I could hear my heart beating as I gazed at the dazzling waves.~Deborah Levy (From August Blue)
I find comfort in the color blue. Is that why I love the sky so much?
The color scheme in my home is blue and white, with splashes of russet and taupe. My dishes are blue and white, so even when I'm eating I derive pleasure from the color pattern. Years ago, I dreamed of a little white dog with blue eyes that someone gave to me. I'll never forget the joy that dream evoked in me. When I awakened, I wondered if perhaps a warm frosted-colored pup would greet me, look at me with its soulful blue eyes. I have yet to find this creature for my life, so I created an imaginary dog for my protagonist, Alex, in my newest manuscript. Alex names the dog Stella. Her dog is blue-eyed, with short, white fur that feels like velvet on one's fingertips. Stella's muzzle is pinkish with dark spots, much like the photo I posted here. I found this image just the other day and exclaimed, "I think this might be Stella." The photo brings me comfort too.
Sometimes, the world can feel inhospitable to me--ads on social sites shouting, "You must walk away from belly fat." "You need plumper lips. This is the key to a better life." If only. Fear-based statements abound, declaring that surely age spots and osteoporosis are inevitable. I shudder and crave escape from these depressing, boisterous outbursts. Sometimes I turn to food or binge watching to break free of the distressing messages. But these outlets are numbing, and ultimately I'm left with increased discomfort when the numbness wears off.
It's much more likely that a walk will bring relief. I am fortunate that the ocean is near. I fight back resistance to drive to the beach on a brisk winter day. I am enticed to go because the sun shines and the sky spreads over me in sheer, luxurious blue. Like a blue cashmere sweater. There are few people on the boardwalk. I find a spot to sit and look out over the the glowing sea. The ocean holds my favorite colors. Cerulean blue water and white-tipped waves. I stay there a long while and breathe deeply, the pounding waves a comforting soundtrack. I think to myself, "I believe Alex would bring Stella here." This thought brings me comfort too. Now I'm resistant to leave. I turn from the gleaming blue ocean. My mind is clear. My body invigorated. My spirit alive. Colors of the sea and a little white dog.
You like wooden boats and flaky salt and having dahlias at your desk. Sometimes you tell yourself mean things when you run. You feel calmer when you go outside at lunchtime. If you don't sleep well one night, you usually do the next. Having a whole mystery series to read makes you feel safe. You always thought you weren't tough, but you are. You really do believe failure goes on some sort of permanent record. You can get weirdly absorbed in cleaning out a drawer. You try so hard to be good at things you don't actually want to do. You never ask yourself if maybe you should just stop doing them.~Kristi Coulter (From Exit Interview--The Life and Death of My Ambitious Career)
My husband has more than once accused me of being "too nice." Guilty as charged. A lot of the time, I just want people to like me. People pleasing. Yes sir, that's me. I feel guilty if I say no to others. I feel responsible for others' emotions. I want things to work out. I believe it's up to me. I don't practice this upside-down behavior all the time, but frequently enough so that I'm capsized in a world that demands so much attention. I'm working on it. But I'm not trying to be meaner or increase callousness. No, not that. That's even worse.
I finished a book by Kristi Coulter last week. I opened this post with her quote. She worked at Amazon for twelve years. She was competent, intelligent, creative and productive. And nice. Yet throughout her career, she experienced many of the same feelings that I have. She often ignored what was important to her, denied that her preferences and thoughts and talents really counted. She gave so much attention to others that she suppressed herself. The pain of diluting who she was finally grabbed her attention. She decided to became kinder to herself. But is there really a difference between niceness and kindness?
Dr. Nicole Lepera, author of How To Be The Love You Seek, cites these key differences between being nice and being kind:
Nice:
Automatically say "yes" to everything.
Betray myself to please others.
I think everyone needs to like me.
I think other people are my responsibility.
I believe guilt means I'm wrong.
I drop everything for everyone.
I believe it's a badge of honor to put everyone first.
Kind:
I pause and see if I have space.
I honor my limits and boundaries.
I know I can't please everyone.
I know I am my own responsibility.
I know it is okay to feel guilty.
I practice self-care.
I know if I put everyone else first I'll be resentful.
Dr. Lepera says, "Adults are capable of being disappointed, so I can take care of me. I don't need to be everything to everyone."
Perhaps we right ourselves and others a bit more when we seek kindness over niceness. May God's gracious hand rest upon us to help us distinguish the difference.
And how blessed all those in whom you live, whose lives become roads you travel;
They wind through lonesome valleys, come upon brooks, discover cool springs and pools brimming with rain!
God-traveled, these roads curve up the mountain, and at the last turn--Zion! God in full view!~Psalm 84: 5-7 (From The Message)
The protagonist, Alexandra, in my manuscript I'm working on, is struggling. Her therapist, Dr. Wallace Greer, gives her an assignment. She is to write down five things that provide delight, or have provided delight in the past. Alex (her preferred name), tells Dr. Greer she's never really used that word, hasn't contemplated it before. He encourages her to participate in the assignment. Give it a try.
Yesterday I was in the library and ran across a book, The Book of (More) Delights, by Ross Gay. I'd never heard of the book before I wrote about my fictional character and gave her the assignment through Dr. Greer. And the book I saw and checked out at the library is his second set of essays about delight. (The first, The Book Of Delights.) And surely it is good and healing to concentrate on discovering what delights us in this world that holds such trouble, that can cause our hearts to feel brittle and break apart.
One of the things that brings me delight is waking up early. (I realize for many people, this would not be on their list of delights). I love the darkness, before the sun rises. I open my blinds in anticipation of the light pouring through and the entrance of a new day. Then gradually, the light begins to appear, usually in multiple shades of blue. Sometimes pink or gray, or a ball of orange fire that emerges from the stand of trees outside my door. Yesterday morning I felt so happy to see the light, I stepped outside and a fragile, white moon sat in the blueness of a fresh sky. I felt as it I'd curved up the mountain and at the last turn there was God in full view.
What delights you?
Choosing to remain present with your friends, to take the dog out, to listen patiently to your coworker even while your mind is screaming and you want to hide or pound your head until it stops--such things are small offerings, small sacrifices, little acts of defiance against your suffering, that may mean the world to them. And anyway, those small offerings are all that God asks of you.~Alan Noble (From On Getting Out Of Bed, The Burden And Gift Of Living)
As 2023 ended, I didn't have much motivation to look back and evaluate the year. I looked in the rearview mirror and felt wistful, in a way, that I'd lived another year. These years vaporize before me now that I'm older. Very old, some would say. Closer to seventy than sixty. Yet I don't feel much different than I did in my thirties. Sometimes better, because in my thirties there was so much to do--kids and career and making enough money. Marriage and church. So much on my mind.
During the holidays, I listened to a song by Joni Mitchell, I Wish I Had A River I Could Skate Away On. It's a melancholy song. The singer wants to get away from the pain of her life. Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on. I wish I had a river so long. I would teach my feet to fly.
As I look forward in 2024, I think about skating away on a river that takes me where I need to go, where I desire to go. Anticipating the good. Rejoicing that even when I experience the pain of life, there are always small offerings I can make. And I can receive the small offerings that others make to me.
Maybe our "kryptonite" is thinking that small offerings are of little consequence. Perhaps if each day we practice small offerings to not only others, but also to ourselves, we feel the relief of skating away on that river. Happier. Liberated. Less pain. More vibrant living. Teaching our feet to fly.
Happy New Year. Grace to it!