Books: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (part 7)

Let's keep thinking about When Things Fall Apart. As a reminder, so far I've talked about embracing fear, being vulnerable, embracing hope, letting go of control, and beautiful fleeting moments, and suffering and hope.

If we stop thinking that we have earned the good things that happen to us, and realize that even the bad things that happen will happen even if we don't deserve it, maybe we can change our perspective. I've spent so much of my life thinking that I have some semblance of control. I've spent so much of my life feeling like it would all work out because things work out, and that's just the way the world works. I trusted that the world worked the way I thought it did; I depended wholly on everything making sense. It can be such a shock when it all falls to pieces.

The Venerable Pema Chodron says that:

"Our suffering is based so much on our fear of impermanence. Our pain is so rooted in our one-sided, lopsided view of reality. Who ever got the idea that we could have pleasure without pain? It's promoted rather widely in this world, and we buy it. But pain and pleasure go together; they are inseparable. They can be celebrated. They are ordinary. Birth is painful and delightful. Death is painful and delightful. Everything that ends is also the beginning of something else. Pain is not a punishment; pleasure is not a reward" (Chodron 60).

In American consumerist society, we are constantly told that we can increase our pleasure, decrease our pain, if only we buy this car, that anti-wrinkle cream, the other pair of shoes. We can distract ourselves from the pain by taking advantage of this Black Friday Sale, by triggering our dopamine receptors swiping left or right in finding a partner. We can increase our pleasure with that overpriced (and delicious) coffee, that cheap candy bar, that newest phone, that fancy pair of earrings. We can forget our pain with that dry white wine, that semi-authentic Cuban cuisine, that not-authentic-at-all but eminently satisfying Chinese buffet.

We buy or rent pleasure in food, in objects, in experiences, but in the end, none of it lasts. We pay a premium to delude ourselves into believing that we can find happiness. The unfortunate truth is that, even when that pleasure is merely temporary, it calls to us, a siren song.

We reach out, grasping for those moments that bring us pleasure, even as we know that they can never last. We can't help it; we are pleasure-seeking creatures. How painful is it to know that every pleasure we find will fade in the mist of time?

Nothing lasts.

Everything is temporary. Life fades. Happiness turns to something less than.

We should celebrate those momentary pleasures while we can.

I have always said that life is too short for bad books, but throughout this diagnosis, I've come to realize that life is too short. Full stop.

Celebrating the fleeting nature of pleasure is just as important as understanding that pain is temporary.

Nothing lasts, and that is okay.

Books: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (part 4)

Let's keep thinking about When Things Fall Apart. As a reminder, so far I've talked about embracing fear, being vulnerable, and embracing hope.

In this highly consumerist society, we are inundated with commercials, billboards, and advertisements that tell us we are not thin enough, not pretty enough, not motivated enough, not feminine (or masculine) enough, not healthy enough, not good enough.

We all know that feeling; berating ourselves for not going to the gym even though that $50 membership fee is coming out every month. Feeling frustrated because we should be doing something productive, but there's a new season of Orange on Netflix and maybe now really is the best time to start watching Supernatural from the beginning, so maybe we will be productive enough tomorrow.

Tomorrow rolls around, and all that healthy food is in the fridge, but we would rather pick something up from some fast food restaurant because cooking takes too long, and it's boring, and we don't feel like washing the dishes. Tomorrow we have to cook that chicken we thawed before it starts to go bad, and those veggies are getting mushy and nobody wants to eat half-spoiled food, so let's just clean out the fridge and try again tomorrow.

Tomorrow we'll be motivated enough.

According to the Venerable Pema Chodron,

"It is said that we can't attain enlightenment, let alone feel contentment and joy, without seeing who we are and what we do, without seeing our patterns and our habits. This is called maitri—developing loving-kindness and an unconditional friendship with ourselves" (Chodron 26).

How many of us have that voice whispering just behind us that reminds us of all the ways we are not enough? I will be the first to admit that I am a Master of Negative-Self-Talk.

Would you ever tell your friend that she looks especially ugly today?

Of course not.

Yet too many of us bring exactly that kind of negativity and intolerance upon ourselves. What if we tried to be as protective to ourselves as we are towards our friends and family?

Interestingly enough, as I ponder these ideas, I realize that I am viewing this negative-self-talk as a problem that needs to be fixed. The Venerable Pema Chodron has this to say:

"What makes maitri such a different approach is that we are not trying to solve a problem. We are not striving to make pain go away . . . In fact, we are giving up control altogether and letting concepts and ideals fall apart" Chodron 26).

For me, one of the more difficult parts of being diagnosed with cancer is that so much of it is outside of my control. Because of this, I so frequently feel like I'm losing myself. The entire reason this is called More than My Diagnosis is that I was afraid of losing my identity to this disease. I hate the thought of being the Cancer Lady.

By trying to maintain complete control over this, I feel like I am grabbing a handful of sand that is the essence of me. I fill my hand with as much sand as I can hold, and then I squeeze my hand into a fist.

The tighter I squeeze my hand to hold onto my essence, the more grains of sand slip between my fingers. If my goal is to keep as much of myself as possible, I have to let my hand relax before I lose everything that is me.

With a diagnosis like this, and a personality like mine, do you know how hard it is to just relax and let go? I have learned that letting things fall as they may is hard. but only by relaxing and giving up control do I get to keep the most of what I am afraid of losing: myself.

Instead of squeezing, I need to find peace within myself; only then will I be able to hold on.

Books: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (part 2)

So let's continue talking about When Things Fall Apart. As a reminder, so far I've talked about embracing fear.

The Venerable Pema Chodron  references a sign pinned up on her wall that says:

"Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us" (Chodron 8).

I've never been good at vulnerability. Events that have happened in the past have led to me building a wall around my heart. There are very few people allowed past that wall.

