One summer, I happened to be working from my home. From the second floor window where my office was located I could gaze out at my field, across the road from my house.

One day when I glanced up from my work, I was surprised to see an old station wagon parked on the grassy right of way that borders my field. An old fellah in a straw hat was standing about ten feet into my field, filling quart baskets with black raspberries that he was picking. The berries were abundant that year and just at their peak. I watched him fill basket after basket and tuck them in this car.

I was rather taken aback that some stranger would feel free to drive onto my property and help himself to my berry crop. How did he know the berries were there? Was he planning to sell them? Just across the state line a big home-grown produce stand sat at the highway’s edge. I was debating with myself whether to hike down to the field to confront him when he finished his picking and drove off, heading for Ohio.

I told myself no harm was done. Plenty of berries remained for the birds and I probably wasn’t going to pick them myself since another patch on the south hill was closer to my house.

But then, the next day, there he was again! And this time he had a woman with him and a little dog, and they seemed to be making a day of it, picking basket after basket of my berries. “What nerve!” I thought to myself. Not only were they trespassing, they maybe were stealing from me for their own profit. I definitely had to go see what they had to say for themselves. I was getting a bit miffed. And I don’t like to be upset.

As I pulled on my jeans and boots for my hike into the field, I happened to ask how else I could look at the situation. That’s when the miracle happened. I suddenly realized that had I known this couple, had they been my friends, I would be more than happy to have them take all the berries they wanted. The obvious solution then was to make friends with them. And I approached them with that intention, smiling and waving as I walked toward them.

It turned out they were a sweet old pair. And when they found out they weren’t in the field that belonged to their Ohio neighbor, who happened to own the field behind mine, they were absolutely mortified. They apologized over and over again while I assured them there was no need. It was a completely understandable mistake. The old man insisted I take the last two quarts of picked berries that he held in his hands, and I thanked him for the gift and told him they were welcome to take all they wanted. But so great was their embarrassment that they soon left, never to return again.

You might think that was the end of the story, my little parable about how a change of perspective can change your whole world. But wait! There’s more . . .

It was the middle of December and I had just finished hanging the last of my Christmas decorations when there was a knock on my door. It surprised me. I wasn’t expecting any guests.

When I opened the door, there was the raspberry thief, grinning, with gifts in his hands. His wife had baked a pie for me with berries from my field. The pie was spectacular, looking as if it had just sprung to life from the cover of a magazine. And then he set a bottle of homemade black raspberry wine on my kitchen counter, wishing me a Merry Christmas and thanking me for my kindness to him and his wife. And both the pie and the wine, I must say, were the finest I ever tasted.

I never saw the couple again after that. But I savor the memory, a tale of kindness returned, every Christmas when I hang my decorations and each summer when the black raspberries are ripe for picking.

Love each other, hey?

Warmly,
Susan

Image by Andrzej Rembowski from Pixabay

I sat on the porch enjoying the play of the hundred shades of green, feeling the warmth of the air, . . June. How beautifully June.

Due to a minor incident earlier in the day, I found myself thinking about the passive-aggressive spectrum I travel from time to time. I noticed that it’s a long gentle slope from the peak of my passivity to the red line where my aggression begins. It takes a lot to rile me. How sharply my aggression builds once that red line is crossed varies from situation to situation. I stay alert to the energies at play and strive to respond appropriately with as much wisdom and grace as I can muster.

Aggression is a mighty force. Bridled, it serves as a tool. Strive to be its master, so that it may serve you well, acting in accord with your truest aims and sense of direction.

It’s not easy, though, I must warn you, to develop even a modicum of skill in handling our potentially self-destructive tendencies, It’s one of those “not for sissies” games. Nevertheless, if skill is what you truly want, rest assured that life will present you with endless opportunities to practice, at whatever level you need,

When it comes to aggression–which can be expressed as everything from mild sarcasm to monstrous revenge or rage–It’s a tough course. It’s not in the nature of aggression to succumb to restraint. You have to tame it, using whatever tricks of the trade you’ve acquired over the years. Sometimes you have to invent or discover new ones. For me, it’s been a highly instructive and rather bumpy road.

But it’s been well-worth the effort. Rewards always more than compensate for the losses along the way. All exercises in self-mastery are like that, in my experience. Not only do you gain skill in controlling another aspect of self-expression, but you get added benefits along the way. Sometimes it takes a bit of living to see that, but it’s true.

One of the prizes I got for working to shape and direct aggression, for instance, is a far greater amount of patience than I had before. And patience is a beautiful reward. It gives you a place to rest for a while, to breathe easily and take in a wider view. It lets you return to your center again, to a welcoming acceptance of what is.

You can design your own self-mastery practice, by the way. All you have to do is notice some part of yourself that causes you more pain than pleasure and decide to work with it. That means paying attention to it so you can learn what triggers it, then noticing when that negative part of you is being triggered, then noticing that you can actually chose not to respond in your usual way.

One trick that helps is to play”The If-Then Game” with yourself. Before the next triggering event comes along, ask yourself, “What if such and such happens? What could I do instead of my habitual response?” Then imagine some alternatives. Do a little brain-storming, letting yourself come up with all the ideas your mind can create, even silly or outrageous ones. Dismiss no alternative; your conscience will sort out possibilities that are within the bounds of your principles. Your goal is just open the door to a whole, big bunch of possible alternatives. So let your imagination soar. Play out the alternatives you come up with in your mind.

Next week, I think I’ll retell the story of the black raspberry thief. It’s a great example of the way unexpected rewards show up when you put a good alternative into action.

Meanwhile, I’ll wish you a week where you suddenly notice places where you’re sliding into the mud of habitual negativity. “Oh, look! I was going there!” See what simply noticing does.

Smiling at you. Big-time.

Warmly,
Susan

_{Image by Josch13 from Pixabay}