Mulling Over the Events of My Life

Oliver guarding the tree

I have a tendency to enmesh myself too deeply into the lives of others.  What starts out as a good intention becomes an exercise in knowing exactly what the other person wants or needs. During these episodes, I wring myself physically exhausted from lack of sleep and emotionally drained as it becomes apparent that my way is usually not what the other person wants.

One such event occurred in the past month and it wasn’t until last night that I realized that I was to blame for all my exhaustion. In my head, I had created scenarios of every possible thing that could go wrong reinforced by my perceived weaknesses and faults of the other individuals. If only they would just fall into line, then everything would be okay.

I struggled for almost a week after the dust of the event settled, unable to calm my mind. I re-enacted time and again all the harsh words, nasty emails and cold silences that had played out over the weeks. I had said that I have forgiven but in reality they were just words. In my soul, I was still the martyr, the one who sacrificed my life to help but was now the victim of unjustified scorn.

The weather added to my misery. A storm blew across Lake Michigan, bringing a steady snowfall and bitterly cold temperatures. I went outside only to clear the driveway then secluded myself in the house. Agitated, I re-installed games on my cell phone and played endless hours of Solitaire and Candy Crush. It numbed the mind but didn’t calm my emotions.

Finally, I agree to lunch with a friend, venturing out on the icy roads for the first time all week. We sat in a small café, ate our veggie sandwiches and commiserated about the travesties in our lives. Afterwards I returned home, tired from the tense drive and the heavy lunch. I went to bed early and lied awake for hours. Finally, I turned on the light and pulled out my reading.  I am reading three books at one time, the book of Luke in the Bible, Emmet Fox’s Sermon on the Mount and the Japanese novel, I am A Cat. A strange combination at first glance, but last night, all three books converged into one revelation.  The first chapter in Luke described the annunciation of Mary and the elderly Elizabeth’s giving birth to John the Baptist. Both women could have denied the gifts the angels gave them, but instead accepted them without question.  In the Sermon of the Mount, I had reached the chapter where Fox described how the thoughts we possess have an outward effect on how our lives unfold.  The unnamed cat in I am A Cat, devastated by the death of the beautiful Tortoiseshell, no longer saw himself as a cat but a human, like his caretaker.

In each story, the protagonist dismissed the “logic” of the world around them. They chose instead to turn inward and saw that if they only believed, their subconscious thoughts became reality. At that moment I realized that I had been the obstacle to my peace of mind. Too consumed by the garbage flittering around in my head, I had made my life miserable. The emergency that had triggered the stream of events over the past weeks had passed and everything was back to normal. It was only my insistence of rehashing those events that kept them festering. Once I made the decision to be rid of the noxious thoughts, the anxiety passed and I found myself calm.

Instead of cursing the snow, I now saw the playful activity of the fat, fuzzy squirrels creating tracks through the white fluff. Unlike the previous mornings, there were no vomit spews, no pee puddles or poo bundles awaiting me only the sight of sleeping kitties under the Christmas tree. How much drama I had inflicted on my feline friends unnecessarily!!  I had finally embraced the blessings of the Christmas season.