Whenever I’m waiting on checks, like I am now, I think, “Maybe I should get a part-time job,” and then I apply for part-time jobs and never hear anything, not even a “no.” Inevitably I get reassurance from the universe that I’m doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing either because I’m contacted by a potential new client, I accept another freelancing assignment, or I receive a sign. This past week the universe sent me all three.
What is the sign the universe sent me? The animal totem giraffe. A giraffe was mentioned in a book of essays I’m reading, during a Zoom meeting someone held a small giraffe toy in her hand, and giraffes were mentioned in another book I’m reading. Sometimes animals are just animals, but in this case at the sight and mention of “giraffe,” I felt a zing in my heart and my brain seemed to zero in on the word so I know it’s a sign and not a mere coincidence.
Giraffe wants to say hi. Photo by Photo Lily on Unsplash
There are numerous interpretations for the symbolism behind giraffes, but the one I liked the best comes from uniguide.com where Kristen M. Stanton writes, “The giraffe totem is a helpful symbol for reminding yourself that what makes you unique is one of your gifts to the world. It is your unusual qualities and life experiences that will help you to fulfill your purpose on Earth.”
If that isn’t the most perfect message to receive when I’m doubting myself and my abilities, I don’t know what is. Just as I think I should throw in the towel on my business, the universe tells me, “No. Your uniqueness, what makes you ‘you’ is needed in this world. Keep going.” While this post is about me, I’m pretty sure my experience is a universal one. How many times do we compare ourselves to someone else and find ourselves lacking? How frequently do we feel like we’re not doing the “right” thing because our life doesn’t look like someone else’s? Giraffe reminds us our uniqueness is a gift to the world. That it’s precisely our personal qualities and life experiences that matter and are worthwhile.
The concept is also in line with my spiritual philosophy. The central tenet of my spiritual practice is the universe is coming to know itself through me and you. We are the human expression of divinity. We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, but spiritual beings having a human experience, to quote Pierre Teilhard de Chardin.
Other people who speak to this idea eloquently are Brian Swimme and Mary Evelyn Pope who write in their book Journey of the Universe, “[J]ust as the Milky Way is the universe in the form of a galaxy, and an orchid is the universe in the form of a flower, we are the universe in the form of a human. And every time we are drawn to look up into the night sky and reflect on the awesome beauty of the universe, we are actually the universe reflecting on itself. And this changes everything.”
I am the universe reflecting on itself. The skills and talents I possess are gifts to be utilized. I am here to share those gifts and I’m privileged enough to be in a position to make money from them. The universe keeps reminding me, “Yes, you should be writing. Yes, that includes ghostwriting. No, working for someone else isn’t in your best interest.” Sometimes I remember that on my own, but sometimes I need encouragement. And this week that encouragement came in the form of a giraffe.
I dream of a world where we understand we are each unique, talented, and special. A world where we understand we were not meant to fit in because we are the individualized expressions of cosmic consciousness. A world where we realize we are the universe coming to know itself through us and that means we are wonderful just as we are.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I keep thinking about an essay I read in the book All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum. He writes about how he lived at the dead end of a dead-end street, two blocks long, at the bottom of a hill in north Seattle. At the top of the hill, two big yellow and black signs declared: STREET ENDS. And at the end of the street where Fulghum resided, another big sign with stripes and reflectors stated the obvious: DEAD END.
You could see that “DEAD END” sign a long way off – in other words, the dead end didn’t sneak up on you. However, what’s so remarkable is people drove down the street anyway and seemed to be baffled when the street did, in fact, end.
These signs are pretty obvious . . . if we accept them. Photo by Gabriel Soto on Unsplash
Fulghum writes:
“Not just part way, mind you. Not just to where the reality of the situation cleared up. No, sir. They drove all the way down, right up to the sign, the big black one with stripes, the one that said DEAD END.
“And they read that sign two or three times. As if they were foreigners and had to translate the English. They looked on either side of the sign to see if there was a way around it. Sometimes they sat there for two or three minutes adjusting their minds …. There was no pattern. All kinds of vehicles, all kinds of people, broad daylight and pitch dark. Even a police car a couple of times. And once a fire truck.
“Innate skepticism or innate stupidity? I confess I do not know. A psychiatrist friend tells me it’s a sample of an unconscious need to deny – that everyone wants the road or The Way to continue on instead of ending. So you drive as far as you can, even when you can clearly read the sign. You want to think you are exempt, that it doesn’t apply to you. But it does.”
