Find the shining and share
We give meaning to our lives by the stories we tell about ourselves. We can be strengthened and encouraged, too, by the stories we see unfolding close to us with friends and family. How do they face the tough things in their lives? In a world that feels like it’s going to shit everywhere we turn, shining a light on these magical threads of courage becomes especially important. Is it possible, in whatever tiny way we can, to become the change we want to see?
My dad was a big fan of what he called, “Putting good into the system.” By this he meant small things, keeping a tidy house, doing laundry, folding and putting it away, and putting a decent home-cooked meal on the table. It cost him. Dad was an alcoholic 25 years dry, a man who in his last couple of years, refused a triple bypass heart operation because he said it would kill him. A smoker, he kept from my sister, brother and me for a long time that he had been diagnosed with COPD, chronic obstructive pulmonary disorder. This is a condition where you’re always short of breath and have no energy whatsoever.
When my dad and my stepmother separated, Dad was retired and she was working full-time. Early on after the split, he looked after their two young children for most of the week. Later on, my stepmom, who I hasten to say is a lovely human being, got a bigger place and the situation evened out. But I know it took every scrap of energy and determination Dad possessed at that time to do simple things like get to the grocery store.
It contextualized things for me when a friend whose mom had COPD, described her as wanting to do things, and then, in the time it took her to get up from her chair and cross the room, realize she didn’t have the energy.
Living on Pender Island, in a spread-out community of two thousand folks, I’m touched with the number of small heroisms I see around me. People deal with so much difficult stuff, emotionally and physically, that it can be hard for them to get up in the morning, let alone manage with some form of grace. These are stories told me in confidence, so I’m respecting that and giving only outlines.
I see three main categories of these sparkly heroisms.
1) Looking for affirmation
What gets us out of bed in the morning? Gratitude.
There’s my friend in her seventies who’s doing grandchild care every other week and waiting for knee surgery, texting me about being on her deck and the delight she takes in seeing a momma robin an arm’s length away, feed her chick a cherry.
Focusing on wars, famines, the terrible sadness of seeing our planet suffer, “the whole catastrophe,” as Nicholas Kazantzakis put it in Zorba the Greek, is never going to take us to a place of serenity or helpfulness to our world.
Yes, there’s grief for sure. Speaking for myself, I do my best to acknowledge sadness and let its energy pass through me. There’s always something to be grateful for. I can rest my thought on the play of sunlight coming through the window, the shape of trees against the sky. We’re alive. When at least a quarter of my friends are dealing with serious health issues, this is not the given I assumed when I was thirty. A doctor friend said long ago, “The mortality rate for us all is the same, 100%.” But right now, we’re still alive, we have time for another cup of tea, a glass of wine, a call to a friend.
2) Choosing affirmation
Over and over, I see my friends make small choices for good. Sometimes not so small, but hey, when a person is in severe pain, getting out to a studio on a regular basis to do creative work is brave and beautiful.
One friend is having painful challenges with an adult child and their spouse. Nasty things have been said, and not by my friend. It hurts my heart that this good person isn’t being recognized for her kindnesses over the years. What does she say? “I have compassion for them.”
Then there’s the friend who’s spent a lot of time over the last few years travelling for cancer treatments. What does she want to talk about? Her latest painting.
How about the seventy-seven-year-old who overcame her terror of singing a solo?
These acts of valour put good into the system.
3) Expressing affirmation, whether personal, collective or spiritual
Personal
My mom was known to befriend people the rest of our family called “lame ducks.” She had nice friends, too, but Janet never stopped talking. She was let go as a teacher when she insisted, among other things, on wearing white gloves in the classroom, the kind that women used to wear to church in the 1950s. I remember Mom saying to me, “Well someone has to be friends with Janet.” Yes, well, not the rest of us!
A friend on Pender has taken on a wildly invasive species called daphne or spurge-laurel. It’s an evergreen shrub that colonizes the understory in the forest. Ten years ago, a gardener lamented to me, “It’s taken over the Disc Golf Park completely. No one can do anything, it’s just awful.” Except for one person. He jokingly calls himself The Daphinator and goes for walks with loppers in hand. He calls these purgings of daphne his gift to Pender Island. “It encourages me,” I tell him. “When I see you’ve been out there, I’m heartened to pull a few daphne myself.” It’s a few evil-smelling, caustic-sap plants every time I’m out. It’s at least an armful every time The Daphinator is out. Run that by how many walks in a week times weeks in a year. It’s something, small, but better than nothing. I can hold to that.
Collective
Recently I went to day-long symposium at the Anglican Church hall organized by three women on the island. It was the kind of thing that makes me love Pender: these women saw a need to talk about aging in place. It’s long been assumed that when a person got to be a certain age, they sold up and went off to live in a condo in nearby Sidney on Vancouver Island. “Oh yeah, Sidney’s where you go to die,” someone said to me recently. Lots of people are feeling like no, actually, Pender Island is a pretty great place, we’d like to get carried out of here feet first, thanks very much. But there are challenges.
The organizers of the symposium started with six small workshops to define what island folks saw as our needs. The day-long event came after; there were speakers and discussion groups to address what the main interest areas were. No one was getting paid; it was all volunteer, including multiple trays of delicious homemade muffins. It was a real example of putting good into the system that my dad talked about.
The day was energizing. It felt significant to identify issues and work toward solutions as a community. I’m quite sure that some concrete and positive solutions will come from this initiative. I feel blessed to live in a place with such smart and funny people.
Spiritual
Call it healing energy, light, love, sending positive thoughts or prayer, this is a strongly active force. Recently I was troubled by the pain someone close to me was feeling. On my walk through the woods, I spent time breathing in light, breathing out love for this person. Or I’d switch it and breathe in love and breathe out light. It was an interesting discipline and I could only keep it up for bits. As Julian of Norwich says, “Our life is rooted and grounded in love, and without love, we may not live.” A couple of minutes later, coming out of the trees into a meadow, I was dazzled by the sight of dozens of silver and black dragonflies swooping and darting, sparkling in the sun; I’ve never seen so many. I laughed with joy.
Remember the world has beautiful things waiting for you still to come, and things you yourself can give the world.
What does your day look like? Got anything shining planned? And yes, some days getting up counts!
Thanks Zoe. Beautiful thoughts.
Thanks, Pam!