Wow. What a weekend.
Friday fight with husband. (Ouch)
Saturday I-clean-best-when-I’m-mad-fest. (Yay)
Sparkle fairy non-staff meeting at 4. Went so great. Record attendance, folks engaged and excited. (Yay)
On to finale of Vision Mapping party with Madeleine and Tami. Awesome and revealing. Exposed a few layers under the surface of comfort level and deepened already wonderful relationships. (Yay)
Sunday hangover from staying up past 10 pm. (Ouch) Taught class and felt connected and present. (Yay)
Picked up by husband (still in fight mode- Ouch) to then pick up stepdaughter from sleep over. Huge drama ensued because stepdaughter had snuck out of house at 1 am and rode about 3 miles on bicycle with a friend to a mystery destination. All the things that “could have” happened. (Ouch)
Sunday birthday celebration plans for stepdaughter canceled due to you could have been killed drama. (Ouch)
Afternoon book club meeting. Amazing, oddly emotional, and deeply connecting. (Yay)
Evening phone call with my dad. Hadn’t talked to him in over a month. The conversation rubbed a lot of old wounds. Didn’t say what I really wanted to which was, I miss you. I want to know that I’m important to you. (Oouuuuuch)
***
I was journaling this morning and thought of the story of the farmer who has a very even attitude about all of the things that happen in life:
there was once an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years.
one day, his horse ran away. upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit.
“such bad luck”, they said sympathetically.
“maybe” the farmer replied.
the next morning the horse returned, bringing with it two wild horses.
“such good luck”, the neighbors exclaimed.
“maybe” replied the farmer.
the following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown off, and broke his leg.
again, the neighbors came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune.
“such bad luck” they said.
“maybe” answered the farmer.
the day after that, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army to fight a war. seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by.
“such good luck!” cried the neighbors.
“maybe” said the farmer.
In my rush to categorize ouches and yays, I miss the lessons of, or even the simple experience of those situations. There’s something satisfying about putting a feeling or situation in a box of “good” or “bad.” We feel like we know it, understand it (and hence, control it). But that is an illusion.
So now I sit with a kaleidoscope of thoughts and emotions about the weekend. I can hear myself in class: Make room for whatever is arising. Not pushing away or holding onto. Without labeling as good or bad.
Time for a little of my own advice.
Blogasana 