His last two lines especially strike me. We want to think we are exempt, that whatever we’re confronting – a dead-end street, a deadly virus, whatever – doesn’t apply to us. But it does. I’d wager the majority of us want to feel special. We want to be right, to know the truth, and even when there’s evidence demonstrating we’re wrong, we can’t accept it. Why is that? I think one reason is U.S. culture doesn’t have many examples of people saying, “I don’t know.”
Instead of saying, “I don’t know,” we make something up, we pretend to know. We try to save face versus practicing humility and admitting, “I don’t know,” or even, “Maybe I’m wrong.” Who says maybe I’m wrong these days?!? I can’t remember the last time I heard in a public space someone open to the possibility they don’t know everything. It’s as if due to the internet and having so much knowledge at our fingertips we’re loathe to say, “I don’t know” or “I could be wrong.”
Also wrapped up in “I don’t know” is fear, in my opinion. My spiritual teacher says, “Humans do not fear to tread a known path, but they always hesitate and fear to travel unknown paths.” Sometimes those unknown paths are intellectual ones. It’s far easier to cling to a thought or belief you learned early on and is corroborated by friends and family than to change your mind and believe something new. I, for one, value bravery and I want other people to be brave too. I want us all to say “I don’t know” and “Maybe I’m wrong” when that’s the truth for us. And also, to pay attention to evidence when it stares at us in the face. We’d all be better for it.
I dream of a world where we recognize we aren’t exempt. A world where we understand if there’s a road sign that says “DEAD END,” that the street ends. A world we understand if we think we know something other people don’t, we’re likely deluding ourselves. A world where we’re OK with some uncertainty and we embrace the power of saying, “I don’t know” and “Maybe I’m wrong.”
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
On Saturday at 2 a.m. my power went out because a car ran into a utility pole, which affected not only me, but approximately 900 other people. The power wasn’t restored until about 2 a.m. on Sunday morning and that meant all my plans for Saturday – doing laundry, roasting vegetables, heck, even blending a smoothie – were scuppered. What I had planned didn’t matter anymore because circumstances wouldn’t allow for it. I’m sharing this because not only was my Saturday unexpected, but my whole week. All week I ran into one mishap and miscommunication after another.
Life is like that sometimes. After all, that’s why we have the joke, “How do you make God laugh? Tell him your plans.” How often does life turn out how we intended? Not only the broad picture, but also the day to day? And how do you react when things don’t go your way? I’m doing my best to handle changes with grace and aplomb instead of throwing a fit like a small child (even though a part of me also wants to throw a fit). I feel my feelings, but I also give in to the moment.
This picture will make sense as you keep reading. Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
For instance, on Saturday, I could have worked around the lack of electricity by going to a friend’s house with laundry in tow and vegetables in hand. I could have kept my Saturday plans more or less but instead I surrendered to the day, meaning I didn’t fight the power outage. I gave into it by napping and using my gas stove to cook other things.
My experience this week relates to my last post on moving with trust because when life throws me a curveball, it doesn’t have to unnerve me and instead I can adapt. I can’t help but think the universe is training me, working out my adaptability muscle, because as I look around, adaptability seems to be the order of the day. A city in China received nearly a year’s worth of rain in just three days, displacing around one million people. Also this month, Germany experienced severe flooding, and in the U.S., the Bootleg fire in Oregon is creating its own weather.
Marcus Kauffman, a spokesman for the state forestry department, said in the NY Times, “The fire is so large and generating so much energy and extreme heat that it’s changing the weather. Normally the weather predicts what the fire will do. In this case, the fire is predicting what the weather will do.”
The weather is changing, our climate is changing, and we human beings must also change. We must adapt to reality and accept the degree of chaos and uncertainty that comes with being alive at this moment, otherwise we’re in trouble. Part of the adaptability is preparing for what could be coming. In my case, I have a solar power bank to charge my cellphone and other small devices so I didn’t worry about my cellphone dying, nor did I have to scramble for a public outlet. I also have a solar-powered light cube and candles so I didn’t brush my teeth in the dark.
Do you have things like that? Are you prepared for an earthquake, fire, flood, tornado, or blizzard? Depending on where you live, one or more of those things will happen. Natural disasters are no longer rare events and instead becoming commonplace. Record-breaking storms, fires, etc. are happening every year. Each year we’re beating a new record in a bad way. It’s scary and uncomfortable but it’s also reality. And we can either fight reality, curse our circumstances, or we can adapt and prepare. In doing so, we might find we are more flexible than we realized.
