Lessons in Gratitude

Tonight I am grateful for the prospect of getting a little rest. I am taking a day off from work. In part I am going to do some work at home that I need to do, and yes, a bit of office work that I also need to get done. But by and large I plan to rest a bit. For one thing, I’m going to “sleep in” until about 7:00 a.m., which is downright decadent. For another, I’m simply going to take it a bit easy, as best I can.

This morning, as part of my leftover exercises informally assigned to me by my brother during our conversation yesterday was to begin to write down what I want in and for my life. As I was writing along in my journal I realized I was procrastinating in writing down what I want. “Hmmm, that’s interesting,” I said to myself, beginning to notice that’s what I was doing. (I love when I begin to notice one of my less helpful behaviors. Rather than berate myself for it, I simply notice with a friendly, mildly curious, “hmmm, that’s interesting.”) I realized, not for the first time, that I have a really hard time thinking about what I want, let alone actually writing it down on paper. When I began to interrogate what that was about I began to really get to some seriously limiting beliefs I hold about whether or not I deserve to have what I want. Ouch!

Without getting too deep about it (and I really am too tired to get too deep), I suffer what so many others suffer from–chronic unworthiness: I’m simply not good enough, not something enough to deserve good things to happen to and for me. As I began to dig beneath the surface, I was able to quickly find one of the sources of my unworthiness, and let me tell you, it is deep and longstanding. Nonetheless I’m grateful for the awareness of what is in part holding me back from being able to enumerate what I want in my life. And awareness of the limiting belief is the beginning of changing it. I continue to be grateful for my brother’s check in with me yesterday. He challenged me to think about things I either hadn’t considered or hadn’t felt I had permission to really look at them.

I’m a little too tired to write any more this evening, not if I hope to remain relatively coherent. But I want to add that I did in fact write down a few things that I want. Once I hurtled over the obstacle of unworthiness, letting go of what I don’t deserve, I was much freer to write down a few things that came to mind. I believe I’ll keep at it and see where it takes me. With gratitude as my companion, I am confident that I’ll be able to break through some of the limiting beliefs I’ve held that keep me from fully realizing who I am and what I can be. At the end of this day, that’s a really good thing to accomplish. And for that I am exceedingly grateful.

What happens when the warrior tires? Does she lay down her sword and shield and sit down in the middle of the battlefield? I think she must, depending on her comrades in arms to encircle and protect her or simply waiting to be captured or killed. At some point she has reached the state in which  she is too tired to care. So, she either drops her sword and sits down in the midst of the battle, hurls it away from her and holds up her hands offers herself up in surrender, plays dead on the battlefield, lying in exhaustion until it’s all over, or any number of other scenarios that may play out as her epic struggles unfold.

I have been a warrior of sorts for much of my adult life. My battlefield might not look like what you picture from the movies: epic battles of the crusades or gritty, bloody, brutal fields of the wars of the past 100 years. Mine don’t involve shedding of blood, wielding of weapons, wearing of body armor. No, the primary battles I’ve waged through the years have been those of wit and will, where skills of strategy, covert action, mental gymnastics are some of the tools of the trade. And while some may cringe at the use of military and warfare metaphors,  many of us who engage in social change efforts are quite clear that most of the time we are engaged in battle. People who “fight” for social justice, “combat” racism and other “isms”or “battle” corruption, violence and other social ills most certainly know they are engaged in  warfare, and without trying to sound overly dramatic, know that in many cases the outcome is sometimes a matter of life and death, and in other cases of quality of life.

I have done social change work for almost all of my working life, employed within various institutions to make them more hospitable for people who come from different cultural backgrounds than the mainstream dominant culture. It has not been easy, and is often misunderstood and unpopular. I won’t go into a long litany of some of the language of opposition I’ve heard over the years. Suffice it to say that after doing this for over 30 years, one certainly gets weary at various points along the way. That is when this warrior wants to lay down her sword and stop fighting, even if it’s only to rest for a little while, recover my strength, and then jump back into it.

