“I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable.”
―Anne Morrow Lindbergh, Gift from the Sea
White Sands National Monument, New Mexico, Summer of 2022
Growing up as a child through adolescence, chaos and violence were the norm in my home. There were many moments where I felt a painful sense of dread, that I've hit rock bottom and things couldn't get any worse. Eventually, I realized by the time I was 8 years old that this feeling wasn't the full picture. Instead, I starting seeing how life was more of an ebb and flow. Energies and tensions would escalate quickly and intensely. People got hurt. Rage would boil to its tipping point.
And yet there was always a period of calming down. These moments were more neutral than positive. Yet I always found solace in finding the positive and making it mean something to me. I would let it fill me with wonder, awe, and most importantly, hope. Sometimes I would just start crying out of nowhere, from seeing people hug each other or from listening to a piece of music.
At the end of one sweaty soccer practice session, I remember looking up and being unable to tear my eyes away from the deepest shades of red and purple I've ever seen in the sky. I realized that the Earth has been around for billions of years and the sky, in all its dynamic cycles, has remained consistent. Dependable. Every day, you can expect the same process to repeat itself over and over. At the same time, there's never been one version of the sky. Every day is its own unique truth, without effort or force. And who criticizes a sunset? Every expression is what it is. Going deeper, what I can witness with my naked eye is made possible from the collaboration of natural forces way beyond my control. Forces literally out of this planet.
Tears flowed down my face. I remember sinking to the grass, feeling the depth of the levels of insight I was experiencing. I heard my soccer teammate Emily saying in the background, "Oh, there she goes again!" In that moment, it felt like I was surrendering to something way beyond anything that was mine to own or control. It was like I saw the celebratory dance of life and nature. Somehow, I've been gifted an opportunity to be a part of this dance. The gratitude I felt in that moment was enormous.
This sensitivity and close attention to the goodness of life was what saved me growing up. If it was possible to feel this good, then I knew that things would get better. Or at least the upside of life was just as possible and common as the downside of life. And with the challenges of home life, the adolescent Amber believed that it was her responsibility to create this balance by focusing on the good and the possible.
This was my strategy, my way of coping. Over time, through my early 20s, I shifted my focus to opening up to anger and grief. I dedicated my time and energy to look at the unresolved and repressed feelings that I had avoided in the pursuit of the positive. My intimate relationships and educator work with troubled youth challenged me to face these parts with integrity. This process was incredibly painful, yet served me deeply.
Living systems are intelligent. They are whole, meaning they are the sum of their parts. They self-organize around the ability to make new, creative connections. Under stress, they discovers new forms of order, leaving the known and expanding what's possible. Whether I focus on the positive or the darkness, both realities are important to the process of evolving towards wholeness.
Like the sky, our consistency is showing up. Showing up and facing life, no matter what the day has in store. Each day will come with its own raw truth, influenced by the interactions we have with ourselves and others. Like any living system, our thoughts, choices, and behaviors become the unique expression of how we manage these raw truths. At the same time, we are shaped by forces more powerful than what we can consciously comprehend or control.
Given this larger reality we're a part of, surrender and trust seem important to living authentically. With positive thinking, I trust that the good and the possible will emerge. With facing my shadows, I surrender my walls and defense mechanisms. I trust my own inner strength to face and learn from whatever emerges.
With all that's been going on in my life right now, I've been drawn to being in prayer. I see prayer as the act of asking for what you want, while also surrendering and having faith in the unknown (or however you define the larger forces). Shortly after this desire emerged, I discovered a quote that stopped me in my tracks: "There are only three answers to a prayer: Yes. Not Yet. I have something different in mind for you."
I think one of our greatest challenges is to trust. Recently, I had an epiphany about why I keep taking on so much. More than just a general boundary issue, I keep taking things on because I unconsciously don't believe I'm enough. I have very little trust and patience in my process at times. So if anything comes my way, I must include it in my process and act on it now. If I don't, I won't have the experience, growth opportunities, approval and love from others, you name it. I won't become who I need to be.
Yet I have reasons to trust that my own unfolding growth process is enough. When I look back at the last ten years, it's been overwhelming to manage how many work opportunities came my way. I've got people who challenge me and love me, and who don't keep score. I longed for a dog for the longest time (specifically Rosie) and here I am, fully responsible for her. Five years ago, I could barely make rent and now I live financially comfortable enough. I now have skills and experience I could've never imagined having. All along, I've been attracting what I've wanted for myself. My passion and ability to act were necessary. Yet not trusting the natural timing of things created unnecessary suffering, and probably even limited what could emerge.
I'm grateful for these insights into my growth edges. Modeh Ani is from a Jewish prayer that translates to "I thank you." Interestingly enough, the word "modeh" means "to thank", but it also means "surrender." We never know how long we have on this Earth, nor can we fully control what happens to us. Typing this immediately changes my energy. My life is a gift. A living practice of trusting my unique expression and my natural unfolding. My younger self knew this, and it's time to call her out more.
Has trusting your process served you? If so, how?
To conclude this long post, here is a snippet of today's dance session featuring Rosie :)