I dream of a world where we practice adaptability. A world where we expect the expected. A world where we prepare for what’s ahead because we know it’s coming sooner or later. A world where we understand the world is changing and so must we.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I read a Rumi quote the other day that struck me: “Move, but don’t move the way fear makes you move.” Wow. What a statement. So often I’ve moved in exactly that way. I’ve let fear motivate me and have made decisions from a fear-based state. I’m not judging myself for it – it makes sense because fear is like an alarm bell and I was doing whatever I could to turn it off. Historically, that’s meant spinning out and acting compulsively. I’d apply for a million jobs on LinkedIn even if I wasn’t interested in them just because I was freaked out and worried about money. Or I’d move from one place to the next because where I was living felt intolerable and I couldn’t stand being there for another minute.
But moving the way fear makes me move so often put me out of the frying pan and into the fire. In other words, my fear-based decisions didn’t improve my situations and sometimes made them worse. For instance, years ago the fabulous cottage I escaped to turned out to be not so fabulous because it lacked any insulation. Making decisions out of fear doesn’t really work out for me. Instead, I’m learning to move the way trust makes me move. What sort of decisions do I make believing things will work out? That the universe has my back? How do I behave if I honestly believe whatever needs to come will come and whatever needs to go will go?
Wow. What a picture, right? Photo by Craig Chitima on Unsplash
From that place I find I’m more thoughtful, considerate, and curious. I believe in the magic and the mystery of the universe and know beautiful things can come out of the blue. I know I’ll receive a random email or telephone call from someone looking for my ghostwriting or content writing services. I know I’ll find the random object I’m looking for, such as Play-Doh, on the side of the street for free. In that place I feel curious what the future holds and I trust what’s meant for me will show up.
Tosha Silver writes in her book Outrageous Openness if you think of the Divine as your ultimate protection and your Source for everything, “Then the Universe can use anything it wishes to meet your needs. You’re no longer limited to what your conditioned mind thinks is possible.” She has countless stories of this happening in her life and in the lives of others. For instance, she found an apartment through a hairdresser and someone else found a literary agent by bowling them over in a yoga class. Fear leads us to believe we have to force things; we have to make them happen. Trust shows us we can relax and be shown the next steps on our path. In other words, trust shows us how to move differently.
I dream of a world where we relax and breathe. A world where we understand what’s ours is ours and will show up at the perfect time in the perfect way. A world where instead of moving from a place of fear, we move from a place of trust.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The other week I turned in an essay for a competition and I felt vaguely guilty about it because none of the ideas were mine. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t pass the ideas off as mine – I cited all my sources and I put quote marks around passages that someone else had written – but still. I felt like a plagiarist because I couldn’t take ownership for what I was presenting. I didn’t write about my personal experience; I wrote about ideas.
When I mentioned this to a friend, she reminded me 1.) That’s what you do in essays and 2.) There’s that saying, “There’s no such thing as an original idea. Every idea worth having has been had thousands of times already.”
Photo by Malcolm Lightbody on Unsplash
I’m not sure I fully agree with the quote because some ideas are truly original. After all, somebody had to experiment with putting together peanut butter, pickles, and sriracha sauce to learn it’s a great combo. And at the same time, I know we’re all putting our own spin on things. It reminds me of this quote by Mark Twain who said:
“There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.”
We’re all using the same pieces of colored glass but forming new combinations with them. That’s also in alignment with my spiritual philosophy. We say (metaphorically) God is like the moon and each of us are like mirrors, reflecting the moon. We all have the same original image, but how it shows up on each mirror is different. Some mirrors are speckled or cracked. Some mirrors are cloudy or clear. The originality, the origin, if you will, is the moon, but the way the moon is reflected in the mirror is unique.
Going back to my essay, the ideas I chose, how I formulated them, and also my writing style were all unique. That’s what I can take ownership over. My part. The kaleidoscope. But nothing else. And truthfully, maybe I can’t even take ownership over those things. My spiritual practice is one where I try to see God in everything – me, what I’m creating, what I’m using to create, the people who see the creation, etc. It’s hard because I’m a person and want to feel like something is mine. I want to point to things and say, “I did that” or “That belongs to me.” And it’s true while also false.
The falsehood becomes evident when I start tracing back to my origins. When I ask, “Who gave me this mind? This body?” then it becomes clear who or what everything really belongs to. Where does that leave me? I’m simply a kaleidoscope, making new combinations from pieces of colored glass that aren’t mine to begin with.
