Category: Sunday Letters

Today is Father’s Day here in the USA, and I’ve been thinking about my own dad, a good man, loved by all who knew him. Dads matter, you know. If you’re a dad, I wish you an outstanding day. If you have a dad, think about how lucky you are, and tell him.

If your father has passed away, I’m posting this story from last year again especially for you. Its ending gave my heart a warm glow as I thought of my own dad, and of other dear ones who have gone.

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This is one of those little hometown stories you don’t hear much any more. It’s about my neighbor’s son-in-law, Shawn.

Shawn worked as a meat cutter at the big chain grocery store up the road a couple miles. He’d always nod and smile when he saw me. But ahead of his job, the passion of his life was his membership in the township’s Volunteer Fire Department.

Last winter, Shawn took ill and was diagnosed with one of those “turbo-cancers” that have sprung up in the past couple years. They develop quickly and effect different areas of the body simultaneously or in rapid succession.

Shawn fought it valiantly. But last Tuesday the doctors said there was no more they could do and sent him home to die surrounded by his family.

The family set up a bed for him in the living room where he could look out the front door at the neighborhood. There was something special coming, they told him, they wanted him to see.

A few hours later, as a light rain fell from a pale sky, the sound of a fire truck’s siren ripped through the air, followed by another, and another, and another. Trucks had come from departments all around the county. One even came from E. Palestine, Ohio. Shawn hadn’t been able to fight the fire the night of the derailment there last winter, but his wife went, fighting along with the rest of the department.

The bond among fire-fighters is strong. They came this night to tell Shawn they loved and respected him, to honor his years of service. The red and white lights of their trucks glistened in the rain as they drove in a slow parade all around his block, sirens wailing.

Shawn watched from his bed, smiling. Two days later, he was gone.

My heart goes out to the family. They’ve been through the wringer the past couple years. But it never got them down.

I was thinking about Shawn and his family yesterday when I came across a short story called “The Black Telephone.” It’s a beautiful little story and worth a read. In one part of it, the story-teller’s pet canary dies. He’s just a little kid at the time and the death confuses him. He goes to a wise older friend. Here’s the excerpt from the story:

I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?”

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”

Somehow I felt better.

I felt better, too. For a minute, I imagined a grinning Shawn giving rides to smiling children and puppies in a big shiny fire truck up in some corner of heaven.

You know, it can be a tough world. There’s a lot of pain and sorrow here. Remember to be kind. And when you lose someone dear, take comfort in remembering that there are other worlds to sing in.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Steven Iodice from Pixabay}

I thought I’d chat with you today about the bravery game and the unexpected gift that it brought me. The game goes like this. . .

To play, you accept the premise that anything can happen – dire things you haven’t ever entertained, even in your nightmares. But real life is like the bravery game. In it, catastrophes happen. In different times, in different ways, to different folks, suddenly the whole world is irrevocably changed,

The point of the game is to enhance your bravery. You start by asking yourself, “What’s the worst that can happen?” It’s not death. That’s for sure. There are things far, far worse. Try to imagine a real answer to that question, an answer that touches on your own pet nightmare scenario. “What’s the worst that can happen?”,

So I’ll tell you mine: It’s having the same nightmare happen to everyone at once. In it, everything and everyone you know is damaged or destroyed, but you’re still standing. Some “anything” you never expected to happen happened. (Good things happen, too, of course, all the time. As I sometime remind myself, you do have to hold open the possibility that things could turn out just fine. But that’s another story that requires a different kind of courage. What we’re talking about here is the bravery it takes to face the worst.)

The next step in this game, this process, is to ask yourself, “In the face of this stunning situation, what can I do? Who do I want to be?”

Then you do it and be it. Except you have to answer both questions first. Deciding what you can do and what kind of person you want to be, calls for choices. Look at the possibilities and pick the one that works for you. Then act the part, and keep on acting until you become who you chose to be.

As for the nightmare scenario, yours is whatever it is. The point is to face it, and decide how you will respond. Then, whatever befalls you, you’ll already know who you’re going to be, how you’re going to manage it, what attitudes and inner resources you’re going to take along. It makes you feel strong.

But it does something else, too. Something unexpected.

At least that was my experience with it today. I was driving along on a perfect late spring day, the air fresh after a morning rain and everything sparkling. The sunlight was just low enough to take on that golden not-yet-sunset sheen and was spilling long purple shadows over everything.

I was casually noticing how pretty it was, when all of a sudden I happened to notice my eyes blink. It was just a routine, automatic, eye-wetting blink, nothing special. But as I noticed it, an inner voice said, “That quickly, it can change.”

