Chapter 106: Offer Chaos a Cup of Tea
Drinking coffee in Paris Nov 2021. Not tea, but close enough :)
Some weeks are tough. This was one of them. I’ve been working on reminding myself that sometimes sitting, breathing, and trying to find gratitude in the most difficult of gifts is all we can do, at first.
I’m not going to go into details of why this week was tough because this tough situation involved the rug being pulled out from someone dear to me. My own brain cancer journey is thankfully status quo. I have my next MRI in 3 weeks, so until then, as far as I’m concerned my cancerous brain is still kicking butt.
This week, however, I was involved in a situation that shook me to my core. I went through an experience that opened my eyes to the true meaning of impermanence, of change being the only constant we can rely on.
If you ask me for details, I’ll remind you of the wise words our favorite blonde Elle Woods once said, “It wasn’t my alibi to tell.”
I’ve felt the unwelcome feeling of impermanence many times: during my divorce, my cancer diagnosis, my chemotherapy side effects, my facial paralysis, my first scare of recurrence, my recent career change, and so on. I’ve come to a fairly decent understanding in my own life that I cannot count on anything to stay the same. At first, this filled my type A self with dread. What will I do with all my unfinished checklists?! But then, it began to fill me with a new feeling: freedom.
November 2022 marks two years post-cancer treatment without recurrence. I’ve changed and grown into an entirely new person during this time. I expect to keep changing. The me I am today is not the me I was yesterday or the me I will be tomorrow. In fact, if we wanted to get really philosophical with this, perhaps this means the “me” I focus my worries, time, and anxiety on doesn’t really exist at all. This is described more eloquently in the Buddhist concept of anatta (non-self), but I’m not sure you’re all up for an existential discussion this early on a Saturday.
That train of thought aside, I want to come back to the point of this blog. Chaos. Fear. Shock.
Can you think of the last time you found yourself in a situation that made your heart race, your palms sweat, your legs shake? I can think of a few: the first time I managed a code in the hospital, the time I got a call that someone I love was in the emergency room, the moment I realized my fur baby escaped from the yard and ran away, the second I turned on the news to hear of the shooting of another unarmed black man or a classroom of children.
Fear is something we all experience. I often write about hope, joy, gratitude, gifts. This may feel very different, but I want to show you that it’s not.
My recent experience left me frightened, alone, and anxious. It felt chaotic. I was reminded of the fragility of life and the absolute uncertainty of all we think we know. This unexpected chaos felt like an uninvited guest, an enemy at my table. For a few days, I spiraled. I didn’t quite know what to do. But then, I sat, I breathed in and out, and I read from a book by Pema Chödrön, an American Buddhist nun and incredible writer.
In this short and compact guide, Pema tells us that life is a good teacher. Chaos is a good teacher. Fear is a good teacher. When we encounter these emotions, these abrupt reminders that we are not in control, we should consider ourselves lucky. These are the moments life gives us to use our courage.
“Usually, we think that brave people have no fear. The truth is that they are intimate with fear.”~Chödrön
It is uncomfortable to be intimate with fear. But I think situations that scare us can be another type of difficult gift. As I’ve said before, I see a difficult gift as a gift we don’t want to receive, but one that teaches us, changes us, motivates us, and inspires us. Sometimes, the very worst gifts of all are the ones that do this best.
This week, I’m using fear, my internal and external chaos, as my teacher. This very wise chaos teacher is quite literally shaking me, speeding up my heart and pumping cortisol through my blood, to teach me that the practice of mindfulness, of compassion and inner peace means absolutely nothing if I can’t find it when I need it most.
We don’t really need the raft of mindfulness to float on during a warm sunny day, but we sure as hell want it there when the storm comes and the waves threaten to drown us.
So, today, I’m using chaos as my teacher. I’m riding the stormy waves of impermanence with the raft of courage I have to tear apart and rebuild time and time again. I know this raft will break again. I will rebuilt it again. I will keep doing this for myself and for others until our rafts are so strong they can take us to the ends of the earth and back again.
Today, I’m deciding to offer chaos a cup of tea. I’m inviting it to stay a while. I’m building a stronger raft and using the certainty of uncertainty to help myself (and perhaps you, if my words are any good) to find strength in the most difficult of gifts.
(The phrase “offer chaos a cup of tea” comes from “When Things Fall Apart” by Pema Chödrön)
Fondly,
Courtney
©CB2022
PS- There are still two weeks to donate to my fundraising campaign for Best Buddies, an international organization advocating for disability inclusion. Learn more or donate at https://www.bestbuddieschampion.org/minnesota/supporting/#courtney