The phrase of the day is life is lifing. It’s what my friend said when I asked about her husband who had cancer and was dying. It’s a phrase that has been used to say right now it’s not good, it’s not bad. Lifing holds in its orbit all things that could happen to a person on a given day, in a lived life.
I have worked diligently to calm my nervous system from all the lifing I’ve done – to calm outrageous reactions, negative story telling so that when life throws me a lifing curve ball, I breathe into calmness, and breathe out the chapters of horror conjured effortlessly.
But what happens – I once named it impending joy, because it falls under the category of what if it is all going to be okay. What if the news comes, something’s wrong, now what yet the answers follow swiftly on a wing and a prayer. This is when my mind plays tricks on me. Lifing is trying to flow, effortlessly, but the vestige of me that clings to trauma and tragedy and drama keeps wondering why I’m handling this so well.
Shouldn’t I be worried, because after all, this is a worrisome situation. I feel guilty for not worrying. Isn’t there something I could be doing – like worrying – right now as I sit in the interstitial of waiting for what happens next? I feel it in my core – I am supposed to be more upset. I am supposed to be worried. I am supposed to be catastrophizing. I am supposed to be anticipating the worst.
Instead, I am sitting in the comfort of rejoicing in the miracles of my life. Here’s a tough situation, here are the right people to help with the situation. If I telescope out like an eagle soaring high in the sky, I can see that a major shift is happening with me and with my son – generational healing, opportunities, love and support, resources. Growth. Even, I dare say, flow.
The 100 Men Hall just finished Booker Fest. James Booker, a tragic and magic character, whose incredible talent and egregious behavior were at odds with the world. My favorite quote from Booker is on the threshold of the Hall’s doorway – To know the feeling of rejoicing in sorrow is nothing strange to me.
[Thank you for reading my writing; I love hearing from you and
would love to gather your responses here, instead of on social media.]
2 thoughts on “Rejoicing in sorrow”