Having played the nightmare game, instead of feeling fear, I became fully alert and gave the scene my full attention. No danger was in view. Instead, the world before me was fully alive and unspeakably beautiful. And I realized that’s the case wherever we are, all the time. When you’re not afraid of unexpected change, when you already know how to respond, you’re free to see the world’s wonders. 

That face before you. That familiar scene. This particular moment in time. No matter what stories you’ve built around them, imagine them suddenly demolished. Snap! In the blink of an eye. See? See how priceless they become to you? See all that they represent? Appreciate them. Wrap yourself in gratitude for the experiences they give. Because we can hold on to nothing but what our hearts and souls contain.

Besides, what’s so new about change, whether we experience it as sudden or not? Everything is changing, everything and everyone, right this very now. (It’s a big place, now. Big enough, they say, to hold everything that anyone anywhere ever imagines and more.)

If it feels like we’re all subject to some imminent cosmic convergence of events, that’s because we are. Don’t be afraid. That’s what things do here in this world. They come together and dance apart. It’s like living inside a kaleidoscope. Everything changes, all the time. Everything is in motion.

But here’s the cool thing. We have a say in the way we’ll experience and respond to change. We get to decide what we will do and who we are choosing to be. And knowing that can produce some powerful results.

I think it was Deepak Chopra who said our thoughts are like bait we toss into the cosmic soup [where infinite possibilities exist]. What you’ll reel in depends, to a great extent, on the kind of bait you toss out. I say throw some shining, wiggling hopes out here. Your best and brightest ones. And believe that the guy who’s holding the pole (That’s you.) knows exactly what he’ll do with whatever he reels in. Because he knows that anything can happen. In the blink of an eye. And he’s not afraid.

Wishing you a week in which you cannot be fazed. Forward, my brave friends!

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by RENE RAUSCHENBERGER from Pixabay}

This past Memorial Day found me thinking about a beloved old friend of mine. He returned from Viet Nam with a heart full of pain, developed paranoid schizophrenia, and ended up hanging himself one cold, winter day.

All wars are tragic, taking their toll on our hearts and minds long after they have past. That, I believe, is the ultimate meaning of the day set aside to remember those who lives were lost in battles. It’s a message to us to keep trying, regardless of our history or the odds, to find better ways to solve our differences.

Synchronistically, last week I happened also happened across Eben Alexander’s book Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon’s Journey into the Afterlife. If you have heard that near-death experiences are nothing more than illusion created by a dying brain, Dr. Alexander’s vivid description of his own near-death will seriously challenge your assumptions. Until he experienced it himself, he, too, was wholly skeptical about the reality of life after death.

Like most who have had a near-death experience, he struggles to find words to describe his own experience of what he says is so profoundly rich and beautiful that it cannot be put into the narrow framework of human language.

It’s a fascinating read. And I found comfort in it as I thought about loved ones who have died.

Anyway, I remembered my old friend, his extraordinary personality and brilliant mind – the one that I was privileged to see and know beneath his mental illness and his pain. I smiled inside, feeling that he somehow got the greeting my heart sent him and returned his own beams of love.

He was pretty convinced that the world was a dark and confusing place when he died, seeing it as being awash in danger and evil. As I read the daily headlines, I can understand how easy it might be to see things that way, and to lose hope, to lose sight of how fully goodness outweighs the evil in the world. Dr. Alexander says that evil exists so that we may experience free will and learn to use it wisely.

Yesterday, while I was driving through the countryside collecting photos, I drove through this tiny farm town, a village with a population under 400. To my surprise and delight, down the other lane of the highway that cut through the town came a parade! A color guard of four young teens led it, marching proudly in their Scouting uniforms, perfectly in step, solemnly bearing their flags. Next was a big tractor, driven by an old guy in a straw cowboy hat, pulling a float with a sign that proclaimed its occupant the Grand Marshall. He was even older than the man driving the tractor, grinning broadly and waving at the people who lined the highway. The Potato Queen rode the next float. And then there was the fire truck and a polished antique car and cheerleaders from the local high school. That was about the whole parade, and it looked like most of the village’s population had come out to cheer it.

I thought about how fairs and festivals and parades will be happening all over the planet as people celebrate the coming summer or, in the southern hemisphere, winter’s advent. Community still thrives.

I thought about all the young people graduating from high schools and universities this week, about all the young minds that are preparing themselves to be doctors and astronomers and teachers and artists, to explore the intricacies of math and science and the beauties of language and culture and the arts.

