Recently, like many others, my wife and I have suffered some significant blows to the security we've too often taken for granted. You know, the “we went to college, pay our taxes, vote in general elections, give to charitable organizations, refrain from kicking small animals, reduce, reuse, recycle, buy American, etc. and are, therefore, entitled, on our own terms, to every good health and unencumbered opportunity imaginable” kind of security. After all, this IS America, right? Maybe such arrogance deserves a good take down now and then. At any rate, for endless reasons, it’s been a rough few months.
For the first thirty years or so of my life, my initial reaction to challenging news was usually one of heightened adrenaline and an overwhelming desire to leap into crisis “go” mode. What can I say? I’m a fixer. Lately, however, my first response has been far less intense. Lest you think this a mark of maturity (growth in trust) or the proverbial “softening with age,” I should also note that, since a rather serious bout with depression in the middle part of this decade, I have come to recognize the difference between peace and protective detachment. Peace is active— perennially animated and adaptive. Emotional lock down, if you will, is a more passive, defensive state— conditioned and mechanical. I fear I may yet fall into the latter category.
On one hand, my heart is pricked by a deep desire to be proactive. I imagine gracefully advancing like an intrepid superhero using flying debris from my enemy’s onslaught as the very weapon that will win me the victory. On the other hand, I am all too aware of how much of a “superhero” I am not and find myself torn between the ever extant, critical analysis of my mind and the noble, sanguine churnings tucked away in my soul. And, truth be told, I’m not convinced that one is altogether better than the other. I’m afraid I need both. Or neither. Or, maybe, I just need to be taken out of myself completely.
But, the humbling, shame of it all rests in the sobering realization that I am still so blessed. When I consider the worst case scenario for everything I currently face, I would still be better off than the overwhelming majority of people on this planet. The thought blinds me, albeit temporarily, to the things I must do to successfully navigate the rough road ahead. What defines success here is so superficial by comparison to what many others face. (e.g. For me, successfully navigating our current economic crisis might mean finding a way to keep my youngest son in private school. For billions of other fathers in the world, financial success means their sons will eat today.) So, how hard do I fight for these things? What makes them superficial? I live in an environment of great excess and abundance when measured against that which is fundamental to human life. And yet, certain aspects of this “abundance” are necessary for survival in an environment where excess is the rule of the day.
In the end, I hope I will do what needs to be done. I am open to divine guidance on this point. But, whatever the path ahead, I feel challenged to approach it with a deeper solemnity, requisite humility, and thankfulness. I am not “entitled” to certain securities. I am simply blessed to enjoy them from time to time. Maybe this attitude is a key to unlocking peace. I think I’ll grip it more tightly than I have in the past.
For the first thirty years or so of my life, my initial reaction to challenging news was usually one of heightened adrenaline and an overwhelming desire to leap into crisis “go” mode. What can I say? I’m a fixer. Lately, however, my first response has been far less intense. Lest you think this a mark of maturity (growth in trust) or the proverbial “softening with age,” I should also note that, since a rather serious bout with depression in the middle part of this decade, I have come to recognize the difference between peace and protective detachment. Peace is active— perennially animated and adaptive. Emotional lock down, if you will, is a more passive, defensive state— conditioned and mechanical. I fear I may yet fall into the latter category.
On one hand, my heart is pricked by a deep desire to be proactive. I imagine gracefully advancing like an intrepid superhero using flying debris from my enemy’s onslaught as the very weapon that will win me the victory. On the other hand, I am all too aware of how much of a “superhero” I am not and find myself torn between the ever extant, critical analysis of my mind and the noble, sanguine churnings tucked away in my soul. And, truth be told, I’m not convinced that one is altogether better than the other. I’m afraid I need both. Or neither. Or, maybe, I just need to be taken out of myself completely.
But, the humbling, shame of it all rests in the sobering realization that I am still so blessed. When I consider the worst case scenario for everything I currently face, I would still be better off than the overwhelming majority of people on this planet. The thought blinds me, albeit temporarily, to the things I must do to successfully navigate the rough road ahead. What defines success here is so superficial by comparison to what many others face. (e.g. For me, successfully navigating our current economic crisis might mean finding a way to keep my youngest son in private school. For billions of other fathers in the world, financial success means their sons will eat today.) So, how hard do I fight for these things? What makes them superficial? I live in an environment of great excess and abundance when measured against that which is fundamental to human life. And yet, certain aspects of this “abundance” are necessary for survival in an environment where excess is the rule of the day.
In the end, I hope I will do what needs to be done. I am open to divine guidance on this point. But, whatever the path ahead, I feel challenged to approach it with a deeper solemnity, requisite humility, and thankfulness. I am not “entitled” to certain securities. I am simply blessed to enjoy them from time to time. Maybe this attitude is a key to unlocking peace. I think I’ll grip it more tightly than I have in the past.
1 comment:
I feel ya bro. Perhaps that’s part of why I’ve been a silly substitute for the last few years.
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