I'd never been to California, yet during the past several months many people living out there have been urging me to come and visit. Ah, 'twould be nice, but no denaro. Then unexpectedly I was invited to the annual meeting and retreat of Service Space. My heart stopped for a moment. This was huge! Our founder, Nipun Mehta, would be there, a man I deeply admire. Other folks I knew of but never met would also attend. In my mind these were the game changers, and they wanted me to come.
Two questions plagued me, why and how. Why did I think I needed to go? While my default response would have been no, my intuition shoved me into saying yes. Then how in the world would I pay for the airfare?
The night after I accepted, I woke up in a panic. What was I thinking of? I can't go to California! But in the next instant a voice cut through the noise. FEAR NOT! Instantly the panic ceased. The next day I got a grant writing job which covered the cost of the ticket. As long as I was out there, I thought I should see the friends who encouraged me to visit. I emailed them about my trip, and effortlessly the stars moved to assist me. Two of these friends offered me a bed, so no hotels. Other friends offered to drive me everywhere I needed to go, so no car to rent. John dropped me off and picked me up at the airport, so no parking costs. Magic!
Then came the why. Why do I need to go now and why did I feel compelled to say yes? I put the question aside when I arrived at Mesa del Sol. I'd never been to a place like this! We were in the mountains--high, dry, bright--with a faint smell of sage brush hanging in the air. I was immediately absorbed into our loving group of 25 and made to feel quite comfortable. Yet, something felt odd. Someone asked me how I was doing. I replied, "I'm not sure. I'm not here. Someone is here, but it's not me. But she's having a great time!" Whatever anxiety drives my ego and claims to be me was left 3,000 miles behind. A purer version of me had arrived, one that was so completely open.
I took advantage of the surroundings to enjoy a little solitude and the starry night, and out of the corner of my eye I spotted the Pleiades cluster. Since my vision is not what it used to be I cannot look for this cluster straight on; it recedes into the blackness. But when I don't look so hard, when I look past it, when I allow my peripheral vision to see it, it becomes clear. Then I realized that I had to find my reason to why in the same way. Going after it intellectually would reveal nothing. I just had to let the answers reveal themselves to me.
They did. Sure, I was here to get better acquainted with the group. But I found myself having astounding conversations which could not have happened under any other circumstances. I met people with whom I developed an immediate and deep connection, and we continue our conversations now. Because I needed a ride to my next destination, my traveling companions ended up being photographed for a book my host was publishing. Another friend expressed her wonder that I had come at exactly that time because there was no one else with whom she could share a particular story.
The stars move in strange courses, don't they? While it may be tempting to connect the dots and declare a constellation, I'm finding it's much more amazing to let them connect me to people and circumstances who are, just for the moment, obscured by the darkness. But when all is revealed, Holy Mother of Pearl, it is magic!
This is my neighborhood post blizzard. See that teeny black sliver above the railing? That's the only sign of my car which was completely buried in snow. Three--count 'em THREE--feet in one storm. Nor'easters are a force to be reckoned with.
My male neighbors lent their muscles to the task of clearing my driveway. It was exhausting mentally as well as physically as we had to figure out where to put the darn stuff. We'd work a couple of hours, go back inside for coffee and ibuprofen, then go out and tackle it some more.
After three days of this paralysis, a payloader finally broke through the street. Those people worked round the clock, getting stuck themselves, dodging pedestrians and shrouded vehicles. It was nerve-wracking, mind-numbing, and heroic. But he couldn't clear the entire road, just past my driveway. There he stopped. I'm guessing someone else was in charge of that other portion. You have to stop plowing somewhere, or you end up circumnavigating the Earth.
Up the street, Amy stepped out of her house and observed that she was still snow bound. I was just wrapping up days of back-breaking work when she saw me and, yelling over the sound of a snow blower, expressed her astonishment. "How come they didn't plow me out?!?! I'll never be able to get to work!"
Spent and aching, I mustered as much goodwill as I could. "Think of it as a vacation!"
"How could they be so stupid!?!?! What idiots!!!"
That's my hot-button. When I know someone has given their all to an effort and hear criticism of him, I lose it. I rarely lose it. But I lost it at that moment and made a very impatient and frankly irrational reply before stomping into my house.
Then the inevitable guilt set in. I handled it really badly. I was insensitive to her situation and made myself look like a jerk as well. I had to clean it up. I chose to go over to her house the next day and apologize, then offer to take her grocery shopping with me. "Go over." I write that so glibly. She is maybe 20 yards away from me. But it meant I had to swim through waves of hip-deep snow to get there. Every step was a booby trap. In an act of poetic justice, I fell on my face a couple of times. I arrived soaked with cold water and knocked on her door.
She greeted me warmly, and then I stated my reason for coming, offering a sincere apology for my remark.
"What remark?"
"You didn't hear what I said?"
"No, I thought you were just complaining about shoveling. What did you say?"
"Amy, if you didn't hear me, I'm not going to repeat it!" And we both laughed.
Then she turned quite somber. "No, I don't need to go grocery shopping, but thanks for the offer. It was good of you to come over. It's been a hard week for me. It's the anniversary of my mother's death, and my sister attempted suicide. It's too much...." She broke down after that. I simply stood there, giving her my full attention, sending as much love to her as I could. Since I was not invited in, I figured she did not wish to dwell in this place. Then pulling herself together she said, "I just needed someone to tell that to."
I gave her my deepest condolences, she thanked me, and I returned home to send up a prayer for her. Never in a million years would I have guessed that doing something stupid could provide a means to connect with someone in need. If I hadn't blown so rudely, I would never have been moved to visit with her. Amy just isn't one of those neighbors I hang out with.
So I wonder if there are times when being less than perfect opens up opportunities for grace. Maybe the Universe uses our mistakes for a higher good if we are brave enough to own up to them. Maybe storms leave some good in their wake after all.
Pax tecum
Then came the why. Why do I need to go now and why did I feel compelled to say yes? I put the question aside when I arrived at Mesa del Sol. I'd never been to a place like this! We were in the mountains--high, dry, bright--with a faint smell of sage brush hanging in the air. I was immediately absorbed into our loving group of 25 and made to feel quite comfortable. Yet, something felt odd. Someone asked me how I was doing. I replied, "I'm not sure. I'm not here. Someone is here, but it's not me. But she's having a great time!" Whatever anxiety drives my ego and claims to be me was left 3,000 miles behind. A purer version of me had arrived, one that was so completely open.
