Zen and the Search for Purpose

This morning, even before I put on my coke-bottle glasses, I could tell by the whiteness of my window that snow was falling.

April is the cruelest month, indeed.

I refused to get out of bed in protest – since it’s officially my first day of spring break, that seemed reasonable—and until the hospital unexpectedly called with a scheduling question, I tried almost successfully to stay in the realm of not awake. 

If I did not get out of bed, the snow would not matter. 

That made sense before coffee.

Eventually, my plans for the day thrown off by 7” of snow, I had to make peace with chaos and get a grip.

This is pretty much the story of my life all the time, really.

Throughout Lent, the reflections I did each morning centered on becoming more authentically ourselves, living the purpose filled life we are supposed to each live. In the last week or so the focus shifted to leaning into the dissonance of life, living with the questions even when we can’t immediately find answers.

I like answers.

Answers are my favorite.

My entire job consists of planning and answers, on some level.

But life rarely presents a clear picture of which way to go, or what the best path is. History rarely does, either, so why I’m surprised by my own inner “which way do I go?” isms I am not sure. 

Finding purpose and authenticity scares me a bit, even as I try to reach out to new things—advocacy, getting on a plane AGAIN, discerning exactly where I am supposed to leap TO, in response to the compelling feeling that a leap is not only right but necessary.  In a lot of ways, the practice of being in the present moment sets up the ability to find purpose and authenticity.

I need a lot more practice.

But again last week we got a medical reprieve, one I did not expect (I never really do expect it. Expectations are my nemesis in medical land, I am conditioned to only expect the worst and be surprised and relieved when the worst does not pan out in a particular moment—I never think that one respite provides some kind of disaster immunity for the future).   And in this reprieve, in NOT having to get back in the life or death game of medical interventions, I have time and space and a strong feeling that I need to DO SOMETHING.

The chaos of schedule, medical anxiety, snow upon snow when it is supposed to be spring—I am trying to learn how to lean into these moments, to see what I can learn from them, to breathe through them and keep going. I have to practice the things I know while I have the space to remember what I know, when those knowings are not crowded out by terror or stress or helplessness.

Like I said, I need about 9,998 hours more of practice before I can reach the elusive 10,000 hours to excellence level. Last week I spent an awful lot of hours literally wandering in circles as anxiety clawed at my insides, despite exercise and prayer and decent eating and all my tools for settling the inner demons down.

Already the snow is melting (New Jersey has the weirdest weather EVER), and soon my spring bulbs will be revealed again. The days are longer and brighter. Despite my deep need for maps and plans and answers, sometimes those come only after the hike begins.

That is a terrible metaphor, DON’T EVER HIKE WHEN YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING. Find a well-marked trail and stay on it so you don’t get mauled by a bear or fall down a gorge or something.

Yikes.

How about… despite my deep need for maps and answers, sometimes the most wonderful things only happen, the most authentic moments of joy and purpose occur in the unplanned moments, the leap of faith, the step into the darkness? I know this is true, I just have to be brave enough to practice it without wincing every time.

I need to practice how to be present to challenges without being devoured by them.  My dad always used to say  “some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you” – figuring out how to live with the uncertainties is like hanging out with the bear without getting eaten.

THAT is going to take some practice.