A Gifted Perspective

The last three weeks have presented a series of considerations I hadn’t planned for — some wonderful, others extremely challenging. I’ve been ebbing and flowing through intense highs and lows, and the force of the flux has been difficult to manage. My marred attitude towards my job and my desperation for change is wearing my patience thin. I’ve experienced heartfelt reunions and goodbyes with friends and family full of reminders about the limitlessness of love and gratitude present in my life. I’ve continued to settle into my new home and life here in Asheville, and have dreamt beyond imagination while working through paralyzing fears and stagnation. To what does all of this boil down? For me, it’s been a constant lesson in perspective.

Perspective. For me, the word “perspective” immediately conjures images of people giving annoying advice about “glasses half full” and “silver linings” on shit far more complex than glasses of water and shiny fabric. And though I tend to lean towards optimism as a way of life, I’m talking less here about choosing positivity over pessimism, and more about the idea that sometimes we have to accept that the good, bad and ugly are going to just coexist within us. In full fucking force.

I’m holding a lot. My head and heart are tired, and my exhaustion has manifested itself physically, so I’ve been verging on the edge of a cold for about a week. Self-doubt has managed to get caught in the same tree where my infinite possibilities are perched. And though my self-confidence has finally 180’d back to trusting my own smarts, capabilities and hella potential, my vision is muddled on how to work out the logistics to make what I want to happen, happen. I feel terribly stuck.

So I’m left with this question: can I sit with it all of this (and more) without spinning out of control and into madness?  The answer, of course, is “no.” Why “no?” Because oftentimes, in order to get through the uncomfortable, melancholic, soul wrenching crap, the only thing we can do is relinquish control. Madness is necessary par for the course.

For instance, last week, I had a “breakdown” in my driveway after a frustrating day at work. Having just come back from vacation, I went from feeling light and free to trapped and disappointed.  I felt defeated, heartbroken. How did I end up in a job that’s so un-me, doing stuff I care nothing about?! I thought I was smarter than this, better than this. What did I do? How did I find this job, this awful, easy, fine job that pays well, gives me health insurance, paid time off, a chance to have evenings and weekends totally free…?! Why can’t I see the forest for the trees?! Why does something that’s not so bad feel like the end of the world?

I had a pity party that night. Al saw me in the driveway crying, came outside, and literally picked me up out of the car. We went in and I curled up in my favorite place—her chest—and let it go. I cried and cried. Miserable, worried, disappearing.

Later that week, I said goodbye to a dear friend who is leaving Asheville for a new job up north. She’s one of the most real friends I’ve ever known, and certainly the only one of her kind I’ve found since moving here.  Within ten minutes of meeting the first time, we were family. I have a great friend. Today I miss her. I miss having someone here besides Al that knows me. That “gets it.”  

This weekend, I painted something totally unextraordinary for no particular reason. I drank too much wine and had too many beers and drowned my sorrows. I skipped yoga. I got quality time with Al. I woke up hung-over more than once, and on Saturday night had a new friend date with some people we had a perfectly fine time with. On Sunday, I visited parts of my past I'd not confronted in many years, and it brought me to my knees. I sat in the sun, cleaned the house and made soup. On Sunday night, Al and I made a fire in our perfect backyard, drank more beer and played with the dog. On Monday I went back to work, and after work that evening, I broke again.

The point for me, today, is not to make lemonade out of lemons (though I’d certainly take a margarita), it’s to figure out how to sit with it. To not fight, and to just let it all be. Yes, it's exhausting. It's doesn't feel good, and my tears are continuing to fall. But I’m laughing too. I’m still grateful for my life. I love so deeply, and I'm so deeply loved. I have a great wife, amazing friends, big aspirations and a great house in a city I love. I have money to pay my bills, and because of my job I can afford dinners out, paints and canvases, wine and other things no one needs for survival. I may not always love my work, but I’m lucky to have it. 

The only way through something is through it. Not over, not under, just through.  

I am magnificently and simply human, and I’m open to experiencing the fullness of what that means.  I deserve to be happy—and I am—but I also owe it to myself to face the darker places too. Each moment is a gift (that’s why it’s called the “present,” right?), and sometimes we receive gifts we never knew we needed. Some gifts are gratitude, some are grief. Healing comes through tending to wounds—not by ignoring their existence. So these wounds—this fullness of experience—are gifts. But if and only if I allow myself that perspective. If I take that approach, within these gifts, I'll find strength. I'll conquer the logistics. I'll find more compassion for myself and others. I'll gain wisdom.

Gifts. Sadness, madness, love and joy…I’ve got a rainbow of experience right here in my hands. An infinite amount of life in something no taller than 5'3". Miraculous isn't it?

Perspective is what you make of it. I guess I’ll always be a glass half full person. But not because of naïve optimism—because of courage and perseverance. I’m taking these gifts head on, with honesty, love and openness to what comes. I’m getting out of my own way and walking through it all with eyes wide open. And maybe, just maybe, with some lemonade (or a margarita).