Terminally Unique

In the previous post, I spoke about how important it is for us to embrace life…live out loud, I said (in the spirit of Emile Zola).  Recognize you matter.  Love yourself, and make every moment count.  And I stand by that.  But there is something more to say, too.  Or something that goes along with it…and I eluded to it, as well…namely, that we shouldn’t take ourselves and our life so seriously that we decide being so concerned with oneself comes before everything else.  Why?  Because that is narcissism.  And that is never (yes, I said never!) good.  Never.

Here’s what I mean…self-centered living, deciding that “I” is more important than anything else, that oneself is, in fact, THE center of the universe, is to be confused.  I’m the first to say that there are many things I don’t understand or know about.  In fact, the older I get, the less I’m beginning to think I know.  But this one thing, I think I’ve come to understand and believe…I am not the center of the universe.  None of us is.  And I do not matter more than anyone else.  I do matter, yes.  I am valuable and important and significant and loved and love and esteemed and should and ought and deserve respect.  Yes. Yes.  And YES.  But more than others…No.  And should I expect to be more than others.  No.  Do I sometimes go through things that others don’t.  Sure.  Do sometimes things happen that others may not get or go through.  Sure.  But does that mean someone elsewhere in the universe hasn’t.  No.  Does that mean I’m the only person ever in the history of the world to go through this and so am the only one that can possibly understand it?  No.  In fact, hell no.  And to think so, is to be confused. 

A number of years ago I heard this phrase somewhere.  I’m pretty sure I didn’t make it up.  At least I don’t think I did.  It would be cool if I did.  In fact, it would be super duper cool. But alas, I don’t think so.  It’s this:

Terminally Unique.

This is what I call people who think that they have a problem or are going through something or have some experience that no one else in the world has ever or will ever or could ever go through. Ever.  Terminally Unique.  That’s what they think they are.  But here’s what I think of that…

Poppy cock.  Baloney.  Hogwash.  As they say across the pond, Rubbish!  Or more colorfully and vulgarly (is that possibly a word?!)…My A--.  Bull S*#@!  If you know what I’m sayin’!!

It’s just not true.  It may be that whatever you are going through is horrible, awful, terrible, difficult, really rare, surprising, different, not-very-oft-experienced, hard to describe, unlike most of what your friends and family members and co-workers are going through, but it is not unique.  It just isn’t.  Someone somewhere has experienced it or is experiencing it.  They are.  They have.  That is just the nature of life.

Maya Angelou beautifully and eloquently said this:

Someone was hurt before you;
wronged before you;
beaten before you;
humiliated before you;
raped before you;
yet, someone SURVIVED.

I don’t believe Ms. Angelou is trying to dismiss anyone and her or his experience.  Nor is she devaluing anyone, or suggesting whatever anyone is going through does not count or matter or anything like that.  Nor am I.  That’s not what I would ever seek to do.  And certainly no one as wise or experienced or noble and amazing as Ms. Angelou would either.  The point is that no one is that special.  No one.  No one is truly terminally unique.  Now, they may tell themselves they are; that happens A LOT.  But they aren’t.  They’ve just convinced themselves of it, run down that rabbit hole, if you will, bought the illusion, and well, it’s just not so.  See, someone else has the same story.  Someone else.  And here’s the really cool thing…that is good news.  What do I mean?  Well, the best example I know is this:

12 Step Programs.  When I first started going to those rooms because I was the loved one of an alcoholic, I heard this several times:  “Sit down.  Tell us your name.  Then, shut up and listen.  We already know who you are.”  Now, I should say, “shut up” was considered a “bad word” in my house growing up.  Worse than some of the others, the more vulgar ones, really, because of how rude it is.  It’s a terrible, ugly thing to tell someone to shut up.  Or so my mama and daddy taught us.  So, when the welcome I got in the rooms was “Sit down.  Tell us your name.  Then, shut up and listen.  We already know who you are.” it was a bit jolting to me.  But quickly I came to understand.  See, what those people in the rooms were saying was that they didn’t need to hear all the details of what had brought me in there.  I mean, they weren’t opposed to hearing them.  Really, they weren’t. In fact, they were patient and kind and loving.  They listened rather attentively once I and anyone else felt compelled and ready to share whatever they needed to share.  But the reason they said that to newcomers was to let us know that they were willing to share their story, their “experience, strength, and hope” (as they often say in the rooms), so that we could hear about some hope (that there is some, which when people first go in is a very nice thing to hear; newcomers really need to hear that, in fact!!).  More than that, it’s good to learn that there are people who have and are experiencing the very things we are.  Which is the point I’m trying to make. 