The other day a colleague of mine said during a meeting that she was tired and was not going to fight on this particular day. “If somebody asks me for something I’m going to tell them I don’t have anything for them,” she remarked, “and I need for that to be okay.” I assured her and the rest of those assembled that it was okay, that there are others around her who would not only take up her slack but shield and protect her from “enemy” forces until such time as she feels up to reengaging with the world. And if she were to decide that she wasn’t going to reengage the world and wanted to permanently step aside from the warfare, who am I to dissuade her or get in her way?

I’m grateful for those days, as few and far between as they sometimes are, when someone relieves me from my armor and weapons and sends me off to get some rest. I can feel myself reaching that point right about now. I’m hanging on, engaging in skirmishes here and there, looking for a break in the action when I can catch a breather. And while I know I have more battles ahead, I am looking forward to the time when I can lay down my sword for good and retire to the farm. Until then gratitude and grace will keep me going. And for now, that’s enough.

This morning as I was out walking the dog around the yard as I usually do, I noticed my across-the-street neighbor unloading large landscaping paver bricks one by one from the trunk of his car, walking them over to the bed where he stacked them meticulously in a row, outlining the bed. I stood in long moments of indecision, considering going over and asking him if he would like some help, as he appeared to be doing it on his own. I watched for a long time, pondering whether or not he would actually accept my offer. When it was all said and done I didn’t go over and help him, and I’m still questioned myself about that decision for the next several minutes. Eventually I climbed into my car and drove over to my older sister’s house where I have made a weekly commitment to water her plants and do a little gardening.

What does it mean to be a good neighbor? The man across the street has never spoken to me, and periodically, when I catch his or his wife’s attention, I wave and say good morning or hello. But they never initiate any kind of greeting to me, and they haven’t in the year that they’ve lived there. What am I to make of that? How do I behave as a good neighbor to someone who shows no particular interest?

Last winter when we had 15 inches of snow fall over night, I took it upon myself to shovel out one of my neighbor’s driveways. She was out of town, and I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to come home and find 15 inches of snow in your driveway burying your car. I didn’t hesitate, but went to another neighbor’s house and borrowed her shovel (I still don’t have one) and began the arduous process of clearing out the driveway. This neighbor, who lives next door to me, has interacted with me from the day that I moved in, exchanging pleasantries and offering small kindnesses over the course of the two years I’ve lived here. It is easy to reciprocate for her.

But what about the man across the street who doesn’t speak and hasn’t shown any interest in doing so? Maybe, like me, he is shy. Maybe not. I won’t know because today I made the choice not to interact with him and to offer assistance with his project. To me it is a simple matter of act of kindness that we do for one another, though I have no way of knowing now how he would have received my offer. Perhaps I’ll get another chance at some point.

As a child, my family moved from the “black neighborhood” to the “white neighborhood.” In the 1960s this was a big deal, and many of the people around us did not find it too humorous that a family of negroes had moved into the area. The reactions ranged from cool, chilly indifference to outright hostility, but for the most part people ignored us and life went on. Over the years, even into my adulthood, I was periodically aware of the same chilliness from neighbors as I had experienced back then, and while most of my current neighbors are friendly, the people across the street are the only ones who do not really speak to me. Perhaps it is my imagination, perhaps not. Today I had a chance to put it directly to the test, but chose not to. An offer of help might help crack open the cocoon of aloofness. Perhaps I’ll look for another opportunity and give it a try.

I am grateful to be connected to the people around me. I don’t expect or necessarily even want to be good friends with my neighbors, but I do want to live in a community in which we wave and smile and periodically look out for one another. I have bought girl scout cookies and dished out Halloween candy to the two little girls who live catty-cornered from me, and I wave at their parents as they walk their dog. Henry, the dad, brought me some birdseed they’d had in their garage for a long time. They’d watched me fill my bird feeder weekly and figured I’d get more use from it than they did. My next door neighbor May keeps an eye on my house when I travel. She also saves the bags from her newspapers for me to use to pick up after Honor. She leaves them next to my back door. I also keep an eye on her house when she travels, picking up the newspaper if she’s forgotten to have it held. This is what I’m used to experiencing from good neighbors, and I’m grateful to have a few folks I look forward to seeing around on a regular basis.

The house I currently live in is not my “forever house,” I probably won’t live here for much more than another year or two. It’s not my farm/retreat after all. But for the time I am here, I will continue to be as good a neighbor as I can and enjoy the people around me. And that is a very good thing.