Maturing into Humility

My therapist is 81 years old. A few months ago when I was weeping over the news that a ten-year-old had shot and killed her mother’s friend accidentally, she cried with me. After a few minutes of sitting together in our sorrow, she said, “and there is so much good.”

In another time, a different era of my life, I would have found this type of comment glib and annoying. But that day I took comfort. I believed her. I trusted her wisdom and her experience. 

That six-word statement, heard at the right moment, from a trusted guide and elder opened up a tiny portal for me. Like a rainbow milky-way encircling me, I felt it, all the good things that walk with me every day of my life — my family, my community, my health, the trees, the lake, the birds. And, along with the despair I felt for that ten-year-old girl, I felt grateful. 

Today is September 11th, the 21st anniversary of one our country’s greatest disasters. I remember the day. I was set to fly to Los Angeles on September 14th for a three-month yoga training but at the last minute, afraid to fly, I decided to drive. I spent months after 9–11 frightened, unmoored, waiting for another bomb to drop.

I was thirty-two years old then and I thought I had more control than I did. I thought that worrying, fretting, and listening to more news, would keep me in charge of the situation. I believed that keeping my mind on the matter would prepare me for whatever else was to come.

Today there is a thick layer of smoke blanketing the sky, alerting us to the devastation that is happening to forest land to the north of us. We cannot see the bridge to the north or the mountain to the south. We’ve closed all of our windows and altered our outside plans. I can’t help but think about the birds. What are they doing? Where are they hiding out?

As I look at the sky I wonder how far in every direction this smoke goes. At what point does the sky turn blue again? I remember when I first learned about brackish water. How do the freshwater fish and the saltwater fish figure out where to live? Have they adapted special abilities over time so that they can live in fresh, salt, or brackish waters?

The birds are adapting to the smokey sky. I don’t know how, but they are. Some of them will learn to manage the smoke, others will retreat to the sky that is clear and some will manage to live in the brackish sky.

Last night I went to an outdoor cafe with a friend. The sky was brown. It felt like we were in some kind of a smoke-induced solar eclipse, but we decided to sit outside anyway, accepting the possibility of being in unhealthy air quality in exchange for a few hours of much needed time to catch up with each others’ lives.

My daughter’s school district is on strike, a galling and appalling situation after two years of half-cooked school. Trump is up to his familiar manipulation tactics, reminding us of the utter and pervasive corruption in our country. There is smoke in my sky and skies all over our region. Women are being denied rights to their own bodies. Russia and Ukraine are at war. Guns are more valued than books. Loved ones of those killed in 9–11 are remembering and grieving those they tragically lost twenty-one years ago. People are suffering all over the world. 

And, there is so much good. I go back to that moment with my therapist all the time, “and there is so much good.” In my mind’s eye, I can see her face — kind, loving, and earnest. When she spoke those words to me she really believed them. And I can feel, as I get older and more mature, that I am starting to believe them more too. I am entering a phase of acceptance. And with acceptance comes the ability to feel grateful for the things I missed when I was younger, hunkered down in my suffering.

I think about the birds right now, about how they are managing in this smokey sky. They aren’t like humans. They aren’t processing how fucked up this is. They aren’t getting angry at the trees for igniting or at the humans for creating this tortured planet. They are just figuring out how to live in the brackish sky, accepting and adapting.

There is so much to be outraged about in this world. And there are things we can change with our anger, with our votes, and with our financial support. As I get older I see that suffering does not have to accompany anger and outrage. We do our work, we fight our battles, and we accept that this is what it looks like now. We accept so that we can experience the things that bring us joy and happiness.

The birds, even the crows, are nowhere to be seen this morning. Maybe they found a haven somewhere to wait out this smoke. I hope so. As I sit here on my couch, all the windows sealed tight to prevent the smoke from coming in, I feel humbled by the earth. I am no more or less important than the birds who are out there finding their way through the smokey skies. 

Every year, we experience more challenges, tragedies, and disasters, and with each one, we adapt and get through. It’s what the birds do. It’s what my therapist, in her age and wisdom, has learned to do. I can see the future and it doesn’t look so bright. Environmental, social, and political issues are somersaulting their way across the news media every day. I live in this world where there is so much to fear and despair. It is scary and unmooring and infuriating. And, there is so much good.