Noticing the subtle blessings

This morning’s Daily Stoic Journal entry said I should take a walk–that stepping away from things and going outside is great to clear your mind and help you manage whatever may come. Okay, I figured, whatever. I already exercise in the morning, write this, do a devotional, and write in a couple journals. Talking a long walk, unless it’s for exercise, doesn’t fit.

And then I had to take something to the mailbox.

June is Florida is usually like Satan’s armpit outside. In the afternoons, it’s typically Satan’s wet armpit, as the storms we need roll in. At night, it’s Satan’s dark armpit. In the morning, it’s a decent taste of the afternoon heat and humidity to come.

Except this morning was pleasant. Very pleasant.

Normally, I might be a little irritated at having to go to the mailbox. Or I’d be thinking about the 4,815,162,342 things I think I need to get done today. I’d probably be a little stressed. Maybe irritated.

This morning, I had the presence of mind to notice and appreciate how comfortable it is. It was almost like a special little gift, just for me.

How many special little gifts are there that we don’t notice? How often does a sour mood or a stark realization of the grim tasks of the day prevent us from noticing something wonderful that can lift our spirits?

I’ve missed an abundance of lovely surprises because I was too busy or cynical to recognize them. And I’ll probably continue that practice more often than I want because that’s how I’m wired. But if I catch even one out of ten surprises, that’s a starting point. And it’s a practice I can build on.

You, too. Who knows what wonderful thing you’ll notice?

The importance of anticipating joy

My mind has an active imagination. Outside working through plot points in my fiction writing and finding creative ways to solve problems at work, that’s not the best thing.

Yesterday was a flight day from LA to Tampa. It was a direct flight, which meant no layovers or increased chances for delays. I had a seat in economy plus, which meant extra leg room. All I needed to do all day yesterday was get to the airport, wait around until it was time to leave, sit in a chair on a plane, then get my luggage and go home.

And that’s what happened. We were a little late taking off, but arrived functionally on-time. The luggage took a while to get to the baggage claim area.

Those are the only bad things that happened. Overall, it was a wonderful trip.

And yet, my mind actively looked for things to be irritated about. Is it possible, just once, to leave on time? I bet that very, very large person will sit next to me, no small person in my own right. (They didn’t.) How can it possibly take so long to put luggage on a cart and load it on a conveyor? (Sometimes it does; get over yourself.)

It’s a silly mindset, but one I’ve nurtured over decades. Things will probably be as bad as you think, unless they’re worse. We’re powerless against the forces of whatever to change things. And at the end, I’ll have been right about all of it.

And yet, the most fundamental change is the simplest–the change in mindset. It’s simple, but it’s not always easy.

Today’s the first day back after a week out of the office. Same thing–dread about what might be. I’d be better served saving my energy for anything difficult that actually comes up and increasing my energy by actively cultivating joy.

Actively pursuing a mindset that anticipates joy isn’t selfish or silly. It’s vital.

You can’t pass on to others what you don’t have.

Becoming an instrument of happiness

The peace prayer attributed to St. Francis of Assisi asks that God make me an instrument of his peace, then it goes through a litany of places where we ask him to use us. It’s a wonderful aspirational prayer, something to remember as we approach each day:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy.
O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

This morning, as I wait in LA for my flight back to Tampa, a couple flight attendants were talking about movies they enjoy and The Princess Bride came up. I chimed in, saying it was the perfect movie and that my daughter got me a Princess Bride shirt that looks like stained glass.

At the end of the discussion, she said that made her day.

Air travel is often a war of attrition, where you outlast the necessary delays and indignities until you finally get home. People are confined next to strangers, subject to rules they’d prefer not to follow, next to people they’d rather not know.

That’s before you factor in bat-faced yippie dogs (like the one I encountered on the way to LA), crying babies and frazzled parents, and the rest.

I had to work to keep my mood decent as I faced a long day with a busy work day tomorrow. But my comments about the Princess Bride and my shirt made her happier. And that made me happier.

It all came from one decision to not lead with fear and irritation. It’s something I’ve been working on. Perhaps over time, it won’t require effort.

When pain can help with purpose

Purpose triumphs over pain.

The line jumped out at me from the commencement speaker’s address at my daughter’s doctoral hooding ceremony.

She was talking about how you can use adversity and disappointment as fuel when things get difficult. She’s not wrong about that. Many people can point out a specific moment where disappointment gave them a fork in the road and allowed them to choose a hard road that led to future success.

My most recent instance was at Christmastime, when I saw myself getting angry and bitter and decided to change course.

As someone with a chronic condition, the words also have a second meaning. Chronic physical pain comes with extra psychological and logistical baggage that makes existence difficult sometimes. For people whose burden is heavier than mine, equating pain with purpose is almost cruel.