I thought about all the sports teams that play in the local fields, and all that kids will learn from participating in them about how to handle victory and defeat, about disciple and teamwork and striving to be your best. And that made me remember a video I saw this week about a brave young woman who became a champion gymnast even though she has no legs.

Yes, our world has its evils; but it is far richer in things that are good. And that’s true of each of our individual lives, too. We all have our crabby streaks, our shadow sides, and failings. But we learn from our unwise choices and keep reaching to be better, and stronger, and kinder, and to love more.

And in the end, it’s the plus side that will win out, no matter how dark things may sometimes appear.

Wishing you a week rich with awareness of life’s balance and beauty.

Warmly,
Susan

A friend of mine had been struggling with some physical challenges for a couple weeks. One day, she got a card in the mail from a woman who missed seeing her in their usual meeting places. “You are stronger than anything life can bring,” the card said. My friend smiled broadly as she repeated the words again. They were, she told me, exactly what she needed to hear.

I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a powerful story. It’s so simple and unassuming. And it has such heart at its heart.

That’s really what we all want, after all. More heart in our days. We just want to care about each other and to know that we’re cared about, too. We just want to be neighbors, with greetings to exchange and a hand to lend when its needed. We just want to give, and to be met with, simple honesty and good will.

That almost sounds like a description of a fantasy world, doesn’t it? A tale from some alternative universe. And that’s a shame. And how we ache for it to be our reality!

I confess that I sometimes despair that we’ll ever get there. Some days, when I look around at the world’s current events, I think I must have died and landed in hell.

Then I go out and feed the birds and look at the sky. Maybe I connect with a friend. Maybe I hear a story that makes me laugh. Maybe I just happen to notice the way the sunlight falls across the lawn. Somehow, something happens that invites me to shift my awareness, to allow my sense of appreciation kick in. And bit by bit I’m learning how delicious it is to accept that invitation.

It’s not that I relinquish my knowledge of the world’s problems. I simply allow my images of them to broaden to encompass the aspects of the world, and of humanity, that are positive, and beautiful and strong.

I visit a wide variety of places on the internet over the course of a week. Several of them are live shows with viewers chatting on the side, or videos that allow viewers to post comments. They let me see a wide range of attitudes and thought and cultural shaping. It fascinates me. Over the last little while, maybe six months or so, I’ve begun to notice a new idea take hold and begin to grow. In a variety of ways, I hear people from different camps and tribes starting to say that they’re done with pointing out and fighting against the things that are wrong. Instead, they’re going to put their energy into thinking about how things could be, and to live their own lives with those things in mind as their guides. I smile every time I see someone say that’s their new plan. I think it’s the best one going.

One day a woman who lived as she wanted people to live sent a word of encouragement to a friend she missed seeing. “You are stronger than anything life can bring,” the card said.

Isn’t that a wonderful story?

Oh, and always remember those words from George Elliot, “It’s never too late to become who you always wanted to be.”

Have a fabulous week.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Background Image by Beverly Buckley from Pixabay}

I was sorting through the little stack of papers that accumulates on the corner of my desk no matter what I do. I call it my Perpetual Paper Pile. It has the magical ability, I believe, to regenerate itself if I set aside one little piece of paper to deal with ‘later.’

But that aside, I discovered a little treasure in the heap, an index card with a power question written on it. “How easy can I let this be?” it said.

Think about that for a minute. If you take them one little step at a time, few things are difficult in and of themselves. It’s our straining that makes them seem so, or our having made a judgment somewhere along the line that we don’t like to do whatever it is we’re doing.

The day after I found the card, a friend of mine who had strained her upper back asked me if I could do a little ironing for her. She hated to ask, but her husband was going on a trip and really needed the shirts.

Now, I have to tell you that ironing is my number one most-despised household task. One of my first jobs as a teenager was doing housework for a family that included five kids. Laundry was a daily task, and the wife saved the ironing for me. Back in those ancient days, permanent press fabric was just working its way onto the market and it was still in its less-then-perfected stage. If you wanted wrinkle-free clothing, you had to iron it. And irons were heavy pieces of equipment back then, far from the feather-weight ones that we use today.

Well, the wife didn’t just want the shirts and blouses, dresses and slacks pressed, she wanted smooth underwear and handkerchiefs, bed sheets and pillow cases, too. So I often spent five hours of my work days doing nothing but ironing. After a summer of that, I didn’t want ever to see an iron again.

