Fitting the mold

Don't worry if you don't fit the mainstream mold of success.  Who wants to be moldy anyhow?

For those of us with plenty of employment, yes we can be miserable because we hate our job, and because we have so little time and energy.  For those of us without so much employment, yes, we can be miserable because we can't afford to live the way we want to.  But let us only be miserable for those things that truly matter to the quality of our life, and not be miserable because we've failed to live up to some notion of what successful people are supposed to do.

Druids look beyond instant gratification

In my recent post "More on not having it all," I wrote, "Humans have tried to create a world where any desire can be fulfilled. If you want something, just search the internet and enter your credit card number."

I think that the expectation of instant gratification pervades our society.  Becoming a druid has helped me to see things in a different way.

I used to think that if I wanted to learn something, I could just read a book on it or take a class on it, and then I would know it.  When I become a druid, I realized it's not always like that.

Reading a book on druidry doesn't make you an expert on druidry.  Being a druid is a lifelong process.  Every day we meditate, touch nature, listen, read, and think.  Every day we grow, but never do we learn all there is to know.

One of the first things I did when I became a druid was to get a book about trees from the library.  I did eventually read the book from cover to cover, but that does not mean I have now mastered the topic of trees and can move on to something else.  Getting to know trees is a lifelong endeavor. There are many ways to know trees.  Some people are fascinated to learn about the biological processes that take place within the tree, but that is not my way.  Some enjoy poring over identification keys, figuring out the species of the tree before them.  As for me, I love to lie on the ground beneath the tree and look up into layer upon layer of leaves.  I like to photograph trees, to capture the way the light shines through them.  I like to watch the way the trees change with the seasons, to see what emerges first in the spring, which color the leaves turn in the fall, and which tree's leaves stay green the longest in the fall.  I like to leaf through The Sibley Guide to Trees, marveling at all the beautiful pictures.  I like it when I'm wandering outside and see a tree that I did not know before, and recognize it from having seen it in the book.  When I go outside, I'm captivated by the trees surrounding me.  I'm captivated by their beauty.  I'm captivated with curiosity about them.  I love the grace of the sycamore branches.  When I see a tree that I don't know, I'm intrigued and try to figure out what it is.  I don't use the identification keys in the books so much.  I flip through the books to try to match it with the pictures.  If the tree has some unique attribute, I search the internet for that attribute.

But this was not a post about trees.  It is a post about the limitation of expecting instant gratification.  The tree example was to show that if you try to grasp something in an instant, there is much you miss.

Where I live, summer weather is often lovely, but occasionally too hot.  When the weather becomes too hot, I turn on the air conditioner.  I don't like to have to do it.  Air conditioning relieves me from the heat in the immediate sense, but what about the big picture? In the big picture, air conditioning is about consumption of fossil fuels, about contributing to climate change.

A few weeks ago, I sat in a cafe, enjoying a glass of iced coffee with a slice of chocolate cake, with a dollop of whipped cream beside the cake.  What went into getting these things to the table? Who grew, who harvested, who processed, who transported the coffee, the chocolate, the flour, the cream, the butter, the sugar, the eggs?

I think it is the responsibility of the druid to look beyond instant gratification, to look at the big picture, to look at the impact of our actions.

Loving life, facing unpleasantness

When I'm at my job, my soul is dead.  But as soon as I step out of the office, life is filled with beauty.  I step out of the office in the middle of the day for lunch hour.  I lie back in the grass on the hillside.  I slip off my sandals and feel the grass beneath my feet.  I gaze up at the leaves of the sycamore maple.  I see a woodchuck scurrying in the field, and a hawk soaring in the sky.

When I'm home evenings and weekends, I sit on my balcony.  I see the cottonwood leaves fluttering in the breeze.  I feel the breeze caress my skin.  I hear the robins, crows, grackles, and squirrels.  Below, I see the rabbits dining on clover.

I wake up Saturday mornings and lie in bed listening to the radio, enjoying the clever, silly humor I hear on "Car Talk," and "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me."

I love staring into space, daydreaming.  Thoughts form in my head, and in time, they are ready to be born, so I go to my computer and write emails and blogs. I love giving words to my thoughts, expressing myself.

I love putting on a CD and dancing around the living room, my body giving expression to the music.

I love structured dancing too, going to Morris dance practice, trying to hold the patterns in my head, coordinating my moves with other dancers, banging sticks together, becoming a community.

I love going out on nature walks, being fascinated by the trees, seeing herons, hearing frogs.