I’ve only had brief tastes of that kind of existence, enough to understand that road is steeper than I can imagine. The only reward for perseverance is more of the pain you’re trying with withstand, forever and ever, amen.

With each flare, the possibility exists that I get stuck in that place. It’s a sobering prospect.

Every day I don’t get stuck there is a gift–not earned or guaranteed. I waste far too much of those days, but that I also find purpose in them.

The pain of the Fibro has made me a better person. It’s helped me be more empathetic, more emotionally controlled. More intentional. It’s spurring on my efforts to continue those improvements.

There was a time in life when I was a bitter pain in the ass. I worked hard to change who that person was. Pain or not, I’ll be damned if I’m going back there.

While nothing tomorrow is guaranteed, my odds of experiencing a life-altering crash are higher than for most. That means I need to live with purpose and build resilience while I can.

While my pain might not lose to purpose, the battle’s worth fighting. And finding something bigger than the pain makes the hard existence of dealing with it seem less pointless. Ironically, that might make it easier.

Taking inspiration close to home

One of the things I told my kids was not to sell out–to find what they were passionate about and stick with it. Give it a full shot and go through the dark places to get to where you need to be.

My daughter hit a key milestone in her journey yesterday, officially receiving a Doctorate in Philosophy (Political Science) from UCLA. Her knowledge of the subject area is deep. She may be the smartest person I know–and I know some really, really smart people.

It’s not her intelligence that inspires me. She followed her passion not knowing where it would take her. She hung through times when the darkness seemed so thick she could choke on it. She kept the faith through a pandemic that stalled her progress and persevered through what must’ve seemed like an endless procession of obstacles.

I’m not ashamed to say that in some key ways, she’s better than I am. Her tenacity and perseverance is something I aspire to in my own struggles.

My son is walking a similar path–one that’s sometimes difficult and where the outcome isn’t assured. A couple years ago, he had a key decision point and decided to be true to his passions. His road is difficult, too–everything worthwhile is–but he’s walking it.

When you pursue an outcome regardless of the path, it opens you up to difficulties and even potential abuse. If you believe in your vision, you persevere and keep going anyway.

Both of my children have kept at it far longer than I did. That inspires me.

It’s not a bad thing for your kids to get right the things you wish you’d done differently.

Having them as an inspiration and role model is a great thing.

What if you decided not to worry?

I worry about stupid stuff. Usually it starts a little before work, then carries into the morning as a vague sense that something isn’t right. There’s no basis for it in reality–it’s a holdover from when my view of the world and others’ view of me was vastly different than it is now.

And yet, there it is.

It’s wildly undisciplined and when I give into it, I’m allowing my emotions to lie to me–yet again.

People often give things up when they find them unhealthy, if even just to try. In my Catholic past, it was guilty pleasures, like chocolate, or snacks between meals. Little indulgences that really didn’t hurt anything, but didn’t help much, either.

One year, I gave up sarcasm, which went surprisingly well. So what if I gave up worrying?

Worry will come, whether we want it or not, but we get to choose what to do with and about it.

I can give into my worry, let it simmer–and let that magnify the other things I’m not digging. Or I can note it, examine it, decide if it’s valid, then either do something about or move on.

It’s a hard task, but it’s doable.

So as part of my effort to attain emotional discipline, I’ll give it a try. The worst thing that can happen is I don’t succeed–which means I’m no worse off than when I started. But if I do succeed, then I’ve started a pattern to apply to other areas of emotional discipline.

Anyone with me?

Doing what you can is always enough

A year and a half ago, we spent a few days in San Antonio. The Fibro chose that time to give me an extended break and I was running a lot. Riverwalk isn’t just where all the shops and restaurants are. It extends out of downtown far enough for a challenging run–one I gladly took.

I’m back in town for work this week, staying almost exactly where we did back then. But the Fibro came with me. This morning, I got up and walked. I didn’t rack up the miles. I did 45 minutes because that’s what I’ve committed to each day.

When I saw a guy running, I surprised myself by not being envious. Usually when I can’t run and I see someone who can, the envy burns. I want to run, too. The envy usually comes when I’m doing nothing. This morning that wasn’t the case.

I walked–which is what I could do. And I think doing what I could made dealing with what I couldn’t do easier.

I’d love nothing better than to go for a long, challenging run, but that’s not in the cards right now. Maybe someday I will. Maybe I won’t.

But as long as I do what I can, I can live with that. What I can do is always enough.

It has to be. Running this morning would’ve been irresponsible and disastrous.

Walking was a challenge. In a way, I’m as proud of dragging my butt out of bed this morning and getting the work in, as I was in getting the long run in back then.

Not swimming in the emotional sewage

Part of my morning routine is checking the internet. I look at the news, see how the Mets managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, check out Facebook for people I know–then I go to Twitter.

