philosophy
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Day 54
Choice.
There’s an argument that we all control our destiny through the choices we make. And another that everything is pre-ordained, inevitable.
I think I’m a little bit of both schools. I like to believe that everything in my life comes down to the choices I make. John and I often talk about Father Sanderbeck (a priest at my father’s high school) and his words of wisdom. I grew up with stories of Father Sanderbeck, and John was introduced to him when he met my Dad. Father Sanderbeck used to say (among other, wise things) that you never make a bad decision; you make the best decision you could with the information you had. Sometimes that means when you (inevitably) learn new information, your previous decision can seem … ill advised.
But then again, it wouldn’t seem ill-advised unless you’d possessed the information that you DID NOT have at the time you made the decision. So …. there you go. Father Sanderbeck — the Dao of the House of Simone.
Anyway, other times I find it comforting to think I actually have zero control over my fate and that what was meant to happen will happen and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not having responsibility can feel wildly freeing.
Life though— life likes to keep me guessing. Like today, when I got a phone call about another job … and had to once again go through the painful process of explaining why I am unable to consider the offer. It’s like life wants to make sure I really, truly understand. Like the old adage that if you understand something, you can teach it/define it/explain it.
Life likes to make me define it. I have to laugh (otherwise I might cry and that’s really no fun).
I do — mostly — like to think we all have choices. Choices about how we feel, how we respond, how we choose to frame our lives. I could be really bummed out that our take-out tonight was completely wrong. Like — every single item was in some way incorrect. But that then leads to anger and disappointment and anxiety and stress. Instead I chose to focus on the good stuff — that it all tasted great even though it was wrong, we’d been wildly overcharged, and there was no course of action to rectify it.
Instead of being irritated that our Hello Fresh delivery was missing a recipe, I thought, Well, at least the recipe exists on the app and it’s less paper.
Instead of wondering why in God’s name the last few movies we’ve watched have been so effing depressing, I thought Well, at least I’ve now seen all the X-Men movies. (I’m not 100% sure why that’s a good thing, but let’s go with it).
I could continue, but maybe by now my point has been made. Anyway, it wasn’t the best day … or was it? I guess it’s up to me to decide.
Xox, g
Day 53
Truth.
We all tell ourselves and others stories.
We create our narrative. We edit. We decide who sees what. The stories share themes, they share broad brush strokes, but each story is different in the details.
For example, the story I tell my husband is drastically different from the story I tell my friends. My husband knows the intricacies of my days, the struggles, the coping mechanisms, the sadness and frustration, the joy and excitement. He knows what medicine weeks mean and when I need to sleep for fourteen hours. He knows how fickle my legs are, how vitally important Lydia can be. He knows how debilitating stress and anxiety are, how they wreak havoc with my entire physical wellness; he recognizes the fatigue and shoulders the burdens. There is raw honesty in the story I share with my husband.
The stories I share with my friends vary — I don’t want to trouble them; to appear to want or need pity. I know that some things are beyond the realm of comprehension — that there is too great a disparity between the appearance of me and the reality of me to reconcile. I can save them the weight, the awkwardness of not knowing how to react, or to feel uncomfortable, by telling a cultivated version of my story — one where I can meet them for dinner and walk around parks and go home and be fine. Wake up the next day and continue to expel multitudes of fathomless energy.
Who benefits from the struggles of my life? No one. I’d rather they be my own, I’d rather not have to share them, and fracture the facade I’ve created for myself.
But sometimes there are moments when nothing else suffices. Sometimes, I have to let down my walls, I have to share more of the story I live rather than the one I write.
It is humbling. It leaves me feeling vulnerable and exposed.
It makes the deep sadness of living with MS nearly unbearable.
Xoxo, g
Day 49
The thing about reading philosophy is it begets reading philosophy.
As a result of daily emails I receive I decided it was time to invest in Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations. And let me tell you, beginning something like Meditations (which is largely Stoic in philosophical nature) is very … interesting … when you are simultaneously immersed in a book about Buddhist philosophy.
Today’s chapters began the extensive examination of essence and the Buddhist concept of emptiness. I have been inspired to follow this up with something that delves into Hindu philosophy. Mr. Wright briefly touched on their attitude toward emptiness and it seems to resonate more with me than Buddhism. I guess the quest for enlightenment on any level never actually ends … because there is no true ending.
Sometimes, I look in the mirror and I don’t fully recognize myself. Some of this I attribute to cutting all my hair off about five months ago. Some of it stems from my quest for self evolvement. Is this woman staring back at me the same human who believed, at the tender age of eighteen, that one day, she would be as famous as Brad Pitt, the toast of Hollywood? It feels unlikely, and yet … they are one in the same.
When I stopped working four years ago I had no idea what I was going to do. I felt lost and confused. Bereft for an identity I tied – too extensively – with what I did rather than who I was. It’s been a strange and funny journey since then — weird and wild and painfully sad among a myriad of other emotions.
Reading philosophy — studying it and working it around in my brain — has given me something back that I thought was lost. And I can’t articulate it, and maybe that’s okay. Maybe that’s exactly what philosophy is teaching me. That just being is okay. That nothing really has to make sense … and what does that even mean anyway?
Xox, g
D5 Creation