I lie. I’m sick. I surrender. Let’s make a deal….
How many times have we all said this—in that moment of complete and utter exhaustion—but as soon as the heavy dark cloud lifts, the resolute plan to change or do whatever differently dissipates. The slithering slide back into immobility and contorted feelings of shredded logic is swift.
Everything will be all right when I’m all right with everything. When those moments occur—the all right with everything moments—they are rare and fleeting and before I believe they are real, the not all right moments fly back fast.
In full disclosure, I’m moving. This is a big move. (Though imagining any move being small or inconsequential is beyond the scope of this writer.) I read somewhere about all those life stressors that release dangerous cortisol into our body systems and render us less capable, tolerant, or able than usual. Death is on that list. Addiction. Divorce. Debt. Moving. And more …. Now, I’m not an expert on life’s stress forces, nor do I have any bright witty repartee to offset the anguish for you if you are currently suffering any of those human conditions. However, I
do wonder about levels of trouble, because I can reasonably vouch for my own version of moving stress as worse than death, which usually ranks #1 on those lists. Also, with moving comes most of those other stress “cousins”. Debt is inevitable. Addiction is under consideration, and death is quickly climbing the list as a best alternative to relocation.
After spending decades accumulating things I didn’t need, and often with money I didn’t have, it’s time to go. Either pack it all, sell it, donate it, but move it. And move it now. Trouble is, there’s too much of it. Just short of qualifying for a Hoarders broadcast television show, but devoid of the requisite smashed dead cats and brooding insects bands that fulfill the obligations
to get a network sponsored move-out, I’m left with the seemingly insurmountable task of clearing a 3 bedroom house myself.
At first, it was all strength and swagger. I tackled drawers, display items, kitchen gadgets bought in the middle of the night that I have no idea how to use, and endless piles in endless places that needed immediate decision-making skills.
As flow around my house vanished and bumping into items became the daily norm, I lost track. Then spun out of control. Tick. Tick. Clock is ticking. Closing is coming. Not ready. Crap everywhere. There’s too much stuff and my new much smaller house will not accept this deposit of accumulated rubbish. Help!?
Moving is worse than death. When this is all over, soon!—Thanks, God!—I’ll look at the life-stress list again and most certainly change my mind. Death is an end. And this ending is only my beginning. That’s the discovery I’m making. I’ll be by the beach. I’ll make a new life. I’ll look back and laugh. (Well, there I go again … I lied. About the laugh part. Never. This will
never be funny, even in memory.)
Surrender doesn’t get enough credit for being a very hard emotional state to accept. The funny thing is that when surrender is finally reached, one realizes they had little choice along most of the path that led to that surrender. We are all led. We are influenced by events, friends, circumstances beyond our control, our own wants and wishes, and so much more.
How many of us can look back at our childhood imaginations and see that they have panned out the way we envisioned? A very lucky few. And even those few sometimes get what they want and are unhappy.
Surrender. Acceptance. It is the only way onward and upward, and each of us comes to this realization in whatever way we do. What is hurting you now will not be the pain of your future, or will fade to shades of its former repugnance.
Discover joy. As we age, our energy depletes. I’m trying to use all my available energy directed toward joy and the seeking of more joy. It is a moment by moment mission.
Everything will be okay when we’re okay with everything.
I’m not okay with moving, but it is, after acceptance, temporary torment.