I keep thinking about all the circumstances and events that led to me being here, right now. How my ancestors had to have XYZ happen to them. How my parents had to meet. All of that and many more things. It’s a wonder. So often I feel blasé about being alive because when there are nearly 8 billion people in the world, is it really such a miracle to be in human form? Is it really so precious? According to many spiritual teachers, including mine, yes.
Take this story from a Buddhist text. The Buddha spoke to a group of monks and said, “Monks, suppose that this great Earth was totally covered with water and a man were to toss a yoke with a single hole into the water. A wind from the west would push it east; a wind from the east would push it west; a wind from the north would push it south; a wind from the south would push it north. And suppose a blind sea turtle was there. It would come to the surface only once every 100 years.
“Now, what do you suppose the chances would be that a blind turtle, coming once to the surface every 100 years, would stick its neck into the yoke with a single hole?” The monks answered, “It would be very unusual, sir, that a blind turtle coming to the surface once every 100 years would stick its neck into the yoke.” The Buddha replied, “And just so, it is very, very rare that one attains the human state.”
What a statement! What odds! It’s hard to square that with our current population, but that’s a human-centered perspective. Think about all the plants, animals, insects, bacteria even. There are probably 8 billion bacteria on my pinky finger alone. So in that context, wow, yes, human life is a wonder. That’s even more true when you take into account infertility. I know many, many people who have struggled to get pregnant. They had to get IVF or a sperm donor or a surrogate. They’ve suffered miscarriages. They’ve tried for years. It’s not so easy to get pregnant.
Being a person is like winning the lottery but it’s easy to forget that in the humdrum of daily life. When you’re struggling to pay your bills or the roof leaks or you’re irritated with your neighbor, being alive doesn’t feel like a wonder. But it is. We often search outside ourselves for wonder. We want to be wowed by a beautiful sunset or a spectacular show. We want to string together a life with one memorable experience after another by swimming with dolphins and climbing a volcano. But what I’m learning is that just to be alive is awe-inspiring. To take a breath. To pump blood through our bodies.
My rabbi, Michael Lerner, often says if you want to feel more awe, go outside every night for a month, look at the stars, and say, “Wow! Fantastic! Amazing!” I think you can do the same thing with yourself. You can look in the mirror, notice your chest rising and falling, and say, “Wow! Fantastic! Amazing!” Because it is.
I dream of a world where we recognize the wonder of being in human form. A world where we understand how rare and precious it is to be alive on this planet at this time. A world where we remember taking a breath every day is a miracle to behold.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Whenever I share about my upcoming Australia trip, people are genuinely happy for me. I’m taken aback because sharing good news, especially over social media, seems perilous these days. A year or so ago, Glennon Doyle shared a video of her singing on a boat with her friends and family. The next day, she had the single-largest drop in followers her entire time on Instagram. She posited it’s because there’s something triggering about seeing women, especially, happy. That perhaps we’re more comfortable with their pain and suffering.
More recently in October, Daisey Miller shared a tweet that said, “my husband and i wake up every morning and bring our coffee out to our garden and sit and talk for hours. every morning. it never gets old & we never run out of things to talk [about]. love him so much.” Some responses were positive but many were scathing and called her out for being privileged and presumably wealthy. There was an assumption Miller didn’t work and had minimal responsibilities.
Happiness increases when it’s shared. Photo by Catalin Pop on Unsplash
In other words, instead of celebrating Miller’s quality time with her husband, people tore her down and mocked her. Numerous people tweeted their own versions: “my husband and i wake up every morning and go out to our garden and swordfight for hours. every morning. it never gets old & we never run out of ways to duel and spar. love him so much,” or “my husband and i wake up every morning and go out to our garden and we kill each other with our bare hands because we are miserable and we both have crabs.”
Those that didn’t mock her showcased self-righteousness, which is the conviction that one’s beliefs and behaviors are the most correct. As John Mark Green puts it, “The self-righteous scream judgments against others to hide the noise of skeletons dancing in their own closets.” Twitter is rife with self-righteousness and a hotbed of schadenfreude, a compound of the German words schaden, harm, and freude, joy. It means deriving pleasure or joy from someone else’s suffering or misfortune.
Brené Brown writes in her book Atlas of the Heart that schadenfreude is “seductive. Especially when we’re sucked into groupthink. It’s easy to build counterfeit connection with collective schadenfreude. I say ‘counterfeit’ because when we see someone who we don’t like, we disagree with, or is outside our group stumble, fall, or fail, it’s tempting to celebrate that suffering together and to stir up collective emotion.”
I mean, I get it. I’ve felt schadenfreude from time to time. But that doesn’t mean schadenfreude has to dominate your life. The antidote to schadenfreude is freudenfreude, a word made up by an American psychologist that literally translates as “joy joy.” It’s letting yourself feel vicarious joy for others. When we share our joy, our joy increases. The Buddha stated this well when he said, “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle. Happiness never decreases by being shared.”
