Gentle Reminders

I love the idea of candles. Soft light that changes the mood of a room and creates atmosphere. But in the practical light of day, wax drips. I occasionally forget to snuff flames. And most of the time, I rely on the light of portable, rechargeable LED lamps that move from room to room as I need them. Candles are aspirational for me, and I have to remind myself it’s okay to let the idea of them go.

I’ve spent the last few months working on a collection of still life floral images, and while the end results are pretty good, I am frustrated with the work. I feel stressed out by the need to collect props (vases and flower frogs and such) and hang back drops and arrange stools and tables and set up the tripod and wait for good light. I remind myself that there is a point in any project where I want to give up, and often, I just need to wait it out. Uncertainty is part of the work.

Every so often, I decide with fervent commitment that I need a new Fitbit or some other means of counting my steps. This usually lasts just about a week, and then I remember that I do not actually care about how many steps I take in a day. Again, there is the never-ending pressure to try harder. Not everything needs to be fixed.

Free Form

No matter how carefully I try to arrange flowers for still life photographs, they always look best when I stop trying—and just throw them down on the concrete floor or plop them in a vase. The harder I work to make things look perfect, the less joy I find. It doesn’t happen often in life, things just falling into place, but when it does, I take the win. At the heart of an overfunctioning life, I ask myself: what happens if I stop? I’ve been pondering this question from Kate Bowler, Why is my light always facing out and never in?

The Truth Will Set You Free

But not from constraints, responsibilities, or commitments.

I’ve read a lot of self-help books over the last ten years or so. So many that I’ve promised my therapist I would stop trying to help myself in this way. Too much of a good thing. Too much trying. And still, when my friend recommended the book Joyful, Anyway by Kate Bowler, I bought it right away and dove in.

I’m glad I took the chance. I can usually tell within the first few pages of a book or the first few lines of a post, if it’s for me. I generally steer clear of anything that promises to make me happier, healthier, smarter, richer and so on with 5 easy tips or 10 proven strategies. I feel deep disappointment when people over promise and under deliver, which happens so often, that I am fairly suspicious of high expectations and positive vibes. I’ll put forced gratitude in this category, too.

But this book is different, and I find that simply reading the truth as I know it to be is making me feel significantly more peaceful, accepting, and yes, joyful. I’m only up to page 49, but here are a few of my favorite passages.

On deep bittersweet longing. That’s who we are; humans are the species with a hole inside us.

Don’t we always feel a gap in our lives? At this moment aren’t we all missing someone, managing a loss, or struggling to achieve something just beyond our grasp?

We are never enough for ourselves and we always want more. . . This is doubly painful because we feel ashamed of our inability to feel grateful.

The most unforgivable things will happen to you. What happens, happens. And there will be no apology.

We want to carry it all with love, with grace. And this. There are always loads to be carried.

Sometimes we feel like we might burst because it is all so much—too much—and yet never enough.

We cannot truly have everything. Or even most things.

It’s not that I am pessimistic or apathetic or even that I will stop trying. It’s more that I am finally conceding that there cannot be joy without suffering.

Joyful Living

I’ve been explaining to my husband for some time the way my body operates. Because we are both science majors, I use an example of a permeable membrane in a cell. I am a person who is mostly open so that things pass into and out of me easily. This brings me great joy, and also great sorrow. I feel things deeply. Lately, I have been wondering if this is healthy. Do I lack healthy emotional boundaries?

Vintage Roses and Lilacs

Westclock and Buttons

But, a friend recommended a new book by Kate Bowler, Joyful, Anyway. Kate explains what it means to be porous. “You are open to forces you did not generate. When joy arrives, it visits you. When suffering comes, it may be coming from somewhere larger than your own circumstances. The porous self is not the master of its own experiences with the world. And (mostly) this is experienced as a relief. You do not have to manufacture meaning to be living a deeply important life. Meaning comes to you.”

Terracotta Pots and Compost Bin in the Garden

That part of myself that I was so quick to condemn and try to banish, my vulnerability, might actually be a gift and my pathway to joyful living. I can see that it is often my judgement about my feelings, that secondary appraisal, that is often my downfall. And this changes everything.