To be fair, there are people I virtually know primarily through Twitter. I care about them and that’s how I can see how they’re doing.

Then there’s the rest of it. The ugly stuff. This member of Congress saying that ridiculous thing. That influencer condemning some other person and everyone who doesn’t agree with the condemnation. And as the election looms, the noise and hatred and accusations grow louder.

Satan is the accuser. It’s his voice you hear in the shrill, absolute condemnation of a person or group of people. It goes beyond saying you disagree with what someone thinks, says, or does, and judges their worthiness to exist.

Some days my feed leaves me swimming in that level of condemnation.

I’ve started to pay more attention to emotional discipline. My feelings are fickle and not prone to act in my best interests. They’re free agents that may or not help me out.

Similar to that guy at work who can be a godsend one day, and an albatross the next (if not sooner), my feelings aren’t to be trusted. And they’re influenced by the accusatory deluge I read there.

If I want emotional discipline, it’s my responsibility to put myself in a position where that’s possible. That means putting on a hazmat suit before swimming in the sewage. Or, some days, not swimming there at all.

There’s a visceral thrill to posting that clever snarky burn against someone who seems to deserve it. But it’s a sign of emotional immaturity, of a lack of discipline.

I want to do better in that regard. So I won’t let the accusers–even the ones I agree with–influence me that way.

Discomfort isn’t pleasant, but it can be good

I’m glad I wrote yesterday’s post, but I’m not thrilled with the level of entitlement in it. Most of the stuff I complained about was immaterial. I got to my destination with no problem.

There were reasons for my crankiness at the time–and excuses. But they aren’t who I want to be.

Between now and the time I die, I’ll face a plethora of things more difficult than an mildly challenging travel day. The fact that I let it get under my skin is something I need to work on–and I am.

But I’m still uncomfortable with that and other parts of myself–and discomfort can be good. It’s a stimulus to change. Once you change something about yourself, the scope of the change you consider possible grows. Discomfort becomes a bigger and bigger trigger to make positive changes.

As I wrote yesterday, irritation then becomes practice in exercising your ability to control how you respond and what emotions you accept.

It’s big, worthwhile work.

When everything is stupid and annoying, that’s a chance to build some skills and resilience

The world isn’t aligned to make things difficult. Sometimes it just seems that way. Like when your phone says it’s charging slowly (which means it’ll actually lose battery power while it’s charging) and you should make sure you use a real Samsung charger. Like that one that gave you the slow charging message.

Or when the password doesn’t work on the airline app, even though it did when you left and you need to find your connecting flight info. Or when you try to access the airport wifi only to have to defer a couple pop-ups on your laptop, then run a gauntlet that would stymie that ancient Spartans just to get connected.

All before 9:15 local time.

On their own, none of these things is material. Taken together, at best, they’re annoying. The kind of annoying that would cause Gandhi to want to throttle someone.

Serious, Houston, who has an airport where you can actually go to the gate you need to get to until the flight is called? I can’t be the only dumbass who sees the barriers and wonders what bad thing happened to prevent access to the flight you need to get on.

It’s all practice.

Practice to stop and take a breath. Practice to remind yourself it’s a minor bump. That the only way you’ll remember this in five years is if you lose your control and make a bad decision. Practice to say that you’ve been through far, far worse and like Elton John 41 years ago (feel old now?), you’re still standing.

I’m still standing…yeah, yeah, yeah

Everyone has gone through crap in their lives. Crap far worse than the things I’ve listed.

And as someone who has Fibromyalgia, I don’t have the luxury of waiting aggravation on stupid bullcrap. As much as overdoing it, stress is almost guaranteed to cause a flare, maybe even a crash.

I need to slow down. Take a breath. Understand the bigger picture.

Discomfort, annoyance, and inconvenience are all part of life. The only people who don’t experience them are dead.

I’m resilient and building a skill set of controlling the only thing I have complete dominion over–my reactiion.

And since it’s Sunday morning, Jesus is the model of that control. Here’s a guy who could call down a phalanx of holy special forces troops to make his enemies a smudge on the ground by just thinking it.

He was tortured to death in the worst way people could invent. And he refrained from doing what every single one of us would have done when faced with the prospect of dying his death.

That means I don’t get the luxury of giving in to my annoyance. It means that i I want to live the life I aspire to, I have to do the hard emotional work of restrain, even when I feel like one more stupid, annoying thing will push me over the edge.

It means people get to be obtuse, inconsiderate, and even mean and my job is to do my best to restrain myself. To remember to stop and breathe. To strive to show some measure of the same restraint God showed with us–and still shows today, if you believe in that.

It’s a skill set I’m far from mastering. But annoying little treks are the best lab to build those skills.

I just need to remember to do it.