I write, therefore I am.

A paraphrase of the quote, “I think, therefore, I am,” uttered by French philosopher Rene’ Descarte who was born March 31st, 419 years ago.

There’s no denying that each of us exists, but, to what end, I wonder? Is it merely so that we can take up space on this big blue marble, or so that we can make a difference with each turn around the sun?

As a consummate gracefully aging hippie whose social conscience sometimes over-rides her good sense and has her needing to place her hand over her mouth or coax her fingers away from the keyboard, since her filters aren’t always operational, I firmly believe the second is the truth.

I devote each day to being a conscious change-maker and peace monger.

As a wordsmith, I worship at the altar of the Muse who thinks I am at her beck and call 24/7 and I find myself writing in my sleep. This morning, long about five a.m., this article was being formulated in my drowsy brain. It insisted on being written despite my kvetching that since it was still dark out, the words could wait.

The Muse wasn’t having it, so I surrendered and began the soul stripping process.

Control. Is there anyone who doesn’t want more of it or who doesn’t fight, kicking and screaming, either literally or figuratively when it is taken from us? I recall a poster with the image of a cat and the sage words “Everything I ever let go of, has claw marks on it.” Not me, I thought, as I first saw it back in the 1980’s when I was beginning my career in the mental health and addictions fields. I fancied myself someone who could surrender what didn’t serve me, with grace and ease.

Now I call bullshit on my delusions. Although I don’t like to admit it, I can be a control freak. Not in a way that stomps on anyone else’s toes, but rather as I structure my own life. There was a time in my not too distant past, when chaos reigned. I was spinning a gazillion plates, like Erich Brenn, the guy on the Ed Sullivan Show, praying that I didn’t drop any of them in the process. Entertaining for sure, and exhausting all at once. My friends would marvel at how I did it all and then caution me that there would come a time, when I wouldn’t have a choice and would need to put down the china.

I protested that I had it all handled and believed that the world would stop spinning on its axis if I did.

Crash, splatter, fragmented shards of glass on June 12, 2014, when a fully occluded artery in my heart decided for me. If I wanted to live, I needed to clear my hands of the plates and my mind of any thought that I was in control. After being discharged from the hospital, I was in a panic, but didn’t let on, lest I blow my cover. If people thought that I could handle what life threw at me, with a smile on my face, rather than tears in my eyes, then they would continue to believe in me and see me as I wanted to be seen: confident, competent, reliable, certain.

Low maintenance.

The rock on whom they could lean and the soft breasts into which they could snuggle. The go-to problem solver who had all the answers. The wise woman who was tapped into universal flow.

The mystical-magical mama who pooped out rainbows and sweated sunshine from her pores.

At the behest of loving family and friends, I took a few weeks off from work and walked through life one step at time, literally as if moving in a meditative state through a labyrinth, since my heart and lungs were in healing mode. I took to what I am now calling “the cosmic couch,” where I lay, gazing up at the rotating ceiling fan, pondering my uncertain future.

What I have come to accept is that no one’s future is certain. We may plan in great detail, only to discover that the powers that be may have something else in mind. In my opti-mystical view of the world, seeing all events and people through the eyes of possibility, rather than peril, I know that I will weather whatever storm that may threaten to sweep me away in its current.

What I know I can’t control:

What anyone else thinks, feels, says or does, even if, in my “infinite wisdom,” I think they should stop making destructive decisions that not only impact on themselves, but others, and do things “my way.”

The weather.

Traffic.

The line at the supermarket.

My history.

The choices I made in the past.

How I am perceived.

Gas prices.

The state of the world in general.

What I know I can control:

Only my thoughts, feelings, words and actions.

What I would like to control:

All of the above and…

Financial flow.

My life partner arriving so we can get this adventure of a lifetime on the road already.

My health.

Career opportunities.

My judgments toward myself and others.

My fears of being too much or not enough.

Time.

Sleep.

My snarky alter ego that I call Perfectionista who looks down her nose at me over her pince-nez reading glasses.

Emotional eating.

The compulsion to engage in co-dependent “savior behavior.”

Workaholism that still grasps me in its clutches at times.

The allure of approval from others for who I am and what I do.

It is in the midst of this exploration that I surrender and turn to the old standby of the Serenity Prayer:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”  ~ Reinhold Niebuhr

Or in the wise words of Byron Katie: “When I argue with reality, I lose, but only 100% of the time.”

 

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Relephant Bonus Video!

 

 

Author: Edie Weinstein

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: anoz at Flickr 

 

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