The Pursuit of Happiness

You may have caught on: I’m a worrier. I think a lot; I emote a lot. Not that I’m really obsessive, but perhaps there’s a tendency in that direction?

And, I’m a planner: organized and always thinking ahead.

These various elements of my personality seem to collide, in that it’s not a stretch for me to go, in my mind, to “catastrophizing,” that is, thinking about the future and saying to myself “this has disaster written all over it.”

I have an uncertain job situation. I have an infection. I have a muscular or nerve issue in my leg. I have a life alone. I spend all my “free time” trying to find a job. I have trouble sleeping. I need prostate surgery. I don’t have time to pursue my art.

Oh, my, I guess I could keep going…you get the picture, though: worry, worry, worry! (or, maybe: whine, whine, whine?)

Where’s the room for happiness in all that?

When I was about to lose my position with the Chancellor’s Office,  a good friend asked me once, “well, what’s the worst that could happen?” Of course, I went straight to catastrophe and saw myself homeless, on a street corner, holding a cardboard sign saying “WILL ORGANIZE THINGS FOR FOOD.”

There’s a lot of uncertainty in my future right now. But, of course, isn’t there uncertainty in everyone’s? I just read that two tornadoes hit New Orleans today! Yikes! What in the world is going on?

I guess, really, no one here gets out alive.

But the question remains a good one. “What’s the worst?” Here’s where I think the question has its origin:

When some misfortune threatens, consider seriously and deliberately what is the very worst that could possibly happen. Having looked this possible misfortune in the face, give yourself sound reasons for thinking that after all it would be no such terrible disaster. Such reasons always exist, since at the worst nothing that happens to oneself has any cosmic importance. When you have looked for some time steadily at the worst possibility and have said to yourself with real conviction, “well, after all, that would not matter so very much,” you will find that your worry diminishes to a quite extraordinary extent. It may be necessary to repeat the process a few times, but in the end, if you have shirked nothing in facing the worst possible issue, you will find that your worry disappears altogether and is replaced by a kind of exhilaration.

Bertrand Russell
The Conquest of Happiness

Compassion

As I continue the path to wellness: I spent the morning at the doctor’s office and pharmacy. The best guess is that my viral infection has morphed into bacterial. I’m currently on antibiotics and a cough-supressant. Now we’ll see what happens!

After I got home, I opened up the Messiah’s Handbook to see if there was any new wisdom for me there today. The first thing that appeared (though I did a little shopping around on other pages later, not knowing what to make of this one at first) was:

How easy it is to be compassionate
when it’s yourself you see in trouble!

So, let me think about this a minute. Well, OK, I actually do see myself in some trouble. My position at work is a temporary one, and I’m feeling very insecure about that. I’ve been quite ill lately, and along with that, an emotional downturn certainly has me seeing the glass half-empty. I keep interviewing for jobs, and not getting them. And, I’ve felt some loneliness in the last year that has rarely crept up on me like this.

The question now is: has it been easy for me to be compassionate? Just because it’s me? Really, I’m not sure how compassionate I have been with myself. I possess an often self-critical tendency that does not necessarily seem consistent with compassion. Perhaps the lesson for the day is to focus more on self-love and acceptance.

Freedom and Release

I’ve been lying around here like a lump on this incredibly grey and wet day here in Portland, feeling blue and lethargic. It’s one of those seasonal-affective-disorder days, to be sure. Amid all this darkness, I’m finding it difficult to find some semblance of light. (Literally or figuratively.) The Carly Simon lyrics go through my head:

Sufferin’ was the only thing made me feel I was alive
Thought that’s just how much it cost to survive in this world
(“Haven’t Got Time for the Pain” - 1974) 

 As I was sitting here at the computer earlier this morning, toying with ideas for what to write about today, an email came in from one of my new blog readers. It was a brief message, wishing me well. “My most heartfelt hope and prayer for you for 2006, besides transition to a wonderful job in a location that you love, is freedom and release,” she (“C”) says.

