Tag Archives: sorrow

Monday’s Meditation: On Going About Our Business While A Dumpster Fire Rages

Monday, September 17, 2018

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how strange it feels to be writing about organizing products and beautiful interiors when it seems that the whole world has erupted into one large dumpster fire.

In the midst of political discord and natural disaster, here I am blabbing on about organizing products, lauding the benefits of using trays to corral one’s belongings, and such. 

There’s no denying that talking about any topic that isn’t somber and solemn amidst suffering is awkward at best and tone deaf at worst.

But the truest fact about life is that it continues. Despite everything, simultaneously to it all, we still wake up in the morning (if we’re lucky), and go about our business. 

It isn’t that I want to distract from, or dilute the significance of, major world events by posting about what seems, in contrast, negligible content. It is that part of my duty here on earth is to continue to spread my mission of Simplicity and fulfill my purpose. Not to wait until the conditions are right, but to create the space for the conversation of Live Simply to exist. To remember that my best efforts at healing the world continue to come through the method that feels most natural to me. 

The best thing we can do for the healing of the entire world is to give authentically of ourselves and our gifts.

If politics is it for you, campaign, rally, and fundraise as if the fate of the world depends upon it, because it does. If caring for patients is where you feel your purpose is best utilized, bring every ounce of your attention and compassion to each patient interaction. If interior design is where your most valuable contribution lies, create spaces that nurture families and cultivate peace.

But do not doubt the significance of your contribution. Do not feel as if you must temper yourself and what you project into the world in reaction to world events. The nature of the world is the awkwardness of sorrow and celebration occurring simultaneously, anyhow.

It’s unavoidable that we find ourselves in disparate scenarios, stumbling on joys and sorrows not in sync, but in turn.

We need someone else to embody delight if we’re in the depths of despair. We need to hold the light when others are in the darkness. 

We need to be our most alive, most activated, most tuned-in selves. And we need never apologize for being that. 

 

 

Monday’s Meditation: On The Power Of Normalcy To Heal Heart Ache Of All Kinds

Monday, July 3, 2017

on the power of ordinary interactions and everyday responsibilities to heal heart ache of all kinds

When we get our hearts broken, when we lose someone we care about, when we lose our jobs, lose our vision, lose our faith, we can feel our running-stitched seams–the ones that hold in all that weird, fluffy emotion stuffing inside–being severed.

And when this happens, we become consumed by the pain of our missing stitches.

Inevitably when we’re in such an undone state, the world won’t seem to let us be. Up pops a work project, or a professional meeting, or some distant acquaintance whose presence demands that we somewhat keep it together.

Like how people you haven’t seen in ages have a way of turning up at funerals. Or how the neighbor wants to chat about HOA dues right after you’ve had a gangbuster of a fight with your spouse. Or how work is always there. The client is waiting. The boss is waiting. You have to go in tomorrow and do your best to be whole.

It’s terrible when we’re prevented from doing what we think we want to do, which is to pull out the rest of our stuffing, and pancake onto our beds. Not talk to people. Not catch up with some friend of your mom’s you haven’t seen since you were five. Not be expected to appear as a functioning human in front of people, when all we want to do is be left alone to lie flatly. 

“Can’t you see I’m not even a person right now??” We want to say. “Can’t you see I have this big, ripped seam? Can’t you just let me be??” 

When we’re the furthest thing from okay, there is an ironic way in which the inclination to seem as though we’re okay in the presence of others pushes us in that direction. 

That detestable interaction or responsibility or commitment can be what saves us.

It reminds us of how we were before. It allows us to reoccupy the role of who we principally hold ourselves to be. It tells us, even when we can’t hardly believe that such a thing could be true, or will ever be for us, that life continues.

Meaningless small talk, unrelenting work projects, even discussions about the record-high temperatures in Arizona, these things help us begin to feel whole again.

The presence of others and of routine responsibilities invite us to reconnect with life, ordinary as it may be at times, and with vitality in the wake of sorrow and despair.

The people in our lives with ripped seams need us to stay close to them, not timidly fade into the background for fear of saying the wrong thing. Because the truth is, it doesn’t matter what we say, whether it’s blathering on about career plans and deadlines and the weather and stupid TV shows, or just sitting in silence on the other end of the telephone. What matters is that we don’t leave a ripped-open person alone with their pain.

Our presence may be their best reminder at what normal feels like.