Category Archives: Happiness

The Never Enough Syndrome

Last week I wrote that thinking about times of scarcity and abundance in our life improves our attitude, and gives both peace and hope.  A friend asked me what I meant by “scarcity” and “abundance.”

 “Right now, you wish you had more money, your foot felt better, and you had a buyer for your house,” I said. “I understand that.  It feels like you don’t have what you want.  You’re feeling ‘scarcity.’  At the same time, you can pay your bills, your foot’s healing, and you have a house that’s paid for.  You could call that … ‘abundance.’  That’s what I mean.”

“You’re right,” he said, smiling.  “I want more, but I have what I need.  In fact, I have a lot.  That’s pretty good.  Thanks.  You made my day.”

No matter what we have, it’s easy to feel that we don’t have enough (scarcity).  We want more, better, bigger.  The advertising that bombards us each day tries to increase these feelings of scarcity and desire, so that we’ll want things we don’t need.  For example, a five-year-old car and one-year-old cell phone really don’t need to be replaced with the newest versions, unless they’ve been badly damaged.

Sometimes, however, not having enough is more than a feeling, it is reality.  Our life has a hole in it (job, money, friends, family, health, stability) that can’t be washed away with a new attitude.     

Imagined scarcity can be eliminated.  Actual scarcity can be made more livable and less destructive.  One way to do this is to balance our scarcity with an awareness of the abundance we have in our life.  There are good reasons why people have, for centuries, turned their minds away from their troubles and towards the “blessings” and abundance in their life: Doing so calms the heart rate, reduces stress hormones and pain, and sets the mind free to be creative about both current stuff and future directions.  We discover gratitude.

Here’s an example from my life.  Many years ago, my family lived in the wild blueberry country of northeastern New York.  Never having eaten wild blueberries, I remembered my mother’s stories about the tasty wild blueberries of her childhood.  So my family went on a quest to collect the Holy Grail of blueberries:  tiny wild blueberries from the slopes of the Berkshire Mountains.  Mom was right.  I’d never tasted anything like this before.  We took buckets of fruit home.

I’d waited all my life for these little berries.  Each time a berry slipped down the drain as I was washing them, I pushed my handed into the garbage disposal to get it back.  I was intense.

Once as I reached in the drain, I felt a wall collapse in my brain.  I suddenly realized that I’d been feeling and behaving as if I’d never get enough blueberries, when all around me were buckets of them.  I hadn’t realized my abundance.  Within minutes, I stopped obsessing and relaxed.  Life got a lot better.

Twenty years later, I can still picture myself standing there with blueberry-stained hands, and feel the tension leave my body.  My smile returns.  My heart calms.  The tension leaves my shoulders once again.

The most well-known prayer of the Christian faith is The Lord’s Prayer, also known as The Common Prayer and The Our FatherOne of its sentences holds an antidote to the Never Enough Syndrome.  In it, Jesus tells his followers to pray, “Give us this day, our daily bread” (emphasis added). 

Followers are not instructed to ask for a feast or even a full refrigerator.  They’re told to ask for enough ordinary bread to supply that day’s living.  When I keep that as my focus, I’m much more likely to be grateful for my daily bread and for the jam I’m fortunate to put on it.

23 Minutes

Twenty-three minutes is good.  No, it’s bad.  No, it’s good.  Twenty-three minutes is how long I walked on a treadmill for the past two days at  2 mph and 0% incline.  I can’t decide whether that’s good or bad. 

Seven years ago I could walk as long as I wanted.  Six years ago, I was forbidden to walk more than for five minutes at 2 mph because of CHF.  In 2009, I walked in Switzerland and France for an hour at a time without trouble.  But in October of this year, it was only ten minutes again, and in November, it was only fourteen.  Last week I didn’t dare pass the 20 minutes mark.  So today should be worth a glass of champagne. 

I should be happy, right?  But I’m not.  I want to run and walk without limits.  I want to go until I drop and know that I’ll still be able to get up off the floor afterwards.  At the gym this morning, people jogged on treadmills all around me while I barely strolled.  Yes, it was 23 minutes. I’m grossly dissatisfied. 

My life is like the teeter-totters in the playgrounds of my childhood:  I’m up with encouragement one day and down the next.  I tell myself that 23 minutes is GOOD, but I don’t believe it yet.

As I wrote in my post, “Into the Void,” I want to consider my life as a new type of adventure in living.  Readers responded to that blog by writing of the wisdom they gained by surrendering to the in-between times of life.

In contrast to goodness of which they write, the words of Dylan Thomas swell within me:  “Do not go gentle into that dark night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”  Thomas is writing of death, and I’m not dying any more than any of us is.  But surrendering, even temporarily, to a life with so little clear purpose and so many limitations feels like going gently into that dark night. 

