On finally making a commitment

Unlike the rounds from Sunday to Saturday in Garrison Keillor's Lake Woebegone, it has not been a quiet week here in Worcester. Not for me, at least. It began with my spotting an ad online for a job working for my old employer in the state where I used to live. I jumped at the idea, thinking, "That's it! They'll be happy to have me back and I can just go back with my sweetie and pretend none of this ever happened." At first my emotions soared at the prospect.

But after a while, I sobered up and thought, "Do I really want to 1) run out on the commitment I've made to my employer here; 2) take a huge pay cut to work for an editor I've never met at a paper that tends to get short shrift among the properties owned by my former employer; 3) cut the ties I've just renewed with people here I like a lot, all because I'm lonely? I decided maybe it wasn't such a great idea after all.

It came to me that the best way to be happy where I am and to make the change I've undertaken work out is to regard it as a settled thing. Not that I couldn't ever change my mind if that really seemed like the best thing to do, but I have to stop waffling about whether I'm really committed to being here and really intending to stay. I had good reasons for coming here, I now have a good job and connections to people I care about here, and I'm committed to making this move work out. And I accept that it may take longer than I want it to before that happens (if I'm honest I'd have to admit that it already has taken longer than I wanted it to).

So great, I learned something about myself and I moved to a healthier way of thinking. Then Wednesday I went to my first Mindfulness Stress Reduction class. I mostly enjoyed the class, but when we went around the room and everyone said why they were there, I was struck by the amount of pain carried by everyone in the room, and the sense of inadequacy most carried because they had such pain. It brought to mind Thoreau's remark that "the majority of men lead lives of quiet desperation." I guess the good thing for those of us in the room was that we had all decided to do something about the desperation we felt and try to find a better way to live with it.

It was amazing to hear people, just regular folks who seemed pretty much like me, talk about the physical and psychic burdens they carry and know that not only was I not alone, I hadn't been through half what some of them had. People bear incredible burdens with great stoicism a lot of the time, believing that they have no other choice.

And Thursday morning I was walking my dog in the backyard behind my house, and he got caught on some barbed wire lying serpentlike in the leaves. The next thing I knew he was frantically struggling to free himself. The wire was caught in his ear, and as I tried to help him, he screamed (that's a blood-freezing sound if the animal is yours). After trying unsuccessfully to free him for a few moments, I decided I'd better go see if any of my neighbors had wire cutters, because I was afraid the wire was in the flesh of my dog's ear. (He's a poodle-cocker spaniel mix and has floppy cocker ears).

As I was running for the street, my next-door neighbor ran over and asked what was going on, having heard my dog crying. I told him breathlessly that Riley was caught by his ear on the barbed wire and that I was going to see if anyone had wire cutters. He didn't have any, but said he'd try to help the dog.

In the time it took me to pound on two doors across the street, Rick, the neighbor who had come to help, got Riley free and brought him over to me on his leash. I thanked Rick profusely for freeing Riley and he ran back to his house.

Luckily, the wire was caught mostly in the hair on Riley's ear and had just nicked the flesh a little bit. We saw the vet later that morning and he was pronounced to be in good shape.

And then last night I went to a friend's house for dinner, the first time we'd seen each other in about eight years. From her welcoming hug to her goodbye hug she was so warm, and really went all-out to be hospitable. I felt so special, and like it really meant a lot to her to see me. We talked nonstop for about four hours, catching up on a lot of what had happened since we last saw each other, laughing and renewing our friendship. It was really wonderful.

Maybe I came back here for more reasons than I know. In fact, believing in Providence as I do, I'm almost certain that's true.

The reasons we give ourselves for doing things are usually rational, and sometimes even true. But they are seldom, if ever, the whole story. There is a force, call it God, love, mystery, the universe, or life itself, that touches and shapes our lives, moving us toward greater wholeness and fullness of life. It never stops, never abandons us, but is infinitely adaptable and patient. We can choose to fight it or work with it, but it is always there. It calls us to allow ourselves to be loved more deeply and to open our arms and our hearts wider to the life around us.