See. the amazing thing about what the founders of AA found out was that sharing their common struggle with alcohol helped them get better.  Crazy, right?  Their names were Dr. Bob and Bill W., and they found out that talking about having trouble with drinking helped them stop.  (No, I’m not making this up.)  Amazing in its simplicity really.  And that’s how AA and eventually all 12 Step Programs were born.  Telling the common stories helped.  That’s the power of story.  And that’s the point—everyone already knows each other because they are there for the same reason.  So people who are loved ones of those addicted to alcohol or drugs have that in common; though the details of our enabling and co-dependence may be different specifically, the disease, the day-to-day struggles are the same.  And that’s why they could say to me, “Hi Donna., Now, listen, and maybe we can find hope together.”  It worked.  Miraculous.  I wasn’t terminally unique - alone, frightened, and scared all by myself anymore.  I had all these amazing people to lean on and cry with and laugh with and carry me when needed and yell to and work things out and it was remarkable…I was surrounded by all the other people with the same story.  See, I learned that instead of staying in the comfort and security of my own home all by my lonesome with the disease (she writes dripping with sarcasm!!), I could get out of there, get out of being by myself in it, and go be with others who got it, who got me, and by doing so again and again and again, I was able to find solutions and answers that before doing that, I couldn’t see, couldn’t begin to see.  It was remarkable and beautiful and…wow…amazing.  Thanks be to God!

And someone might say, well, that’s just for Alcoholics.  Nope…that’s why there are so many versions of 12 Step Programs now…telling stories.  Sharing the stories…it’s what works for people in their vulnerabilities.  And it’s why small groups in churches that provide support for persons to share their lives and struggles work, too.  I imagine there are such groups in mosques and synagogues and YMCAs and therapists' room and playgrounds and "mommy and me" spaces and all kinds of places, too.  It’s about sharing stories together.  No one is alone.  No one is truly terminally unique…those who think they are, well, this may sound harsh, but they are confused about the world.  They have sold themselves the notion that they are the center of the universe, living in a serious state of self-centeredness, where what is happening with them is solely and only about them individually.  But here’s the truth, that’s not how we’re created or built in this world.  We’re social creatures, made in relation to others.  That’s why we have families…maybe not always the ones we want, but we’ve got them.  And we can make decisions to have ones by choice, too.  That’s why we have friends.  I’ve known folks with friends, brothers/sisters by choice who are loyal beyond any kind of ties…those who would and do do anything for another, have one another’s backs in situations some would never believe.  Because that’s truly how we’re made.  This idea that we are “islands unto ourselves”…again, baloney.  It’s an illusion of the worst kind.  Martin Buber, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, John Lennon and Paul McCartney, to name but a few, certainly got this! 

What’s interesting, of course, is that especially here in North America, as a society we promote self-centeredness.  Books fly off the shelves in bookstores and from Amazon, about how to raise your child to think of themselves first, promoting esteem and self-interest, and loving themselves above all else, giving all your attention to your child in every way, smothering them with love and tender care, picking them up at every cry (battles rage over this right – it’s no wonder some folks grow up thinking they are the center of the universe! – this is a topic for another post, I’d say.)  I say this just to point out sometimes we have to adjust our parenting from having made our children the center of our universe to show them the world is larger, and help them find their place in it as healthy citizens with a perspective beyond ourselves.  Interesting.  But I digress.

The point is…we are not terminally unique.  We are not the center of the universe.  Yes, we matter.  Yes, embrace life.  Live it out loud.  Embrace it and go forward.  Seek to live with joy and abandon.  Surround yourself with those who make you laugh.  But please, always (yes, I said always!) remember that you are not alone.  That your story is shared.  So share it.  And don’t take life so seriously.  Because when we do, when we do take it so seriously and think everything that’s going on with us is of dire consequence and importance, we miss the little pleasures and simple fun of it.  We fail to remember that others have been through it too.  Or worse, perhaps.  We lose perspective.  We forget that laughing at ourselves is good for the soul, too.  A friend of mine used to say, “a little levity goes a long way.”  Indeed.  So…remember that. 