I love rollerblading, feeling the strength of my body as I move.

I love my life.  Why turn away from all these things that I love, and think of anything unpleasant?

When I'm at my job, my soul is dead.  But as soon as I step out of the office, life is filled with beauty. As soon as I step out of my office, I forget about my job.  The people who know me know that I don't like my job, but they don't really know much about what it's like.  I don't talk about it, because when I'm not there, it's gone from my mind.

But always I have to go back.  I deny the unpleasant reality, but it never goes away.  And so I must  face it.  I must take time away from writing blogs and watching the cottonwood leaves flutter to figure out what to do.

But not now, okay? There's still another topic I want to write about in my blog.  Later.  I'll worry about unpleasantness later.

More on not having it all

Following up on my recent post "We can't have it all but we can love life," I thought about people I know.  It seems that the people who are younger than I am are still pretty much pursing their dreams, doing what they want to do, while the people who are older than I am are in unworkable situations.

• There's the woman who thought the place she lived for much of her adult life was too hot and humid.  She dreamed of moving back to the colder climate where she lived as a child.  Now elderly, frail, and disabled, she can't live alone.  She has to live with the family member who can care for her.  As a result, she lives in a climate far more hot and humid than the one where she spent much of her adult life.
• There's the man who worked hard, paid his bills, got married, and bought a house.  Then he got laid off from his job.  His wife kicked him out, and took the house in the divorce settlement.  He has a number of health problems.  He works a part-time job.  His health problems make it difficult to do the job, but he's trying to hold out a few more years.  He wants to do it -- he doesn't want to stay home with nothing to do.  Besides, he needs the money.  He likes his apartment, but he's at risk of not being able to afford to continue to live there.
• There's the woman who always wanted to put down roots, to marry, to raise children, to garden.  That's what she did.  She wanted to stay all her life in the same town, the same house.  But now she is sensitive to air pollution.  Now, going outside to garden makes her feel sick.  She wants to move to a different place, a place with cleaner air, so that she live life once again.  But she stays.  She does not want to move away from her grandchildren.  Her husband is not eager to move.  She does not have the money or the worldliness to shop for a new house.  So there she stays, where the outdoor air she loves makes her sick.
• There's the man who can't live on his own due to a variety of physical and psychological difficulties.  He lives with his elderly mother.  It seems unlikely that she will outlive him.  But he has no idea how he will survive when she is gone.

So no, it's not just me whose life didn't work out as desired.  Things happen in life -- financial hardships, health problems, family obligations, loss.  

Humans have tried to create a world where any desire can be fulfilled. If you want something, just search the internet and enter your credit card number.  You can book a trip to go skiing in Dubai.

But we haven't stopped disease.  We haven't stopped financial hardship.  We haven't stopped loss.  We haven't stopped death.   We haven't stopped bullying.  Our bodies still break when we fall.  Sometimes we have to work at tasks we don't enjoy.  

We need to forget this myth that we can have it all.  Stop looking for perfection, and instead, look at the life that is here in front of us.  Despite the hardships and pain, there is much beauty and joy to be found.

We look at ourselves with different eyes

On May 26, I wrote about how the blog posts I most like to read capture a particular moment vividly.  In that post, I was writing in praise of "Pattern" by Angie Smith.  Today I write in praise of "Wrestling with Demons" by Nimue Brown.  The things that strike me about her blog post are:

• My attention is grabbed when writers vividly describe a moment, as Nimue Brown does in this post.  In contrast, generalizations and abstraction do not hold my attention.
• My experience is not the same as what she describes, but like her, I have my broken parts.  She has broken parts, and she has a husband who loves her.  I thought that's why people can't love me.  Because I'm not sparkly enough.  But maybe us broken people are worthy of love too.  Really, I think everyone is broken one way or another.  Certainly the people I love are broken.  I don't love them in spite of it. I love them for all of what they are.  So is it possible that I too can be loved, and even by people who see who I am, not just people who admire surface traits?
• Her blog is one of my favorite blogs.  As a fan of her blog, I think she's a pretty cool person.  But in the moments described in this particular post, she doesn't see her coolness.  How can it be that wonderful people don't see how wonderful they are?
  
  I remember once, a group photo, passed around to be looked at by each person in the photo.  Each person said the same thing, "I don't look very good in this photo, but everyone else looks really good."
  
