We Are All Broken

Into the Most Beautiful Mosaics

When life breaks us, we fall apart. Sometimes more gracefully than others. If my recent crisis management tactics were to be packaged and sold on Amazon, users would probably give me a 2 out of five star rating. Not good.

Luckily, my children are not allowed to rate me, at least not to my face AND I am a quick adapter. So, although some of my initial coping mechanisms are less than desirable…

I can be spiky, impatient, overwhelmed, paralyzed, bossy, insecure, defensive, sad, salty, sarcastic and several other not so terribly flattering qualities I’d rather belonged to someone else.

I have something far more important: grit, grace and gumption.

I use these on a regular basis to steer my way out of complicated situations and challenging circumstances because deep down, my desire to evolve and grow into a more compassionate, loving person supersedes even my brattiest tendencies.

After crisis or hardship, it’s hard for anyone to see more than broken pieces. We are too close in, too close up– too close. Only after we’ve integrated these pieces into ourselves, do we begin to make out the beautiful mosaic of meaning.

The way into meaningful beauty requires a crack in the armor.

For those perfectionists amongst us, this is, ahem, challenging.

My therapist from about twenty years ago gave me an ultimatum after working together for several months: You can be perfect or happy. And you’ll never be the former so you might as well shoot for the latter.

My silent response was a bit indignant that he didn’t think I already was perfect.

Even more perfect, by the fact I was seeking help for it. I told Joe this and he told me about the idiot boss he had early in his career who told him he was not actually the alpha and the omega.

Whaaat?

Surely this was a joke.

Surely, this person had lost their mind. Or was not thinking at all clearly. Joe was all that PLUS the delta and a bunch of Greek gods, marvel superheroes and genius stuff most people can’t understand.

For some of us humility takes time.

But beyond the full-out recognition that we are most likely simply the ampersand between the alpha and omega, the valiant striving and often crushing disappointment for people who dream big is disheartening.

Add in children and the competitive world in which they live and it is compounded.

I was thinking yesterday, on my run, where my mind is finally able to slow down, that maybe the real fear is not so much about failing anymore. That is kind of grand scale given.

The fear is about losing.

Everything.

Health, love, childhood, peace, friends, money, clients, youth, a sense of purpose, a feeling of belonging, a belief in something bigger.

I am afraid if I don’t make the right choices for our children they will lose something– a love of music, a passion for art, a sense of wellbeing, inner peace, outward compassion– a sense of who they are and curiosity about who they can be.

Sometimes my fear becomes overwhelming. I have trouble getting out of my own way. I have trouble remembering it is not all up to me. And more importantly, the right choices are entirely a matter of perspective, which led to a question.

What if we can’t lose?

What if inside every loss is an unexpected gift?

What if the trappings of winning– getting into the right school, making the varsity team, becoming a CEO or PhD or BFD is simply ego, marketing, status, subservience?

I’ve always liked the saying: What would you do if you knew you couldn’t lose. But I am finding myself more drawn to its inverted cousin: What would you stop doing if you knew you couldn’t lose.

In this age of more, more, more I am trying to pare back the fatty layers of who I think I need to be.

To rediscover who I am and what I am here to do.*

* In this quest, I will be going on a digital CP hiatus for the month of September. Back in time for gourds, pumpkins and autumn leaves. Be well…