Freedom & release. I’m thinking that C just might understand a little bit of what I’ve talked about here in these pages: for example, that I’m in Zwischenraum, literally “the space between things.” In love and work, I’ve been let go and am stranded in a lifeboat between two islands: having left both, not knowing my destination in either. And, she apparently understands my discussion of psychic prisons: the sense that I am still the prisoner, even though I’ve left the cave. I have not yet thrown off the chains because I’m being blinded by the light outside, fearful of the unknown, and paralyzed by the number of choices I have. When C and I were together, I was quite attached to my interpretation of the shadows on the cave wall. My life, thought to be on course, was dramatically altered by rejection, both personally and professionally. Yes, I have been freed and released; now it’s up to me to find freedom and release.

So, I turn to Richard Bach and the Messiah’s Handbook. As you’ll recall from Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah, one merely needs to open this book up to a random (unnumbered) page, and the answer to your question is there. Today, as I’m ruminating over my life’s issues, I read:

“The only way to win, sometimes, is to surrender.” 

Which, of course, is exactly right. As I was thinking about the Carly Simon lyrics and “sufferin’,” I was also pondering the first two of the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism.

1. Life means suffering. To live means to suffer, because the human nature is not perfect and neither is the world we live in. During our lifetime, we inevitably have to endure physical suffering such as pain, sickness, injury, tiredness, old age, and eventually death; and we have to endure psychological suffering like sadness, fear, frustration, disappointment, and depression. We are never able to keep permanently what we strive for, and just as happy moments pass by, we ourselves and our loved ones will pass away one day.

2. The origin of suffering is attachment. The origin of suffering is attachment to transient things and the ignorance thereof. The reasons for suffering are desire, passion, ardor, pursue of wealth and prestige, striving for fame and popularity, or in short: craving and clinging . Because the objects of our attachment are transient, their loss is inevitable, thus suffering will necessarily follow. Objects of attachment also include the idea of a “self” which is a delusion, because there is no abiding self. What we call “self” is just an imagined entity, and we are merely a part of the ceaseless becoming of the universe.

I admit attachment to certain models of the universe. I was attached to living in Eugene, doing a job that I knew and did well, and was comfortable in. And, I was very attached to a model of a relationship that existed, apparently only on the cave wall. What I “knew” was not “truth.” Attachment to both of those models of the world has caused, and still causes, me much suffering. The most healthy thing I could do is to surrender to the universe, define it as “all perfect” and make a new life for myself.

I am trying.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
(“Serenity Prayer,” Reinhold Neibuhr — 1926)

Becoming REAL

I don’t know what it is about me, but I seem to attract women into my life who apparently think of me as “little-boy-like” ... perhaps, want me to be more little-boy-like? (Or, maybe it’s something else that’s going on?)

For example, a very important person in my life right now gave me a teddy bear and some Scooby-Doo bubble bath for Christmas this year. Then, back when Katrina and I were together, I remember she gave me, at various times, a Mr. Potato Head set, some Play-Doh, Miracle Bubbles (with wand), and a couple of children’s books: The Velveteen Rabbit and The Runaway Bunny.

What is this about, do you suppose? It sure has had me a-wonderin’. Not only do I feel grown up, at least most of the time, I’m starting to feel, well, old sometimes too. How is it, at age 58, I score a teddy bear for Christmas?

Of course, as I have this on my mind, I go to the bookshelf and find The Velveteen Rabbit. Truthfully, until Katrina gave it to me (on Valentine’s Day 1998), I had never heard of it, though I’ve come to learn that most of the rest of the world has. Since then, I admit, I have come to rather adore this book. Although it’s definitely a little-kid’s story, written at a sixth-grade reading level, it has a message about life and living that is very wise indeed.

After all, it’s a tale of personal growth and transformation, answering the question about how we change. How does one become REAL, is the question…

Real isn’t how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real. It doesn’t happen all at once. You become. It takes a long time. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real, you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.(p. 13)

Doesn’t that just about say it all?!

