When things are good

When things are good, I don’t write as often. I think it’s because rather than spending so much time in contemplation, I’m simply trying to be present. That, and take more naps.

When things are good, my emotions don’t get stuck as easily. I’m able to recognize them, sit with them, feel them, but also allow them dissipate on their own time, without (too much) self-judgement.

When things are good, I’m less reactive and more patient with my kids. For example…I don’t get upset when one of them spills an entire glass of chocolate milk on the floor at dinner. I just calmly hand them the paper towels and spray and ask them to clean it up. Accidents happen, and that’s OK. That’s how we learn not to dance while we’re eating pizza with glasses of milk in our hands. (Even though I’ll admit that sounds fun.)

When things are good, I feel more emotionally connected to my husband. I can ask him for what I want or need, and give him the space to ask the same of me. We can talk more freely, about hard things (like money and sex) or nothing consequential at all (like tomorrow night’s dinner, hopefully without another milk incident).

When things are good, I remember that I am good. That life is good. Inherently. Full stop.

But what I’m realizing, more and more, is that these “things” aren’t actually things. And what makes them “good” isn’t conditional.

When “things are good,” it’s not because I’m in a state where the outside world, and everyone in it, is behaving exactly the way I want it to. We all know that’s some impossible BS that Instagram influencers and Tony Robbins like to constantly pitch for their own capital gain.

When “things are good,” it’s because I’m in a state where my inner world is less tumultuous, less tied to expectations, and I’m less afraid of what I feel. It has nothing to do with anyone else but me. Which may sound self-centered, but it’s also incredibly true. And, it’s a lesson I’m constantly re-learning.

In Buddhism, this state of being is sometimes referred to as The Middle Way. It’s the the practice of not clinging, not longing for things to be any other way than how they are. It’s a little bit like being an inner tube bopping along the Chattahoochee River, just going with the current, seeing where it flows, rather than a petrified rafter clinging to the rocks, afraid of where the rushing water might lead, fighting off the waves as they continue to crash and rush up our noses. None of us have any control over what the water does, the same way we have no control over other people, or the world, around us. The water is an external force, created by God or the universe or gravity. Why fight it?

If this sounds deterministic or fatalistic or just downright woo-woo, I get it.

“But Amy, If we don’t try to control other people or outside forces, then how do we ever make things better in the world around us? How do we stop radicalized hate, and climate change, and systems of oppression, and elephant poaching?”

It requires a little bit of a leap of faith, but I invite you to take that leap with me, just for a second.

Imagine if every person in the world focused on achieving a more peaceful inner state, rather than on controlling their external conditions:

If we let go of fear, we’re no longer afraid.
If we let go of expectations, we’re don’t get angry when they’re not met.
If we let go of the need to be right, we don’t feel threatened by anyone else’s voice or vision.
If we let go of the pursuit of power or material goods, we no longer need to fight and hurt and kill to achieve them.

When we let go, and allow things to be “good” inside each of us, they’re also going to be good outside each of us. And when we put all that goodness together, it CAN change the world. No fear, no anger, no hatred, no power struggles, no greed, no war.

It’s a radical idea, I know.

And also as unlikely as cheese raining down from the moon.

But that’s actually the point of it all. When “things are good,” I don’t feel the need to make anyone else think or behave in any certain way.

Despite my daughter’s anxiety, my son’s newly-burgeoning social phobia, our family’s financial challenges, the constant chaos at work, the dumpster fire that is our political climate…things are still good.

Things aren’t always good, though. I’m not that skilled yet. So instead, I am going to practice remembering that that’s OK, and practice not fighting it, because I’ll only wind up swallowing water like the panicked rafter in the Chattahoochee.

Instead, I’m going to try flowing with the current.

The less I cling, the more I’m able to stay in the middle.

And that’s when things are the most good.

Maybe I can write from this place, after all.