Out of my control

She Abides

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / Leave a comment

Several years ago, my youngest sister gifted me with a large wall-handing made of weathered wood and carved with a feather and the word abide. I had a sense of what abide meant, but I wanted to be sure, so I looked up the meaning. Merriam-Webster provided me with several options:

a: to bear patiently : tolerate

b: to endure without yielding : withstand

c: to wait for : await

Today, I find myself again reflecting on the word abide and it perfectly describes where I find myself at this stage of my personal journey, especially in relationship to the outside world.

Today, I abide. I sit in quiet observation of the unfolding of humanity’s journey – knowing there is nothing I can do to change that which I find intolerable – things like hatred, division, and all the various isms. I endure the horrors I watch unfolding while refusing to yield my inner peace to things outside of my control and turning to my inner practice when the violence and hatred becomes too much for my sensitive nature.  I wait in hope that this time, humanity will get it right, while knowing they may not, and preparing myself for the worst.

Being able to abide requires a certain measure of inner strength and wisdom. Wisdom wrought through years of seeking and failing to facilitate change in the tide of humanity’s fate. Strength gained through the multitude of rejections I have faced along the way. Humanity doesn’t care much for change-makers. The institutions who benefit from the status quo, welcome change-makers even less.

Abiding doesn’t mean I’m giving up my visionary gifts or the impulse to support the healing and transformation of humanity. Abiding simply recognizes that now may not be the time.

So, I wait. I wait and watch. I hold on to hope without clinging to expectations. I have stepped aside, providing space in which humanity can walk its journey without interference or distractions. I abide in the contentment and peace I have so diligently cultivated awaiting the moment my gifts might be welcome, knowing they may never be. I abide in the reminder that the only one I can save is myself while providing an example that others may one day choose for themselves – and that the choice is up to them.

I Care Too Much

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 6 Comments

I have a confession to make.  I talk big about cultivating the fine art of detachment and learning not to care, but in reality, I care too much. It’s a problem:

  • I care about the state of our world.
  • I care about humanity’s wellbeing.
  • I care about the lack of peace and the pervasive nature of conflict.
  • I care that some humans are truly evil and intentionally cruel.
  • I care about the health of our environment and the safety of our water and food.
  • I care about injustice.
  • I care that people are starving, homeless, without adequate medical care, living in war-torn countries where their safety is continually threatened.
  • I care that people die in unnecessary wars.
  • I care that the best humanity can come up with for resolving conflict is war.
  • I care about ignorance and the bad decisions human beings make because of a lack of verifiable information.
  • I care that there are people in the world who thrive on manipulating and abusing others.
  • I care…I care…I care…

More than all of this, I care about the people I love. I want the best for them.  I want them to be happy, healthy, well cared for, and safe. I want them to succeed in whatever they set out to do. I want them to have peace, to know contentment and to experience joy. I want them to feel loved.

The problem with caring, is that I am not in control over any of the things I care about. That drives me insane. It is excruciating to observe humanity and to see all the unnecessary violence, conflict, and hatred. It is even more difficult to watch those you love make decisions that will cause themselves or someone else harm. It is especially challenging when you have some experience in a certain area and can predict the harm that will come when one takes a certain path. This is hundred-fold true when you have a tiny bit of pre-sentience and a thousand-fold true when you are an empath, or when someone you love asks for guidance, and you give it, and they choose the exact opposite.

It actually hurts me to see some choosing certain paths. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it. So I writhe in agony. I become frustrated, angry, and impatient. I get balled up in self-righteousness. My anxiety escalates and my depression deepens. Sometimes it’s so bad my PTSD is triggered. It sucks.

Then I apply every single spiritual practice I know for detaching and letting go. Sometimes it helps. More often not. Or if it does, the effects are only temporary, and I find myself right back in the place of caring.

UGH!

There are days I want to shake my fist at God: “Why did you make me care???”  There are other days I try to bargain, “Can’t you make me NOT CARE like so many people seem to do?”  Then there are the days where I make myself not care – I have to get angry to not care, and then I feel guilty and like I’m being a complete asshole.

UGH!

Caring is a curse, but I’m not sure I would want to be any other way. Someone has to give a shit!  Right!?  If I don’t care, who will? If someone doesn’t care what will come of this world?

But then I look at what we call “God.”  Does “He” even care? I sometimes think not. Instead, it seems that God leaves us to our own devices and lets the chips fall where they may – consequences, natural law, karma, and all that jazz.

If God doesn’t care, then why do I?  It’s a serious question.

Some might call caring “codependency.” Yeah, I can own that. I do care – often too much. The too much is an ebb and a flow. Better on some days than others. When I’m feeling vulnerable, or anxious, or unwell, it might be worse. When my PTSD is triggered it’s definitely worse. Unraveling from being a first-born and certain cultural conditioning is hard. Healing from childhood wounds and forced extroverted niceness (brought about by multiple moves) takes time. People pleasing and over-responsibility have to be unlearned.