I have to remind myself of that because I worry by sharing my good news people will judge me, one-up me, or try to tear me down. Thus far they haven’t, probably because I’m not famous and I don’t surround myself with jerks. It could also be that I engage in freudenfreude regularly. I really and truly celebrate when others celebrate. Seeing their joy brings me joy and perhaps that’s why it’s coming back to me. Together, we are multiplying happiness.
I dream of a world where we celebrate each other’s wins. A world where we practice freudenfreude more than its opposite. A world where we remember happiness doesn’t decrease when it’s shared, instead it’s multiplied.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’ve been asking myself what can I contribute to the conversations surrounding Anthony Bourdain’s and Kate Spade’s suicides? Much has already been said about seeking help; how that’s easier said than done what with costs and budget cuts; and instead of putting the onus on a depressed or suicidal person to reach out, to reach out when we see people struggling. I agree with all those things. And after reading an article in USA Today by Kirsten Powers about how we also have a cultural problem, I realize where I can contribute.
In her article, Powers asserts many people are struggling to find meaning and purpose in a society that values materialism. On top of that, many feel alone, isolated, and misunderstood. All of those factors play a part in suicide. I think the best thing I can do with this blogpost is to remind people, myself included, that we matter.
This picture makes sense once you read the next paragraph. Photo by Jack B on Unsplash.
According to a Buddhist text, one day the Buddha spoke to a group of monks. He said, “Monks, suppose that this great Earth were totally covered with water and a man were to toss a yoke with a single hole into the water. A wind from the west would push it east; a wind from the east would push it west; a wind from the north would push it south; a wind from the south would push it north. And suppose a blind sea turtle were there. It would come to the surface only once every 100 years.
“Now what do you suppose the chances would be that a blind turtle, coming once to the surface every 100 years, would stick its neck into the yoke with a single hole?” And the monks answered, “It would be very unusual, sir, that a blind turtle coming to the surface once every 100 years would stick its neck into the yoke.” And the Buddha replied, “And just so, it is very, very rare that one attains the human state.”
That’s pretty incredible if you think about it, and it reminds me my life is precious. That I’m even alive in human form is like winning the lottery. I’m further reminded of this because I know several people who struggle with infertility. Conceiving a child is not as easy as it may seem. In fact, in my own family, my parents tried to get pregnant for three years before my brother came along.
I also think about how both Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain impacted people. The number of tweets, articles, and facebook comments from people mourning their deaths is staggering. No one exists in a vacuum. Everyone will be missed by someone, including a pet, when they die. That means your life, my life, it matters. It has worth and value and merit. It is not without meaning or purpose even if sometimes it feels that way. I don’t know a lot of things, but I know we are all loved and we all matter.
I dream of a world where we realize how precious and rare our lives are. A world where we feel into how much we matter, how much we are loved. A world where we realize we impact people, sometimes without our knowledge. A world where we know when we die, we will be missed.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This week I’ve been ascribing meaning to things that don’t need to have them. For instance, my face is broken out and the meaning I’m ascribing is I’m ugly, unattractive, and will remain single for the rest of my life. Because of a zit. I do the same thing whenever I gain any weight. Really, what it means is I’m stressed, not sleeping well, eating something I’m allergic to, and/or imbalanced hormonally.
I bring this up because how often do we torture ourselves by ascribing meaning to things when they’re not needed? Someone not accepting a friend request on facebook means they hate us and don’t want to be friends. When we haven’t heard back from a job interview it means the position has been filled. In truth, someone not accepting a friend request means they didn’t accept a friend request. Not hearing back from a job interview means the company hasn’t gotten back to us. That’s it. Not that we’re terrible people who will never be hired again or any of the other things we think it means.
This person is a cool, confident world traveler. Oh wait, I can’t know any of that. . .
I touched on this a few weeks ago in my post “All in the Head,” about anxiety. However, I’m also noticing ascribing meaning to things sometimes doesn’t create anxiety. Sometimes it’s a lie or a way to create melodrama.
Yesterday, I heard spiritual teacher/writer Adyashanti and he said we’re addicted to the stories we tell ourselves, whether they’re painful or not. Ain’t that the truth. It wasn’t until this week though that I became even more aware of how I’m spinning out and getting upset over small things because I’m making them large by ascribing meaning to them. A zit is no longer an indication of stress, but instead becomes a sign that I’m doomed to a life of spinsterhood. Weight gain suddenly means I’m unlovable. These are quite big leaps!
When we start to ascribe meaning to things, we get wrapped up in our selves, our egoic nature, and are unable to rest in the knowledge that we are the Buddha, as Adyashanti would say. Ascribing meaning I think is like cobwebs in the attic – if we don’t address them, pretty soon the attic is covered in cobwebs and that’s all we see anymore. When I ascribe meaning to things, I detach from reality and keep myself from being present, and really, I’d much rather be the Buddha.
I dream of a world where we stop ascribing meaning to things that don’t need them. A world where we keep things in perspective. A world where we detach from the addictive stories we tell ourselves. A world where we allow ourselves to be the Buddha.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.