation? I kept looking for it to bring about capital R Reason, kept trying to see signs, to notice what it wanted me to see and try not to hold a grudge. Still it did not prove itself. Has not. And, I have come to realize, never will. That bond is broken.
But it wasn't easy. I was angry.
If it happened to work for me before, in whatever form, yet now it makes me jaw-clenching furious to hear of one door closing and another opening, I must realize that I cannot have it both ways. I cannot cringe with fury at the atonements uttered for crappy times and also hope for my particular brand of Universe to come back to me. They are one and the same, 2 sides of the same coin. Either you agree to it in its entirety and you find solace, or you don't.
And even when you know the choice is right for you, that loss is difficult to take.
And so I found myself wondering, "How many times have I lived this life? Have I ever done anything right? It's too late to start again. And it's too early to give in." And I played that on repeat, for a long time.
I can't go back, and it *is* too early to give in. I continue not because I have found my Universe at my back again, not because my trust has been renewed. I continue because I am here. Because I can either do or not. I have no affiliation, no bond, no allegiance but to this life. Because it simply is. It is here and I am here and I will live it.
If this gives me no peace, then it will be my own disquiet, my own to harbor, my own to douse. Yet we are not always kind to ourselves. Not sure how to best adjust to even a decision we feel sure of, let alone one we are still working out the details of.
You come to realize that either you are still part of the world and wrestle with that, or you will continue to feel you're not. When you are met with mercy and kindness at your loss, you are more likely to turn away from that feeling of isolation, more open to receive compassion rather than look for rancor. When you think there's nothing wrong with you, and then you find out maybe you're wrong, if you have the courage to ask "Have I ever done anything right?" let us then recognize that courage in those who ask it. Let us help rather than hinder and offer that help where we can. Mr. Rogers' mother said look to the helpers. That's a tough job, the capital H Helper. You'll need to tread lightly, and wear your Kindness on your sleeve. Give it away as often as you can.