Of course I do still iron a few items now and then. But it’s far from my favorite task, and when my friend asked me to do some ironing for her, I cringed inside as I agreed to help her.

Then I remembered the card. “How easy can I let this be?” Hmmm. I could let it be as easy as I wanted. I could even let myself look at it as an interesting task if I chose to do so.

I still wouldn’t want to hire myself out to do ironing every day. But ironing for my friend turned into an easy and satisfying job, thanks to the insight I got from that question.

The next time you’re faced with a job you don’t want to do, or that intimidates you in some way, or that makes you feel pressured, ask yourself how easy you can let it be. The question’s power lies in the fact that it prompts you to own your essential competence. It reminds you that you are in control of your attitudes. You can chose to let some old, unquestioned judgment run you, or you can choose to approach the task with a sense of relaxed ease and fresh eyes.

Not only does that make the work more pleasant, but it allows you to approach it with a more spacious mind. You work more efficiently and effectively. You see solutions that you wouldn’t see if you were feeling disgruntled or anxious or stressed. And as icing on the cake, once the task is completed, your mind is more open to taking genuine satisfaction in your accomplishment of it.

That’s a pretty worthwhile gift from one tiny little question. “How easy can I let this be?” Write it on a card or sticky note to remind you to ask it. See if it doesn’t iron some wrinkles out of your days.

Wishing a week of pleasures and ease.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Ollebolle123 from Pixabay}

As I was thinking about what I wanted to share with you today, I remembered that it’s Mother’s Day here in the States. For me, it’s a day filled with happy and meaningful memories of a woman whose character I find myself appreciating more and more deeply with every passing year. I genuinely hope that you can say the same, and that, if your Mom is still living, you’ll tell her so.

The thought occurred to me that in today’s climate of speech policing, this day set aside for honoring mothers will probably soon become “Parents’ Day” or “Caregivers’ Day” or some such thing. But that’s a topic for another time.

Right now, it’s still “Mother’s Day,” and I asked myself what the essential quality is that all mothers share. I had to think about it for a while, because mothers, being human after all, span the whole spectrum from “bad” to “good.” But I think I finally put my finger on it–at least if we set the truly pathological ones aside.

The one thing all mothers do, the one quality that behooves us to be grateful for them, is that they nurture us. Even the most disadvantaged ones, the most disinterested, the most careless, did what was needed to keep us alive. Even if that meant, in some cases, giving us away. Here we are; they did what it took to make that happen.

For the ones who did the bare minimum, let’s use this day to offer them our forgiveness and compassion. They don’t know what they missed. And they did the best they could.

And for the ones who took the time and spent the energy not only to feed, clothe, and house us, but to nurture us with an abundance of love, let’s take the time to reflect that love back to them, whether they’re still with us or not.

Let’s think about what they nurtured in us—what they taught us to value and appreciate, how they instilled manners in us and showed us ways to successfully negotiate in the world, how they passed on traditions so we would feel linked to the past, how they said that the only thing they wanted was for us to be happy in our lives and how they did all they knew to do to make that possible. Let’s think about the pride they took in our achievements, and their unqualified forgiveness when we fell short of the mark, about the way they comforted our hurts and celebrated with us our moments of joy, about how they instilled in us the meaning of the word “home.”

Let’s think about the sacrifices they made for us, the events they attended they didn’t want to attend, the things they did without in order to serve our wishes and needs, the fulfillment of some of their own dreams so that some of ours had a chance to come true.

That’s an awful lot for one human being to be able to do for another. And the wonder of it is that most moms–and stepmoms, and foster and adoptive moms–consider it a privilege and wouldn’t trade their roles for anything in the world.

It kind of gives you hope for the world, doesn’t it?

Wishing you a day of happy and grateful reflection about the special nurturers who mothered you. And if you are a mom, thanks from all of us for all you so tirelessly do.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by RENE RAUSCHENBERGER from Pixabay}

I ran across a quote from the Buddha this week that touched me with its simplicity and wisdom:

“Teach this triple truth to all: A generous heart, kind speech, and a life of service and compassion are the things which renew humanity.”

We have but to look around us to see that humanity is in need of renewal—on so many levels. We need a renewal of our ideals, of our morality, of our sense of decency and of neighborliness. We need to renew our vision of what humanity can accomplish, of our reverence for life itself and of our personal responsibility to contribute to life with whatever gifts we have been given.

It seems a monumental task sometimes. So much is broken and crumbling; so much is in need of healing and repair.