I dream of a world where we acknowledge both our uniqueness and our commonality. A world where we understand what belongs to us and what doesn’t. A world where we realize we are all reflecting the same thing, but the way the reflection appears is unique. A world where we acknowledge our role as kaleidoscopes.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
All week when people have asked me how I am, I’ve responded, “I feel like I’m in the fertile soil, in the dark, waiting to sprout.” Small things are happening in my life and I’m doing my best to honor the power of change in increments, like I wrote about last week. But it’s tough to be here, in the waiting. It reminds me of a piece by Mark Nepo called “The Courage of the Seed.” He writes:
“All the buried seeds crack open in the dark,
the instant they surrender to a process they can’t see.
What a powerful lesson is the beginning of spring.
All around us, everything small and buried surrenders to a process that none of the buried parts can see.
And this innate surrender allows everything edible and fragrant to break ground into a life we call spring.
In nature, we are quietly given countless models of how to give ourselves over to what appears dark and hopeless, but which is ultimately an awakening beyond all imagining.
As a seed buried in the earth cannot imagine itself as an orchid or hyacinth, neither can a heart packed with hurt imagine itself loved or at peace. The courage of the seed is that once cracking, it cracks all the way.”
I wouldn’t say I’m a seed that’s cracked all the way. In fact, I’m not even sure I’ve started cracking, but I can say I identify with a seed buried in earth. I don’t know what the heck is happening in my life. I feel muddled, confused. I’m not sure what to do, how to act. I could spend the rest of this blogpost using synonyms for “opaque” and they’d all apply. However, one thing I do know is I’m surrendering to a process I cannot see.
I’m clear there is a process and I have a higher power that’s guiding me, providing for me, taking care of me. I know that just because things are fuzzy doesn’t mean they’re stagnant. My sponsor says something to me a lot because, well, it’s usually appropriate for my life. It’s something to the effect of, “God moves slow but He’s always on time. And when it’s time He moves fast so be ready.” That’s my life in a nutshell. Slow, slow, slow, BAM. Full speed ahead! Go, go, go! It’s easier for me to be in the “go, go, go” phase rather than the “slow, slow, slow” phase but they’re both a part of life. After all, just look at a seed. Or something even closer: a heartbeat.
A heart acts like a pump, suctioning blood and then pushing it out. There is a steady rhythm of movement then pause then movement then pause. My spiritual teacher says, “And this pulsation, that is movement through speed and pause, is an essential factor for each and every animate or inanimate object. Wherever there is existential factor there must be this pulsation. An entity acquires strength and stamina during the pause phase, and emanates vibration during the speed period. There cannot however, be any absolute speed or absolute pause in the created world.”
So this is me, in another pause phase. In another “seed buried in the soil” phase, just waiting to sprout. And I will, eventually.
I dream of a world where we remember the essential nature of life, the heartbeat thrumming through us all that reminds us to pause, then act, then pause. A world where we realize we can’t have all speed or all pause. A world where we take comfort in the fertile soil of our lives knowing at some point we’ll sprout.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The other day I heard a quote that stopped me in my tracks. It’s from Mother Teresa who said, “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” Wow. That quote right? It makes sense to me because when I think about the process of judging, it’s standing apart, removed from. We see that literally in the courtroom as well. Where does the judge sit? Not with the defendant or the prosecutor, and not even level with those parties. At least, that’s what I gather from portrayals on movies and TV.
To judge someone or something, you cannot be with them and love requires presence. Sure, you can love someone and live far away from them, but in that case, presence is not physical, it’s emotional. This goes for our relationship with ourselves as well.
All week I’ve been judging myself for how I feel, wishing I felt differently. Why aren’t I a bubbling ray of sunshine? How come I’m not dancing around my apartment with joy? The New York Times recently published an article that said we’re all languishing. The author Adam Grant says, “Languishing is a sense of stagnation and emptiness. It feels as if you’re muddling through your days, looking at your life through a foggy windshield. And it might be the dominant emotion of 2021.” He also said mental health is a spectrum with depression on one end and flourishing on the other. Languishing falls along that spectrum.
“If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash
I agree with Grant, but also I don’t think he’s quite right. Sure, we’re languishing, but really I think he’s describing burnout. According to HelpGuide.org, “Burnout is a state of emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion caused by excessive and prolonged stress. It occurs when you feel overwhelmed, emotionally drained, and unable to meet constant demands.” Um, hi, what would you call life during a pandemic? Usually when people talk about burnout, they associate it with work, but y’all, I think it’s entirely possible to be burnt out by life itself. When going to the grocery store is stressful, when you’re worried about being physically close to friends, when everything you do feels risky, it makes sense to me that would lead to burnout.
