Ever taken something really awesome and reduced it?
This has been a strange week. A week like no other week I can remember. I have had a number of weeks, scattered across the past that contained amazing moments.
My wedding day. The safe arrive of our twins. The quiet and peaceful delivery of our daughter. Loads of days when those four people have done fun, wonderful, and outstanding things, or recovered from heart ached or failure or an accident.
Normally, these things, the “big moments” in life occur in a spaced, every-few-years type of way. Not all at once. And definitely not all in the space of one week. I am overwhelmed with the goodness of it all BUT I also know what it feels like to not be one of those people have a week like that. And I know that others have had a challenging, difficult week.
I am a thoroughly ordinary person. I like being ordinary. I really do. As a child in the 70s & 80s, I was viewed by the society around me as less than ordinary, with my teenage mother and my third-hand clothes and other obvious signs of poverty, I was aware that people around me felt better when they considered me. No matter how bad things were for them, they could comfort themselves knowing they had it better than me.
I learned contentment.
I learned that to play with acorns and sticks and watch the clouds and see the birds and dig for worms was fun, terrific fun. Sure, I had a Barbie. Tennis Barbie, not one of those Princess Barbies. That’s not a bad thing. It made going to a friend’s house all the more exciting. Tennis Barbie didn’t know herself all dressed up!
At my son’s wedding, I gave a speech and expressed how grateful I was for the wonderful woman he was marrying. I explained that when he was a baby I had watched him sleep, praying for his future wife, and here we were sharing this joyous moment.
It was quietly explained to me later that other’s weren’t as fortunate as me. The implication being that I should keep my joy to myself, that my good fortune was somehow an indication of other’s bad fortune, that my prayers had been answered and theirs had not.
Such black and white thinking. It isn’t helpful.
It put me on my guard. I was expected to hide the good things in my life so that others wouldn’t have to face and process their suffering. I understand. Watching others experience joy is hard. I’ve done it all my life.
I’ve watched others run into their parents arms. I’ve watched their dads come for them, protect them and take them home. I’ve watched the clever kids get the awards and the sporty kids win the races. I’ve watched the talented and special perform and be celebrated.
I had a turn, every now and again. I won the children’s drawing competition one Saturday morning when Hey, Hey it’s Saturday was a kids program and they gave out Flintstone games for the best drawing that week. I won, too, the art competition at primary school, but a grade three beating a grade six kid was considered favouritism by my peers. Who did I think I was being such an upstart?
I like ordinary. I know what to do with it. It is a place of health, good sleep and peace.
I consider ordinary to be extraordinary. If you’ve been reading along, you will know that I am a fan of a good paradox. To be ordinary, to accept that you are limited, human, that you will stand and fall, that things will go well and they will be hard, is to be extraordinary.
Think of how many people want to be special. They are trying to earn more or be prettier or sing better or be cooler or whatever it is. If they can’t do it by outperforming and being better, they will do it by downplaying others and making them worse. If you can’t reach high, bring low.
This misses the point: being who you are and contributing what you can is outstanding.
For some in my community, this week has been a week of loss. A dear girl, someone who inspired hope and brought people together has died after a long and difficult illness. The grief is multifaceted. Her loss is felt not just in her departure but as a loss of the hope she embodied and the community that formed around her. Grief is necessary for hope to be reconstructed.
So, no, I haven’t been pushing my weirdly good week in people’s faces. I haven’t posted things on fb or Twitter. I have told people I do face-to-face life with but I am not a monster (despite my occasional big hair and bad moods). I care about other people’s pain.
What I am aware of, nonetheless, is that their loss does not require me to turn my joy into sadness. Simply that my joy can fuel my compassion, my understanding and kindness. Runaway joy is more like showing off, true joy contains elements of wisdom.
Joy, like what I feel today, is an emotion I am unfamiliar with. Suffering and pain, these are my old friends. Joy is frightening for I am afraid of what will happen. What will be the price of all of this joy?
When I won the school art competition the prize was a pack of very nice, thick Textas. I carried the box home in a string bag. As I happily swung it around, after getting of the bus, the box opened and Textas scattered in the roadside dirt. The kids laughed and told me it was just as well that they got wrecked because I didn’t deserve to win anyway. The sun went behind some clouds and the day was less.
Over and over I have learned that when good things happen, bad things follow. My son gets married and I am shamed for my happiness. I wanted to defend myself, saying ‘Don’t I deserve a little happiness in this life of mine?’ But I didn’t say it. Instead, I felt bad that I had said something someone felt was insensitive.
Brene Brown talks about ‘foreboding joy’. In fact, she coined the phrase and explains that:
“Joy is the most vulnerable emotion we experience,” Brown says. “And if you cannot tolerate joy, what you do is you start dress rehearsing tragedy.”
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/brene-brown-joy-numbing-oprah_n_4116520
I have noticed feelings of fear creeping up my legs. Too many good things have happened. Surely, it is time for something bad?
Hubby and I made a conscious decision to be aware of our foreboding joy and to, as Brown recommends, practice gratitude as an antidote.
This reminds me how good it is to be ordinary. And how good it is to embrace the joy, to allow it to fill you up, and to store it up for the times when it might be needed. And how important it is to see that this life, whatever form it is taking for you at the moment, is a gift.
The good things? I plan on writing about them separately—for there is so much to notice and learn—but here is the summary.
Over the weekend I cut my hair (something you know), then on Tuesday I graduated with my PhD. My uni is still doing graduations in absentia so my year 12 English class graduated me instead. Then, on the same day but not quite at the same level, I was on the table that won the Trivia night. Then, two day later, I had good news that involved a modest amount of backpay. Then, that night, Ben, my first grandchild, was born. And in amongst all of that, I found my next writing project—it’s too fresh to say much about yet.
And today is the first day of school holidays!
Phew, so many good things.
Not every week is like this. In fact, I have not had a week like this ever. My aim is to not make lemons out of all of this lemonade. We all take turns. Life gives all of us sorrow and joy.
Neither lasts, but our individual journey with sorrow and joy is one of the things that brings us together, that gifts us with a full life, that makes us extraordinary.
This Writer's Life 