And yet, in one simple sentence, the Buddha has given us the way. Be kind. Care about each other. Do what you can to add ease to someone’s day. That’s where all healing beings, after all—in one heart opening to another.

In the neighborhood grocery I frequent, a special young woman works as a clerk. She looks each customer in the eye and smiles a cheerful hello as if she were greeting an old friend that she hadn’t seen for a long time. And without fail, the customers smile back and each one, no matter how weary or old or burdened, leaves the store feeling renewed. It doesn’t take much. One heart, opening to another.

Who knows? Maybe her smile changed someone’s attitude, prevented an argument, eased someone’s loneliness. Maybe it got passed on. Maybe it spread to a hundred people before the day was through, and the world was made a lighter place, a hundred times over.

It sounds like a trifling thing, a friendly smile. But once I heard about a man who was on his way to jump off a bridge and end his life when the eye contact and a smile of a stranger shot a ray of hope into him and gave him the courage to let his life continue on.

We get lost in our electronic gadgets, ignoring the person beside us while we busily fiddle with our little hand-held screens. We forget to speak to one another face to face, and more importantly, to listen to one another with caring and compassion and interest. And yet we’re starved for human contact, for conversation, for an hour spent with an engaged companion who is as interested in us as in herself, for the touch of a hand, the sharing of ideas and laughter and play.

To live a life of service and compassion means to live with awareness of the needs of others, and to address those needs with whatever level of kindness you’re willing and able to provide at the time. Your actions don’t have to be grand or daring. Service doesn’t have to be a profession of anything except your empathy. Profess that, in whatever way you can. Let your heart be generous and your words be kind. Do that, and you will have done your part to make the world a brighter place.

Wishing you a week of gentleness and joy.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay}

While I was doing some research this week, I happened on a website dedicated to providing guidance to Native American youth facing various social issues within their Tribes. I found it interesting that their site had a page addressing the joint Tribes’ view of Elders. Depending on the particular Tribe, an Elder is someone over 60-65 years of age. The page emphasized the respect the Tribes give their seniors. For instance, here’s what they say on their page:

“When an Elder speaks, an informed individual knows to listen. An Elder’s wisdom is invaluable to a tribe’s prosperity and well-being. Elders are sacred bearers of golden truths and know many valuable stories about the Old Ways. God often speaks through Elders.”

Later on, I happened on a collection of responses from seniors when asked what life lesson they would like to pass on. I had time to go through the list slowly, to let each thought sink in. That’s the only good way to read quotations, I’ve found. It lets you extract the juice from them.

Try it as I share with you a few of the seniors’ offerings. Read them one at a time, pausing after each one long enough to let it settle in. Maybe consider, as you read, which ones apply most for you right now.

Here‘s a dozen that I thought were worth tucking in our pockets . . .

• Guard well your thoughts when alone and your words when accompanied.
• The fact that you aren’t where you want to be should be enough motivation.
• Done is better than perfect.
• Don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.
• Have patience. All things are difficult before they become easy.
• Your future needs you; your past doesn’t.
• Positive thinking will let you do everything better than negative thinking will.
• If someone tells you that you can’t, they’re showing you their limits, not yours.
• Discipline is choosing between what you want now and what you want most.
• Your strongest asset and worst enemy is your mind; train it well.
• Sometimes being alone is the best medicine for your soul. And finally . . .
• Remember, some of the best times of your life haven’t even happened yet.

Yes, especially that last one.

Wishing you a week of fine accomplishments and ease.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Angelo Scarcella from Pixabay}

I woke just before dawn yesterday morning. The birds hadn’t even begun to sing. I’m not an early riser. Yet here I was, wide awake. I made a cup of coffee and took it out to my front porch to experience the beginning of the day. As I took my first sip, I noticed a faint ribbon of pink just above the eastern hills, gradually growing brighter. Looking directly overhead, I saw that the sky had gone from dusky gray to a light blue graced by soft clouds. When I looked down again, a whole panoply of color was lighting the sky—pale gold, coral, robin’s egg blue, soft lavender. And as if to acknowledge the coming of another day, the birds woke and began their morning chorus.

I let myself drink in the peace of it. The world has been such a brutal place these last few weeks, its violence and mayhem loud and sickening. Yet here I was, enveloped in birdsong and sunrise, sipping freshly brewed coffee. I felt lucky, and grateful, and kind of humbled to be so blessed. But I wasn’t alone in that. More of us live unscathed by mayhem than are directly touched by it.