I've always assumed that, because I have a wall around my heart, others have the same. I keep people at arm's length because I don't trust them to be mindful of my soft spots, and because I've unintentionally caused pain by not being mindful of others' soft spots. I've been so afraid of being hurt, of being vulnerable, or of hurting someone else, that I created a boogeyman in my mind to protect my soft spots and keep most everyone else at bay.

The thing is, having a wall around my heart that is guarded by that boogeyman leads to a lonely existence. I've mentioned the three faces before, and because of this blog, I have forced myself to show more of my Second Face than I would typically be comfortable showing. This process of self-discovery has been painful and humbling.

I didn't realize that my loneliness was my own doing.

With pain and humility, I have been slowly tearing down that wall. People have told me that I am so strong to go through this. So brave.

But when I think about it, I don't feel strength, and I certainly don't feel brave. Yet here I am going through treatments that I don't like, that make me feel sick, that make my hair fall out, that make me so tired, that affect my short-term memory in ways that frustrate me to no end, that make me feel stupid because I have a hard time remembering words or staying on any one train of thought.

What I am doing is not strength or bravery. What I'm doing is what I have to do to survive, which means that I'm exposing myself to literal and metaphorical annihilation.

The interesting thing is that I am getting closer to finding that nugget that is indestructible. Self-examination of the mind, body, and soul is daunting, but it has also forced me to be honest with myself in ways that I never expected. I am finally getting to know my Third Face, and I am finally learning that I don't have to run away from pain, and I don't have to be afraid to be vulnerable.

"[T]he truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy" (Chodron 9).

Ultimately, it doesn't matter if I run from the pain. It will be there if it needs to be there. This emotional roller coaster from hell has taught me that we are all vulnerable. We are all afraid. We all feel pain. What if we worked on exposing our vulnerability so that we can find the essence of strength deep inside of us?

Books: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (part 1)

I was talking to a friend several days ago, and the topic of Hard Times came up in conversation. Hard Times include my cancer, but it also includes the other difficult things that life throws at us.

In American society, there is so much of this idea that if we work hard and have a good attitude, then everything will work out the way it's supposed to. As a result, when people are going through a particularly difficult time, whether it's chronic or terminal illness, whether it's death or divorce, whether it's mental illness or heartbreak, we feel compelled to grin and bear it. Be strong. Don't air your dirty laundry. Think about that stigma around mental illness, for example. We don't tend to talk about depression or anxiety disorders, as if they were shameful, yet we are not ashamed to admit that we caught a cold or flu. This idea that a positive attitude and a go-get-'em spirit will prevail can be so problematic, especially when considering what that means if you don't have a positive attitude. Does that mean that we deserve whatever life throws at us if we aren't positive enough?

This book is by an American Buddhist nun, which immediately piqued my interest because I can remember reading the Dalai Lama's The Art of Happiness about fifteen or twenty years ago. It fundamentally changed how I view and interact with people, and so far, I am finding When Things Fall Apart changing how I view myself.

Amazon has this to say:

How can we live our lives when everything seems to fall apart—when we are continually overcome by fear, anxiety, and pain? The answer, Pema Chödrön suggests, might be just the opposite of what you expect. Here, in her most beloved and acclaimed work, Pema shows that moving toward painful situations and becoming intimate with them can open up our hearts in ways we never before imagined. Drawing from traditional Buddhist wisdom, she offers life-changing tools for transforming suffering and negative patterns into habitual ease and boundless joy.

I haven't finished this book yet, but I have so many thoughts and feelings that I decided to just jump right in and start doing my thing. You may have followed along while I was responding to and discussing Everything Happens for a Reason and Other Lies I've Loved by Kate Bowler. I plan to follow a similar format where I talk about this book for multiple posts.

This is only the introductory post for this book, if any of you would like to get your hands on it to read with me.

The Venerable Pema Chodron  says this in the first chapter:

"It's not a terrible thing that we feel fear when faced with the unknown. It is part of being alive, something we all share. We react against the possibility of loneliness, of death, of not having anything to hold on to. Fear is a natural reaction to moving closer to the truth. If we commit ourselves to staying right where we are, then our experience becomes very vivid. Things become clear when there is nowhere to escape" (Chodron 2).

Another dear friend of mine once told me that sometimes you have to "embrace the suck." In fairness, this was my Badass Marine friend, so his version is a little less poetic, but the sentiment remains the same.

I will be the first to admit that I am afraid of a lot of things, including but not limited to my cancer, heights, snakes, catching the flu, and the dark.

The truth is that somehow, at some point, I became the kind of person who enjoys doing frightening things. Skydiving. Ziplining. Swimming with manatees*.

When I went skydiving, and I jumped was pushed out of that plane, even though I am afraid of falling, afraid of flying, and afraid of heights, I suddenly realized one key fundamental point: No matter how scared I was, no matter how hard I screamed, the outcome was inevitable: I would hit the ground.

Of course, it was important to trust that the parachute would work, and we would have a nice soft landing, but even if it didn't, fear is not stronger than gravity, and no matter how frightened I was, fear would not allow me to spontaneously grow wings. I had to accept that mind-numbing terror and sit with it. That gave me the opportunity to just be in the moment, where I was, 13,500 feet in the air.

Being unable to escape the pull of gravity, I realized how big the world is, and how tiny I am. This was unexpectedly comforting for me, because it made me realize that I was just a tiny little scared blip. In reality, we are all tiny little scared blips. Some hide it with arrogance, some with vanity, some with emotional walls built to keep people away.

What happens when we embrace that fear? What happens when we stop trying to run from that fear?




*I know that manatees won't hurt anyone, and they are super cute, but I am still afraid they might be secret carnivores. Don't judge me.