  Perhaps we look at ourselves with different eyes than we use when we look at everyone else.  We see other people as cool, sparkly, wise, funny.  We see ourselves as funny-looking, dull failures.  But maybe none of us are as different from the people around us as we think.  Maybe all of us are broken, but all of us are sparkly too.
  
  The people I see as sparkly are the ones I don't know as well, the ones I admire from afar.  The people I love, I don't see them as sparkly.  I see their fears, their kindness,  their quirks,  their silliness, their hesitation, their joy, their illness, their courage, their damage, their intelligence.  That's how I want to be seen. I don't want to be admired from afar as beautiful and witty.  I want to be seen for all of me, and loved for it.

We can't have it all, but we can love life

I need to escape my job.

I think about other kinds of paying work.

Nothing excites me.

They say that you should do work that you love.

But the things I yearn for are not things I want to be paid for.  I want to spend time with the trees.  I want to learn to play a musical instrument.  I want to learn all sorts of dancing -- Morris, jazz, modern, contra, African, and more.  I want to run around with toddlers.  I want to go out in kayaks or rowboats. I want to sit beside the ocean.  I want to sing.  I want to hike.

These are the things that tug at my heart.  Sure, there are paid jobs. There are scientists who study trees.  There are people who lead kayaking trips.  There are day care providers who run around with toddlers.  That's not what I want.  I don't want to work at these things, I don't want to study hard at them.  I want to partake of them with joy, on my own terms.   

I think the idea that you have to get paid for your passions is one of those unrealistic expectations they give us. Like the one where people who work full-time are supposed to still have time and energy left over to keep their house clean and cook all their meals from scratch.

I'm angry that they tell us we should be a career woman and an impeccable housewife too. I'm angry that they tell us that we should have a job that we are passionate about.  I'm angry that they tell us that we should find a soulmate and get married and live happily ever after. I'm angry that they tell us that all our dreams will come true if we work hard enough.  I'm angry that if I say I'd like to learn to play a musical instrument, people say, "so do it," as if I must be squandering my time on less important things.  What free time I have, I spend on the things that are most important to me, which is only a small fraction of the things I'm interested in.  I don't do everything I ever dream of doing, but I find joy every day.  I find joy looking at the flowers as I walk to work. I find joy looking at the sunset in the evening.  I find joy evenings after work dancing around my living room. I find joy going out every weekend to walk or rollerblade.  I think a person who has time to pursue all their dreams must not be very imaginative in their dreaming.

Don't tell me I should work harder on pursuing my dreams.  Maybe some people do have it all.  Maybe some people are happily married to their soulmate and get paid to do something they are passionate about. Just because some people are able to do these things does not mean that everyone can.  When they tells us that we can, they are telling us a lie, and then making us feel like a failure for not being able to turn falsehood into truth.

I reject those expectations.  I will live life on my own terms.  Maybe I'll always have a messy house. Maybe I'll never like to cook. Maybe I'll always be a spinster.  Maybe I'll never be passionate about paid work.  But I will live life joyfully nonetheless.  I will celebrate the sunshine and gaze at the leaves.  I will be a druid.  I will write.  My bare feet will touch the grass.  I will dance. I will sing.  I will run with the children.  I will paddle a kayak.  When my health fails and I can't be active, still I will look at the sky, still I will listen to music.

Moments of contentment

I remember when I was in college, long talks. Not just with close friends, but you could just wander around and bump into people, and next thing you know, you have been talking for three hours. We talked about religion, morality, love, sex, gender roles, and I don't remember what else. Inspired by these talks, then I'd go write essays about the topics discussed, and then would go on to share these essays with whomever I got to talking to next.

I miss those days. I miss being able to talk to people who are on my mental wavelength.

I remember when I was in college, the frolicking. Skipping about the campus, climbing trees, rolling down hills, rolling in the autumn leaves, hugging the trees.

I miss those those days. I miss having friends who can be my playmates.

But today, I love the serenity of gazing at the sky.

Today, I am grateful for friends who help me. When I'm feeling too sick to even formulate what I need and who I can ask, I'm grateful for the people who step up and give me what I need, without my having to figure it out and ask for it.

I remember when I was in college, long talks and frolicking, but also, I remember when I was in college, despondency and alienation. Today, I am more even-keeled.

They say work hard and fulfill your dreams. I have not been able to make all my dreams come true. I think most lives are not constant perfection. I think it's not right to believe that all your dreams are supposed to come true. We take what we can get. We do the best we can to make our life what we want it to be. Sometimes, we have moments of contentment. I am grateful for moments of contentment.