Most of us live our ordinary lives, attending to our daily routines and chores, relating in our usual ways with family and coworkers and friends. We share our smiles, and sometimes our tears. We share our rituals, our news, our opinions, our gossip. We play together. We squabble. We make up. All of us. All over the world. And isn’t that beautiful!

That we can go on, determined to live ordinary lives in the face of extraordinary times, is remarkable.

I read a couple paragraphs by American historian and professor Howard Zinn this week. He said:

“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness.

“What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction.”

I get the impression that Zinn is thinking of acts of high bravery and daring when he talks about how magnificently we can behave when tested. And indeed we can. But I think courage is more than the extraordinary act performed at great risk. I think it’s also the determination to go on living ordinary lives as well as we can even when the world seems upside-down. Our small acts of everyday generosity and compassion, consistently performed despite it all, are testimony to our courage.

Mark Twain had this to say about courage: “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear. Except a creature be part coward it is not a compliment to say it is brave.“

When we live our ordinary lives in the face of what seems almost omnipresent threats, we are being brave. By refusing to surrender to fear – however loudly and persistently the media screams about the world’s evils – we tell the world that it cannot take the best of us. We will behave magnificently, holding to the dignity of our ordinary lives. And sometimes we will pause to recognize that despite it all, we are surrounded by extraordinary goodness and beauty, and, sometimes, when we are bathed in sunrise and birdsong, we will savor long moments of transcendent peace.

Wishing you a week of courageous, ordinary, everyday life.

Warmly,
Susan

^{Image by Mika from Pixabay}

I was half-way listening to some radio interview this week when something one of the guests said grabbed my attention: “Whoever presses your buttons is your master,” he said. How true!

Think about it. There you were, comfortably cruising along in your ordinary world when suddenly somebody stomped on one of your sensitivity buttons. Instant response! Hurt, anger, fight mode. Even if you just sat there hiding it all, inside you were engulfed in a turbulent emotional sea. And the waves just kept sloshing on and on.

When you look at moments like that—and all of us have them—the truth of the radio guy’s statement is plain to see. All your power was swept away by that button-pusher, whether he intended to offend you or not. So the button-pusher became your master.

Button-pushers don’t even have to be present to gain control over us. They can be images from our past, triggered by memory-evoking challenges or events. We store them in little brain-movies that we play over and over, and the button-pusher’s mastery goes on.

So what’s the answer? How do you break free and take back your power?

In my experience, the first step is recognizing that you gave up your self-control, your ownership of yourself, in the first place. I’ve found it helpful to say to myself, “Just because someone is offensive, I don’t have to be offended.” And by “offensive,” I don’t mean simply rude or thoughtless, although that counts, too. I mean the brutal, intentional offenses as well.

You can reclaim a great deal of your composure by recognizing that another person’s remarks or actions say far more about them than they say about you. Maybe they’re having a horrible day. Maybe they’re sick, or tired, or hungry. Maybe they’re angry at somebody or something else and you just happened to get in the way. It really doesn’t matter what the reason. The point is that you have a choice how to respond. “Just because someone is offensive, I don’t have to be offended.”

Remembering that, as I said, is the first step. But by the time you have remembered, you’re already upset. So the next step is to regain your inner peace. And the best way I’ve found to do that is to practice forgiveness.

I don’t mean you have to condone someone’s offensive behavior. I mean you have to forgive yourself for allowing their behavior to disturb your equilibrium. I like to use the mantra “I’m sorry; please forgive me,” said to my own inner self, until peace returns.

Self-forgiveness is self-compassion; it’s the recognition that everyone suffers, and that kindness is the healing balm for our own wounds as well as those of others. Compassionately forgiving yourself for your vulnerability means accepting with kindness that you were acting like a human again. (Such complex creatures!) It stops the waves of hurt and anger from sloshing and restores you to your right mind. You can brush yourself off and move on.

Then you’re in a position to decide rationally how to respond to the button-pusher in a mature and appropriate way. Maybe you’ll choose to forgive him, too. Maybe you’ll decide that you need to talk about the issue in a calm and unemotional way. Maybe you’ll decide that you need to make clear to him that you expect to be treated with more courtesy and respect, that you believe he was out of line. Maybe you’ll decide he doesn’t belong in your life at all and cut your ties to him.

Whatever you decide, once you have regained possession of your emotions, your response—even if it’s a difficult one—will be authentic, made in a state of self-harmony and inner peace by a self who is master of his or her own soul. And isn’t that the goal that we all strive for?

Wishing you a week of brilliant self-mastery and compassion.

Warmly,
Susan

 ^{Image by PDPics from Pixabay}