The judgment comes in for me because one, I wish I wasn’t burnt out, and two, I’m close to being fully vaccinated so why aren’t I more focused on the joy of that? My temptation is to argue with myself, but that’s not loving. What I need right now is the presence of myself. For me to say to me, “I know you’re burnt out baby. That’s OK. It makes sense. You don’t have to feel any other way than you do right now.” I took a big breath as I expressed that so I know it created relief.
What all of us want is love – love from ourselves and love from others. I can’t do much about how other people view me, but I can do something about how I view myself. And if I want to improve my relationship with myself, that means approaching my moods, my body, my whatever with love and compassion. It means allowing and accepting where I am, how I feel, as if I were talking to a dear friend.
I dream of a world where we realize judgment separates us while love unites us. A world where we remember love requires presence and that means allowing and accepting what is. A world where we work toward treating ourselves with love and without judgment, no matter how we’re feeling.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Looking through my Facebook memories, it seems February is frequently a month that I walk along the razor’s edge of fear and faith. At any moment it’s easy for me to slip onto one side or another. It seems only fitting because February starts with the letter “F” after all.
While watching TV this weekend, I heard a line that resonated with me: “Faith is worthless if left untested.” How true. Faith doesn’t have any weight if it’s something passive or taken for granted. Faith only means something if you’ve had to live it. My journey, especially as an adult, is living in faith over and over again.
On Valentine’s Day 2008, I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area without a job, without a plan, knowing only my dad’s best friend and one other person. I had $2,000 in the bank and that was it. The journey was one big test of faith – how much did I want to live here? How much did I believe things would work out?
Similarly, the same situation happened again when I quit a stable job with zero savings and no job offers on the table. My safety net was thinking if I really needed it, I could move back in with my parents or start a GoFundMe. These days, I have my own business, which is something I never planned for myself, never anticipated. It always seemed too scary, too unstable. How would I get steady income? And sure enough, this week that’s exactly what I’m confronting.
This picture, my goodness. Photo by Jordan Donaldson | @jordi.d on Unsplash
My highest paying client announced they’re going in a different direction and that means our work together is coming to an end soon. Cue the freak out as well as self-doubt. I’ve made an effort this week to come back to faith, to remember I’m not alone. That I’m in partnership with the universe and there’s a loving presence that wants me to be happy, joyous, and free.
On Saturday, I attended a live tarot card reading to offer guidance for the new lunar year. The cards that were pulled were about exactly this: Remembering we have gifts to offer others, that things work out when we follow our intuition, and also that there’s a mysterious force undergirding it all. When I reflect on numerous Februarys, I see that.
My spiritual path is based on the philosophy of Tantra and advises practitioners to: “Jump into your environment without the least hesitation. Don’t be afraid. Fear will leave you step by step. Tomorrow you will not be as fearful as you are today, the day after you will be even less fearful, and 10 days from now you’ll notice that you are completely fearless.”
I wouldn’t say that I’m completely fearless, but when I remember there’s a spirit that moves me, that moves everyone, I feel more faith. And in this moment, it’s hitting me strongly that I’ve done this over and over again: taken a leap of faith and wound up somewhere better than I ever imagined.
I dream of a world where we remember faith and fear are two sides of the same coin. A world where we realize faith is worthless if left untested. A world where we see there is a benevolent force in our lives that guides us, that loves us, and wants to see us succeed.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
It’s raining as I type this, which on the one hand I’m thrilled about because California needs rain. On the other hand, I have seasonal affective disorder (SAD) so when it rains my mood plummets and I feel mildly depressed. To counter the depression, I pulled out my SAD lamp and strung up fairy lights.
I find it especially poetic that I’m bringing more literal light into my life as right now it’s also Hanukkah. To celebrate Hanukkah, Jews all over the world light candles for eight days. One of the principles of Hanukkah is the idea that one candle may kindle the light of many others and yet lose none of its own light. I like that idea. I think especially right now as we’re facing surging COVID-19 numbers and many of us are unable to celebrate the holidays as we normally do, there’s something important about being a light, spreading light, but also recognizing darkness.