Take These Wings & Learn To Fly

I first became acquainted with the writings of Nick Hornby in 2000 after seeing High Fidelity, the movie version of his first novel. John Cusack played the lead character, Rob Gordon, who, at least in the movie version, began by asking:

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?

Well, as you might suspect, the story line revolves around the “heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss” of relationships. Rob spends a great deal of time in a self-discovery mode, visiting one former girlfriend after another to learn about what went wrong in his previous relationships. Although the Rob character is fairly self-absorbed, obsessing over such things as Top 5 Lists and the Perfect Compilation Tape (they didn’t have iPod playlists six years ago), I found him a rather endearing character as he bumbled his way through his romantic adventures. I was pretty taken with the movie (seeing it a couple of times in the theatre) and went ahead and bought the novel later, something I rarely, rarely do.

Hugh Grant starred in the movie version of About A Boy, as you might recall, and, as far as I know, Horby’s third novel How To Be Good has not (yet) been made into a film. A fourth novel, A Long Way Down, was published in 2005, and I just finished reading it.

The story in A Long Way Down is told from the perspectives of the four primary characters, one after the other throughout the entire book. There are not really four different “voices,” though, as Hornby seems to make little effort to provide identifiable narrative styles for the various players, just obviously unique views of the world.

The setting for A Long Way Down is London, and the main characters are Martin (a former morning television personality, down on his luck after sleeping with a 15-year old, going to prison, and losing his marriage and kids in the resulting scandal); Maureen (a middle-aged single female, whose only son is severely disabled and unable to take care of himself; she is the primary caregiver and has no other life); Jess (a confused and rebellious young female, daughter of a highly-placed British politician); and JJ (a young male American rock musician, whose band has just broken up). Not knowing one another, they, coincidentally, find themselves on the roof of a tall building on New Year’s Eve, all there with suicidal intent.

Well, with all those people up there at the same time, their individual plans obviously don’t work out. They collectively talk themselves down from the roof, making up the excuse that they need to find and confront Jess’ former boyfriend.

These four really aren’t very endearing characters, as was (John Cusack’s) Rob Gordon in High Fidelity, or (Hugh Grant’s) Will Freeman in About a Boy. Still, Hornby’s ability to spin a tale, I guess, is the reason I kept reading about these lonely losers. (Each was rather like an individual train-wreck about to happen, reminiscent of the title character in that new NBC series, “My Name is Earl.”) After their time together on that almost-fateful New Year’s Eve, they keep in touch, go on a vacation together, and generally support one another through each other’s hard times, even though, as portrayed, these folks were individuals I personally would not seek out as friends.

However, in the final analysis, they are their own support group. And even though they, well, suck at it, the story suggests that somehow it seems to work to have others in your life that care, if only a little bit, or are only moderately adept at demonstrating it. The group gave themselves ninety days to hang together, to see where their lives were at the end of that time. As the book ends, at the conclusion of that time period, none of them is in the same emotional space. Their lives are not “resolved,” but things are noticeably different.

I never have been suicidal myself. But, I have certainly had my down times, when I’ve needed someone to talk to, someone to support me. Sometimes, rarely, there isn’t anybody around to talk to. Usually, though, I’ve been able to find somebody to support me through difficult periods.

I have a new, young friend in need of support right now. She is experiencing the loss of a significant other, is scared about the prospects ahead, and feeling lonely. She has asked for my support, and I am delighted to provide what I can. We are all, ultimately, alone in this existence, but we don’t need to face everything alone. We need each other. We need to find each other. And, we should ask for help when we need it.

Our struggles, and our pain, are what make us human. They are what make us strong. We are all incredibly resilient, and this is how we grow. No matter what our level of pain, at some point, we are able to mend our broken wings and fly again.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

(“Blackbird” - Lennon/McCartney)