It’s a journey. But as hard as I am on others, I’m a million times harder on myself. I should have this thing down by now. Right!?

WRONG!  Not even close.  Turns out I’m human, fragile, vulnerable, and imperfect and broken just like everyone else. And more than anything else, I am not in control over the fact that I am excruciatingly human – and that just kills me.

Learning Not to Care

/ Lauri Ann Lumby / 3 Comments

(aka Cultivating the Fine Art of Detachment)

Life is a funny thing. First, we are taught that it is our job to care about EVERYTHING. Caring about EVERYTHING implies that it is our job to do something about it. Heaped on top of this caring is the whispered weight of responsibility. Not only is it our job to do something, it is also likely that the things that appear wrong are also somehow our fault. Blame adds to the pressure to do something about the wrong.

At nearly sixty, however, I’ve learned something new. It is more than likely that NOTHING is our fault. Therefore, it’s not our job to fix it. Furthermore, it’s not even our responsibility to care.

Wait! What? It’s not our job to care?

Yes, we have a human responsibility to care about ourselves, our loved ones, humanity, and the world. If we have a loving heart, we want the best for everyone. We want people to be happy, healthy, fed, clothed, safely sheltered, educated, and their medical needs provided for. We want people to have liberty, dignity, respect, and peace.

The sad reality, however, is that more often than not, there is not a damn thing we can do to guarantee any of this for anyone. Neither can we necessarily fix the wrong that prevents people from having all that is stated above. This is especially true when the individual is capable but unwilling to care for themselves. Furthermore, 99% of what we care about is completely out of our sphere of influence, and even if it is, it still may be out of our control.

As a Type 1 (Perfectionist/Reformer) on the Enneagram, this has been a truth that has been very difficult for me to come to. Not only have I had conditioning working against me, but I have also had the gift/curse of my unique temperament which gave me the lens through which I am hard-wired to ask “How could this be better.” Indeed, this gift makes me a fantastic trouble-shooter, source of counsel and guidance. This lens also left me with a seething resentment over all the things in the world that I can’t fix and all those who could utilize my gifts, but have refused my counsel.

Compounding the frustrated fulfillment of my gift and its resulting resentment, is the reality of emotional addiction. As it turns out, we can become addicted to negative emotional states in the same way that we can be addicted to alcohol or drugs. Spending time in, or even cultivating these negative emotional states have a similar impact on our brain chemistry as other addictions. Resentment, frustration, impatience, even rage were negative states to which I had become addicted, and I would even seek out situations to get upset about so that I could experience the “power” of these emotions.

Feeling these emotions, however, never fixed the frustration. Getting twisted up about someone else’s behavior, an injustice in the world, or the ignorance of humanity never gave me peace – only more resentment. Eventually I had to make a choice – remain in the ever-twisted world of seething resentment or find some way to experience peace. I chose peace.

The first step in choosing peace was to acknowledge I had an addiction. The second step was to recognize what all those inner feelings were actually saying to me.  They weren’t saying, “Go fix this thing.  It’s your job to fix it.  You know better than anyone else.”  Instead, they were showing me one of two things: a) a need of my own that wasn’t being met that I then had the responsibility to get met (if it was within my realm of control). b) all the things in the world over which I have ZERO control. Admittedly, a) was easier to accept than b).

When we feel powerless over something we cannot control, we will find anyway to find that power, until we can accept that it is really not within our control. One of the tactics I have found helpful (or mantras I’ve embraced) is to force myself NOT TO CARE.

I know this sounds harsh, but I am naturally a loving and caring person – especially as it relates to those I love and have care for. I want the best for them. I want them to be safe, cared for, healthy, happy, etc. But the reality is that no matter my efforts to share my gifts in a way that might be supportive, some/many are unable to receive these gifts. I can beg and plead all I want but until an individual (or a group, or a Church, or a political party, or a nation) wants to make a change, my words are dust in the wind.

To survive the frustration and angst over a) my gifts not being received and b) my complete lack of control over a situation, I have had to learn not to care. In the recovery world, this is called detachment. Detachment allows me to be an objective witness of what is unfolding around me without the compulsion to step in and offer my wisdom, expertise, advice, suggestions, etc. Detachment allows me to move beyond the frustration, irritation, or anger I might feel in the face of what I perceive as wrong and accept things the way they are. And OH MY GOD, my inner perfectionist/reformer HATES THIS!  But, it’s the only way I can experience peace. At this point in my life, I’m far more concerned about peace than thinking I have any influence over the state of our world, and I’ve discovered that this peace is a choice.

I can continue to allow myself to care so much about the world that I suffer the consequences of ongoing seething resentment and frustration, or I can learn not to care (cultivate the fine art of detachment) and live my life in peace. I choose peace.