Light is its most potent in the dark. Photo by Chris Moore on Unsplash
Candles are most effective in the dark. Fairy lights are the most appealing when other lights are off. You can’t have lightness and brightness without darkness. There’s a writer I like named Jeff Brown who discusses this. He says:
“Real spirituality is all about ‘enrealment’ – it includes everything human in the equation. The real now is the one that includes everything we left behind on the path. We must work through our story, before the unresolved elements of our story kill us.”
Yes! My spiritual path is about using everything as a vehicle for liberation or enlightenment. About not running from feelings and tough times, and yet always remembering there is something more to me. Something outside the drama, the ups and downs, a witnessing part of me that remains unaffected and emits a light that can never be diminished. It’s my goal to keep growing that light, to keep remembering its presence, and to kindle that light in others.
We each have a light within us that is longing to burn ever brighter, to radiate within ourselves and those around us. In this holiday season, may you also remember the light being that you are. May you remember you are more than the sum of your parts, and may you also endeavor to shine a light on all parts of yourself.
The more you and I can do that, the more we can create a world we wish to see. One where we celebrate with one another, but also mourn with one another because instead of trying to bypass the hard, challenging, shadow parts of ourselves and this world, we acknowledge them. We acknowledge them and we bring light to them, which transforms them.
I dream of a world where we remember our brightness and we share that brightness with others. A world where we’re not scared of shadows because shadows are where light is most needed. A world where we embrace all parts of ourselves as we kindle the flame of “enrealment.” A world where we’re able to be the light.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
As California enters its second lockdown, I keep thinking about freedom. What does it mean to be free? Some people would say it’s doing whatever you want, whenever you want. But is that really true?
I read a great essay by Rebecca Solnit on “Masculinity as Radical Selfishness.” She mentions the axiom, “My right to swing my arm ends where your nose begins,” which is about balancing personal freedom with the rights of others. It’s also about watching out for someone else’s rights. She says what we’re seeing a prevalence of right now though is the idea that my right to swing my arm doesn’t end where your nose begins, but instead just doesn’t end. And in fact, your nose is not my problem and should get out of the way.
She also says in the U.S., “unlimited armswinging peaks at an intersection between whiteness and maleness, with plenty of white women on board who seem to believe that a white lady’s job is to protect white men’s armswinging (often with a selfless disregard for their own noses).” I think she’s right. Often what we associate with “freedom” is really just hypermasculinity because again to quote Solnit, the isolated individual (ideally white and male) are the metaphorical fists and must rule supreme. However, there’s a lack of understanding here that no man is an island; we don’t live in our own self-contained bubbles accomplishing everything by ourselves. It seems to me this pandemic more than anything is highlighting that. We want someone else to cut our hair. We want someone else to make our food. We want someone else to sit next to us and smile.
Would this woman be able to travel safely without the limit of road rules? No. Photo by Averie Woodard on Unsplash
Humans are social creatures. We are not meant to live in isolation. The hypermasculine freedom some in the U.S. idealize is a myth because what happens when that individual gets sick? They rely on the collective to help them out – they go to the hospital for care, or a doctor, or the drugstore.
My spiritual teacher says “just as my life is important to me, others’ lives are equally important to them; and if we do not give proper value to the lives of all creatures, then the development of the entire humanity becomes impossible.”
It becomes impossible because individual life is bound to the collective. Collective welfare lies in individuals and individual welfare lies in collectivity. There is no instance where my individual welfare doesn’t contribute to collective welfare. And furthermore, real freedom requires constraint. That may seem like an oxymoron but hear me out. Retired Navy SEAL, author, and podcaster Jocko Willink says, “Freedom is what everyone wants – to be able to act and live with freedom. But the only way to get to a place of freedom is through discipline. If you want financial freedom, you have to have financial discipline. If you want more free time, you have to follow a more disciplined time management system. Discipline equals freedom applies to every aspect of life: If you want more freedom, get more discipline.”
He’s talking specifically about individual freedom of course, but I think the same message applies to collective freedom. We’re able to drive safely, for the most part, because there are rules associated with driving. We’re able to buy food we enjoy because there are regulations that keep expired food off the shelves. I realize there are problems with the rules and regulations I listed, but I’d much rather have those problems than going into a grocery store and wondering if the food I’m buying will poison me.
Real freedom requires discipline and a care for others. Anything else is just selfishness that will eventually catch up to us.
I dream of a world where we recognize true freedom requires giving up a little bit of freedom. A world where we understand we can’t do what we want whenever we please without consequences for ourselves and others. A world where we understand real freedom requires limits.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.