serenity in freedom

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference…
And the wisdom to know the difference.

And in times of seemingly infinite choices, please instill in me the confidence to choose my path, the conviction to do so with integrity, and the gumption to not be paralyzed by my freedom.

Please remind me once again to look inside myself for happiness, and not out into the world; the world offers only a mirror, reflecting back what is within.

If I dislike what I see, this is why. If am not happy, this is why.

Because I know all this, but I forget when I most need to remember.

the persistence of memory

For a long time now I’ve noted, though never really understood, the peculiar tendency of unhappy times, in retrospect, to take on the bittersweet cast of wistful nostalgia.

Like the soft sighs of shadows as they grow long across violet walls in the winter dusk.

Or early mornings in the drafty quiet of a cold and still-sleeping house, sitting shivering on the heat grate on the floor, bleary-eyed, waiting for the coffee to perc.

And why is that? Why does one find oneself longing with fondness for meloncholy times gone by? When in contrast, times marked by relative contentment seem merely pale and flat in remembrance…

The answer, or one possible answer, occurred to me this afternoon, sitting at my desk, thinking otherwise empty, paper-white thoughts…

Though we may not readily recognize it, there is something in the human condition that craves the very act of craving. We want to be hungry, so that we might find pleasure in food; we want to be tired, so that we might find rest in sleep; we want to be poor, so that we might find satisfaction in wealth…

…and we want to be lonely, so that we might find love in companionship.

To be human is to…

In his diary, Edward Hoagland writes: “To be human is to care for things that don’t care for you.” Specifically, he is writing about a garter snake that he nurtured to rid his house of mice. But the context is not important. I’m looking into myself to try to understand what such a statement really means, and whether it could possibly be true.

It seems, upon reflection, that I have spent a good portion of my adult life trying to harden my heart to those who have demonstrated that they do not care for me. Somewhere during the process of growing up it occurred to me that learned indifference was preferable to the humility of plain old hurt feelings. And so, in growth, and all the implied wisdom that comes with it, I acquired something I understood to be pride, and in so doing, learned to care not for people who care not for me. Nevermind the snakes.

But when I think about Hoagland’s humble assertion on humanity, I realize that not only is his view a more noble approach towards life and love, but it is a simpler, ultimately less painful approach. Isn’t it really so much easier to just allow yourself to care for what or whom you care for, than to constantly be trying to build a wall against all that might hurt? Is it not in fact the constant resistance to compassion that causes us the most pain?

And this reminds me of the point that Michael Moore is trying to make with his new film – that we are a nation built on fear – and I think of all the “white bread” types that make up this country, and I wonder where we are really going as a nation. I used to say that one of America’s biggest problems was that we simply had the greatest lowest common denominator, but to America’s credit, I’m not sure that we are really so fundamentally different from other peoples. I think this is more than just a problem with America, I think it’s a problem with the world. I think the collective voice of humanity is taking on the voice of the lowest common denominator.

Save for the few.

And a testament to those that can overcome the infectious fear of humanity to care for those that do not care for them.