This morning as I walked the dog, I looked up into the tops of a budding tree towering high above me. The rising sun touched the topmost branches, bathing it in orange, and there, cavorting in the canopy were four male cardinals–the sun highlighting their bright red plumage. I have no idea what they were doing up there–it’s spring and maybe that means cardinal mating season and the four males were showing off and posturing to one another in front of some female. I’ve seen male and female cardinals at the feeder but haven’t paid close enough attention to see if they are different birds or the same visitors returning day after day to the feeder. I continue to take pleasure in simple things.
I am grateful this evening for breaking through. The dictionary defines breakthrough as “a sudden, dramatic, and important discovery or development: a major breakthrough in DNA research.” That is not the breaking through that I’m talking about. I am talking about being in the midst of a challenging circumstance and pushing through your discomfort with the circumstance, staying there long enough to break through the challenge to get to the good stuff. It’s breaking through like germinating seeds literally cracking the surface of the soil to push the first green shoots into the sunlight above ground. Periodically, if you watch a given situation closely enough you can see the breakthrough happening; but you have to be a keen observer or it’s quite easy to miss.
I’m not intending to be cryptic, I’m merely thinking that I’ve observed some very subtle shifts in various people and environments that encourage me to remain optimistic even when on the surface things still look pretty much the same. Ah, but that is when one must be a keen observer of the process and outcomes of any given interaction on any given day. In the work I’ve done over many years of my life, I have learned not to look for seismic shifts in people; most of the people I’ve interacted with, taught, led, assisted, reported to, etc. don’t suddenly have major “ah ha” moments and are suddenly enlightened. More often than not, they make glacial changes that are so small and incremental that if you are not using time-lapse photography or watching very, very closely, you’ll miss the shift. This then requires a measure of faith: yes, I saw it happen with my own eyes, the light indeed came on for a moment. It’s important that when you see it come on you gently nurture it until it stays on and the light of understanding burns consistently if not brilliantly.
There have definitely been (and there still are) people in my life who, in spite of various pieces of evidence laid out before them failed to “get it,” missed the cues that would help them comprehend what was happening around them and respond accordingly–accordingly meaning in the manner in which I wanted and needed them to respond. What to do in those moments when we don’t see the shift happen, or indeed it doesn’t occur at all? Be patient and kind in spite of my disappointment. It’s hard work this whole compassion thing.
Today I heard a colleague use the expression, “a culture of generosity,” meaning, I believe, creating spaces–a workplace environment, for example–in which I extend myself out seeking to understand and connect with people not like me and with whom I might not agree. Every morning when I write in my journal, I offer good wishes and intentions to all beings, including my “enemies.” When I write in my journal, “may it be so for my loved ones, acquaintances, “enemies, and all beings” I always put the word in quotation marks, not because I love or even like these people, but because I do not consider them enemies, people who wish ill or act in hurtful or violent ways toward me. I pray for them, offering intentions of peace and happiness, of health and wellbeing, of safety and security. A culture of generosity, a heart of compassion and lovingkindness compels me to find ways to engage even my “enemies,” watching out for those microshifts and quietly celebrating when they happen.
I have not generally been an optimist, generally I am more of a realist. So I’m not entirely sure why I am optimistic now. I’m not blindly so. I have times when I see clearly the way I want things to go, when I see possibilities everywhere; and then I have others when I seem to run headlong into a brick wall, landing on my backside bruised and bleeding and wondering what happened. I am learning to deal with those setbacks and pick myself up and figure out a way around the wall. I am grateful for learning to let things unfold, watch for the microshifts (and make microshifts of my own), and let things evolve. I am watching the “soil” for the signs of life breaking through what has been dormant ground and taking pleasure in watching what emerges.
