My friend is about to set sail on her boat. She is planning on a visit to the Channel Islands, then on to France and down to Italy. She has a plan; she has her qualifications; she knows how to sail and where she hopes to go, but it is not she who will decide where she actually ends up: That will depend on things she cannot control: the wind, the tides, the weather.
I am sent a blog from someone who writes with candour and humility about her depression: She has had to learn the difference between her dream of a perfect self and the reality of a human life, which is sculpted into beauty from the mess and scrappiness of the everyday, not surgically cut from the cloth of our plans and our will to see them become reality.
There is a difference between what we plan for in life and what really happens. How we deal with the gap between the two makes such a difference to the level of contentment we are able to find in life.
We set off in life like my friend in her boat, with a plan of action and an idea of what we are going to achieve. Then things naturally beyond our control throw us off course and take us to places we did not want to visit: the uncharted waters of bereavement, disappointment, sadness, disagreement and uncertainty. What are we to do? Often we ask ourselves, Why me? Or even, What is wrong with me that this should happen (and sometimes, keep on happening)?
Why me? is the right question, but we need to ask it with curiosity: Why me? What do I have to learn? Which of my weaknesses and blind spots are being revealed? How am I going to grow where I need to grow? What do I need to move towards? What do I need to let go of?
When we ask this way, we avoid victimhood and anger and fill our lives with meaning and purpose instead. When we ask this way, we learn how to do things differently, how to choose wisely and how to take very good care of ourselves. In this way, we make something beautiful and full of love out of difficulty and strife.
You have probably heard the Japanese word kintsukuroi: it is the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken.
Knowing that we have the capacity to become more beautiful from the cracks in our veneer, stronger from the things that have shattered us, we cannot sit for long with the kind of self-pity that bleats, “Poor me” It is hard when you are in the midst of darkness, but the light will return and with it a new depth to your capacity for compassion and understanding than you ever knew before.
Sarah x