You know, one of my most favorite songs is an old one by the Indigo Girls.  It's called Closer to Fine.  Now I’ll admit, I’m a sucker for those harmonious girl bands…ones with solid musicians who can sing and keep a pretty good beat.  Even better are those who have done some thinking about the world and their place in it.  Obviously, the Indigo Girls qualify.  And it certainly doesn’t hurt that Emily Sailers’ dad was a theology professor at Candler Theological Seminary at Emory University.  I mean she’s got some chops musically and theologically indeed.  Well, if you really listen to the lyrics of that song, it’s pretty good stuff, and it’s got a decent beat to sing along to, as well.  Our kids have loved it for years already, and they’re not even 10 years old, any of ‘em.  Anyhow, it starts out right up front…

I'm trying to tell you something about my life,
Maybe give me insight between black and white.
The best thing you've ever done for me
Is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all.

You know, these two rockin’ women seem to be saying to someone in their lives “thank you” for being one who gave them perspective, one who helped them remember in the scheme of the universe all that happens is just that – part of the wider journey of life.  And while certainly stuff can be big and important and eventful and life changing, it doesn’t mean you are alone it, the only one to experience it and know how it feels.  Terminally unique…no way – not a chance that someone else, somewhere else hasn’t a shared story through which one can learn, heal, be buoyed and loved and supported now and into whatever future life brings…true for me, true for you, true for us all.  It may be that’s easy to lose sight of sometimes, but that’s all it is. These words from the Girls’ snappy tune and the eloquence of Ms. Angelou and all kinds of others, too, for that matter help remind me.  May that be so for you, too.

Blessings to you and yours today, tomorrow, and for always.

 

Life Is Fragile

Recently a few things have happened that lead me to write this piece.  The most recent was something that occurred while I was headed to a meeting in Lexington on Saturday.  But I’ll get to that in a sec.  The others…first, a family I know managed to dodge a tragic bullet, if you will, when their two small boys (under 6 years old) both survived a dangerous accident on an ATV.  Thankfully, short of some scrapes, bruises, and mild concussions, everyone was okay within 24 hours and life resumed as usual.

Second, our third grade son’s teacher had her last day teaching for the year last Friday because unfortunately, she’s been diagnosed with cancer and has to have surgery and immediate treatment.  We are hopeful that they’ve caught it early in her case, and we wish her all the best as she goes forward now, but it really brought home to me how one day life is just rollin’ along, you have a routine doctor’s appointment, and boom, your world is turned upside down.  One month later, many appointments and consultations and new information to process and think about and decisions later, you’re not teaching anymore.  Your life has a new rhythm and routine and plan.  At least for the immediate future.

And then this past Saturday…so, I was on my way to Lexington for a meeting of a task force that I’ve been serving on and to get there one drives the Mountain Parkway to the North and West.  Now, this Parkway is the road that goes straight through the little town of Salyersville.  This is the town that made national news…you know, CNN, I’m talking, when the tornadoes hit some 6 weeks ago…you know, the group that practically destroyed the town of West Liberty here in KY, ruined the town in Indiana further West, destroyed areas of NC, wiped out more than 100 homes less than 10 miles North of our little town (and interestingly that’s received nearly no press), and included more than 100 recorded tornadoes in that set of storms…well, this was my first time seeing the damage.  I hadn’t been up through here until this past Saturday.  So, I’m driving through, and to give you an idea, Salyersville is a small town.  Small, as in this road is the main and only thoroughfare, on the left and right of which are about 4 gas stations, a Dairy Queen, an Arbys (I think), a McDonalds, a Chinese and a Mexican place, a private small motel and market, a bank or two, a few other businesses, a number of homes, some trailers, some pre-fabs, some older and more established, a few garages, perhaps storage buildings, too, and then a bit further down, the local elementary and middle schools.  It’s a really small community.  And remember, this is the heart of Appalachia, the “Mountain Parkway,” where the road turns and twists according to the curvature of the mountains, as a little narrow strip running down the middle of the narrow flat land with the mountains rising up on both the right and left, covered with towering trees.  In light of such terrain, tornadoes are rather rare, in fact, because the mountains make it tough for the swirling cyclone of wind to have enough room to maintain its power and strength.  But not on the occasion of these storms unfortunately.  In fact, I think I heard that Magoffin County had never had a recorded tornado until this time.  Never.  Oy! 