In my experience, surrender leads to trouble.  I do not, and will not, go gentle….

So, trying to embrace both the free fall in which I find myself and the urge to rage against it, I ordered evening gowns on-line today to try on for my son’s wedding.  Since they’re both sleeveless, I want well-toned shoulders and arms before June 2011.  My trainer and I committed ourselves to this goal of beautiful shoulders by June.  With six months to go, I might actually make it!  Six months give me one small way to both surrender to and rage at my limitations at the same time…I think.

All of this brings me back to the teeter-totter.  Three basic activities are possible on a teeter-totter:  The first is to place one person at each end and gently go up and down, but this quickly gets boring.  Next is making the other person hit the ground harder than he or she anticipates.  That’s fun for a while.  What we spent the most time on was trying to balance the teeter-totter perfectly so that nobody’s feet touched the ground.  We shifted our weight forward and back until balanced perfectly.  Perfect equilibrium was a great achievement! 

I know there’s goodness to just being, to letting the truth of the moment surround me, move within me, and give birth to new truth.  I heard today of a 48-year-old man who recently died of a recurrence of cancer at only age 48  The friend who told me  commented on how much this man’s death makes him grateful for every day he’s alive, even with limitations.  I wish I could have embraced that gratitude as I did my 23 minutes on the treadmill.  I just couldn’t get there.

My effort to balance surrender and rage are like the teeter-totter, with me on both ends of the board at the same time.  Sometimes the up and down is gentle.  Sometimes one side hits the ground so hard I bounce in the air.  Every once in a while, I reach the balance where I can take my feet off the ground, put my arms out in the air and enjoy the feeling of perfect equilibrium.   I’m trying to embrace where I am even while I fight against the darkness.  It’s taken all day to reach an uneasy equilibrium that rests in gratitude, but that’s finally where I am tonight. 

Twenty-three minutes is not only good today, it’s excellent.

You’re Beautiful

quilt-second-try-e1415135539986[1] - CopyYour perfect job turns out to have a maniac boss and it’s not what you expected.  You discover your spouse isn’t perfect.  Or, as happened to me, you’re diagnosed with a health problem and your world turns upside down.  Marriages, goals and life in general can’t be programmed according to our plans and wishes.  It just doesn’t work that way.

As life sends us unexpected hurdles and experiences, we decide how we’ll respond.  Later, even when our decision has turned out well, many of us ask, “What if I’d made a different decision, or been dealt different cards?  Who would I be and what would I be doing? How would life be now?”

Clare O’Donohue writes about the process of reviewing choices and achieving internal peace.  In one scene of the book, a woman wants to see a former boyfriend.  Nell tries to understand why Bernie is so intent on seeing him.  Eleanor (a mutual friend) uses the image of sewing a quilt to help Nell understand the internal journey Bernie needs to make:

    “‘Why is a sixty-something-year-old woman still carrying a torch for her high school sweetheart? . . . I don’t think it’s the man.  It’s the life that could have been.’
    “‘But she’s had a good life, hasn’t she?’ [Nell] asked.  “Why have any regrets about the road not taken?”
    “‘Oh, I hate that,’ Eleanor said.  ‘That idea that we can’t have any regrets because our experiences make us who we are.  That’s greeting-card psychology.  We all have regrets.  The people we’ve hurt, the times fear held us back from exciting possibilities. . . .’
    “‘If she’s going to have regrets anyway, what good does coming here do her?” I finally asked my grandmother.
   “‘She needs to make her peace with them,” Eleanor said.  “Bernie is wondering what might have been, and she can’t shake herself out of it.  People get stuck like that sometimes. . . . It’s like when you make a quilt. . . . You see a pattern you like and you think you want to make something just like it for yourself.  But as you find fabrics, and cut and sew, the idea becomes something else.  Something real, but something different from that pattern.  If you measure the success of your quilt, or your life, by what you started out to do, more often than not you will decide you’ve failed.  But if you realize that the pattern you followed is the one you created for yourself, you will love the quilt you made, and the life you made, more than the one you thought you were supposed to make’(The Double Cross, Clare O’Donohue, pp 27-28, New York: Penguin Books, 2010).

It is not as simple for us as Eleanor makes it sound.  Sometimes in looking at the quilt of our life, we realize we need to make changes.  But in the end, Eleanor is right:  the pattern of our quilt is the one we create with the patches of cloth we have, and it’s always different from the life we expected.  Everything we live becomes part of our evolving pattern.  We decide what to do with it.

In the best of worlds, we grow and learn, become wiser, more forgiving and loving, and more at peace.  We adapt, let go of the past and create a different quilt than we originally imagined.  The “what if” questions lose their importance.  We live the life in front of us and create good from it for ourselves and others.  No matter what the fabric, this type of life is a quilt of beauty and love.