So, here I am, weeks later, driving through the town.  And I have to say, ironically, as I made my way through, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.  Even this many weeks later.  It was a little eerie really.  There are 2 gas stations left open.  Three of the restaurants, at least, all closed for repairs.  The motel and market destroyed. Other businesses closed, possibly never to open again.  The Dairy Queen hopping with business because it was seemingly untouched.  Multiple houses and living quarters in various stages of repair and rebuilding so far.  Others haven’t been touched yet.  And the schools…re-opened weeks later but in much needed stages of repair, as well.  And that’s just the buildings.  I think what struck me the most was the state of the mountains.  All those towering trees, literally blown to the ground.  Laying this way and that, like bowling pins knocked down by the best bowlers rolling strike after strike after strike in the tournament of their life.  As if the wind of the tornado uprooted those trees at its merry whim in its powerful sound and fury, paying no heed to the cost it was leveling upon this place and the people of Salyersville.  It was pretty awful.  Again, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me…a bit sick to my stomach.  And yes, I nearly cried.  (Not so surprising since I cry at commercials, but still…)  All of this is to say, this event, combined with the others earlier in the week, made me start thinking about life and how incredibly fragile it is.

Life is fragile.  One minute things are going along, we feel like we know what’s up, a routine seems established, we’re seemingly “in control” and boom – we’re not.  The reality that life is fragile and things can suddenly occur that upset our balance, that make us think about how uncertain and unpredictable and how we just simply cannot know and do not know how things are going to be or turn out is before us.  And that got me thinking  about how we ought to be living.  Because life is fragile, here are some things that we probably ought to do:

• Hug the ones you love.  Your children, your partner in this life, your parents, your friends…hug them. 
• Say “I love you.” 
• Say “I’m sorry.” 
• Talk about that thing that’s eating you up inside.  Because if you don’t, if you let it make you resentful and crazy and upset and eat at you and make you madder and madder and madder, and then something happens…you may never have the chance.
• Do something you’re afraid of, or that you’re uncertain about, or that you’ve always wanted to and have held back on.  Do it.  Because you may not have another chance.  You know, carpe something.  I say it that way following Glennon Melton….Do you know her?  She’s the author of that blog, “Momastery” that went viral in January when her piece, “Carpe 15 Minutes” (I think it was called) was featured on Huffington Post.  She wrote about how being a parent of small children she can barely carpe 15 minutes, let alone “diem” and that we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves to seize the day…and I think she’s right, of course.  As a working Mom outside the house, and three young children, and a husband and dog, etc etc, I get it.  But I still think we have to seize hold of a few minutes, or try to each week…it doesn’t have to be big like flying to Hawaii, or Vegas, or solving the world’s hunger problem, or running ½ a marathon (good Lord, whose got the money, time, resources, ambition, or enough energy for any of those in a week?!!), but choose to do small things that make your soul soar.  I think if we do that, then we’re feeding ourselves, we’re remembering that life is fragile, and that will fuel us and serve us in the most positive of ways. 

I’m sure there are many other things, too.  Basically, it comes down to this.  Recognize that this life, this earthly existence we have, it’s the only one we get.  Whatever you believe or don’t about what comes next, what comes after we die and are no longer on the earth in this way that we are bodily, this is the only one we get this way.  Another way I’ve heard it put – life is not a dress rehearsal.  This is our opportunity.  It doesn’t mean we can’t re-invent ourselves, change, do things one way for a while, then shift and change, and transcend, and transform…of course we can and do.  If we don’t, then we aren’t really living, because life is not static and two-dimensional, certainly.  Change is indeed the one constant in life (somebody famous has surely said that, maybe many somebodies!).  But the thing is that whatever those changes and transformations, they all occur in this one single life on earth.  It’s our time.  So, live it.  Emile Zola said, “If you ask me what I came into this life to do, I will tell you: I came to live out loud.” I love that.  Many of you can attest that I literally embrace such a mantra – “I came to live out loud.”  Literally.  That’s what we need to do.  Live out loud.  Which means recognize your value.  You matter.  Love yourself.  Know that.  Know it and live accordingly.  If you, we all, do that, then I think we in fact remember that life is fragile and we take it seriously enough to enjoy and embrace it.  We are empowered to live accordingly. 

Now, I should say, that having just written we should take it seriously, we should be careful to maintain a balance about that…don’t want to be so serious, in particular about ourselves, that we devolve into self-absorption and self-centered living that is narcissism.  Why not?  Because narcissism in any form is bad!  This is a topic for the next post, I believe! 

So, for now, inspired by some recent events, I’m inclined to share the reflection that life is fragile. That we cannot know what might happen next, and because we can’t, embrace all that life is and might be and what is important about it – our most beloved relationships, the things that make us soar and sing and make us joyful beyond measure!  That is the word for this day.  For indeed, life is NOT a dress rehearsal.

I’m goin’ go hug my loves.  May you and yours be blessed today, tomorrow, and for always!