First came the morning when members of a large family leaped out of a large van and the mom yelled, “Okay! Everyone show me your passport photographs.” They were clearly headed for an adventure, and Donna felt a wave of excitement for them.
Soon she noticed the elderly man who came once a week to collect his mail. Stooped and slow, he leaned on a cane as he made his way across the parking lot. Donna’s first reaction was to worry about her own mobility as she aged. But then she saw that as he made his way back to his car, he would stop and painstakingly pick up trash. Donna imagined that he wanted to help make the world a better place for as long as he could. Her view of her own future brightened.
Another day, she watched an old Toyota screech into the lot and a mom, cell phone crushed between shoulder and ear, wrangle her sleeping toddler out of his car seat. In a rush, she bumped the boy’s head against the car frame, and he woke up screaming. With that, she dropped the phone and, holding her son to her chest, kissed his head and murmured words of comfort until he calmed down.
Donna felt uplifted by these fleeting, ordinary moments. Even if none of the people she observed later recalled the events she’d witnessed, she would recall them, and they fueled her happiness. They helped her remember trips she’d taken, the joyful yet stressful years spent raising her children, and her own tender aging. Watching the flurry of people come and go made Donna aware of how everyone struggles daily to be happy. Best of all, she realized that if she could extend this compassionate awareness to strangers, she could grant it to herself, as well.
For some, of course, the day-to-day hurdles are large, to the point of threatening the life we have dreamed of and worked for. After a car accident led to the amputation of her right foot when she was sixteen, Indian dancer Sudha Chandran, who had been training to dance since early childhood, took three years to recover. On the Facebook page for a portraiture project entitled Humans of Bombay, Chandran shared her story: “I remember people would come home and say things like, ‘It’s so sad your dreams can’t come true,’” she recalls in a blog post. But she decided to relearn how to dance: “It was a slow and painful process,” Chandran elaborates, “but with every step I learnt, I knew that this is what I wanted.”
On the day of her first performance following the accident, the headline in the morning paper read, LOSES A FOOT, WALKS A MILE. Chandran hasn’t stopped dancing since.
While Chandran undoubtedly experienced frustration, disappointment, rumination, and regret during her process of reframing her relationship to dance, she was open to seeing what could be relearned, and became more resilient. In the end, the greatest triumph may not be that Chandran is dancing again but that she had the immensity of heart to try. I always think of that heart when I reflect on her quotation, “You don’t need feet to dance.”
THIS FLEETING WORLD AS A BUBBLE IN A STREAM
TIME IS BOTH the implacable thief who steals away the gifts of life and the sacred messenger who bestows them.
Even as we live with the knowledge that each day might be our last, we don’t want to believe it. Yet when we’re able to open to the truth of even our most shattering losses, we find moments of unimagined grace.
Rosemary, an interior designer and longtime practitioner of Tibetan Buddhism, lost her husband, Jonathan, to cancer a few years ago, ten years after the initial diagnosis. “We got the news the day of our wedding anniversary,” Rosemary recalls. “I was devastated and thought we should just go home and weep. But Jonathan wouldn’t hear of it. He said, ‘Rosemary, we have no idea what’s going to happen. We still have to celebrate our lives. Let’s not let cancer make us special; let’s just go on being who we are.’” Jonathan chose to see his life as ordinary throughout the course of his illness, which included massive amounts of chemotherapy and a difficult stem cell transplant. “We’re all experiencing loss and change every moment,” he told Rosemary. “Mine is just more noticeable.”
Although she had been preparing for Jonathan’s death for some time, when it happened, she felt crushed. “I think the hardest thing when you’re a new widow and you’ve had this loving exchange is that suddenly you’re unplugged and there’s no love coming in and no love going out,” Rosemary says. “It’s as if you’ve been plugged into an electrical socket and then the power goes out forever. I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn’t know I’d feel like I’d fallen off a cliff.”
Rosemary was helped through the weeks and months following Jonathan’s death by family, friends, and a widows support group. The group, she notes, helped her open to her grief in a way that felt both deeper and safer than when she was on her own. And her spiritual community, which had been a source of enormous support to both Rosemary and Jonathan throughout his illness, also played a key role in helping her through her grief. “Being with people who knew Jonathan made a huge difference,” she says. “When they were around, I felt there was a bridge from where I’d been to where I was then and where I was going. It was a long bridge, and I didn’t feel like I was on the edge of a cliff anymore.”
At a certain point, though, Rosemary says she had to stop focusing on her loss. “The pain was so strong, I felt like I was being taken down by it,” she explains. “I believe that as important as it is to allow yourself to grieve, you also have to set boundaries. You can’t just let yourself sink. Sometimes you have to go for a walk or call a friend or watch a movie. And then one day you wake up and decide that you don’t want to live in the past. Jonathan had such an innate sense of courage about living life no matter what, I wanted to honor him and the life we shared.”
Now, three years later, says Rosemary, “It’s as if all the love I gave to my husband can go out to the entire world, and the whole world is my husband.”
Hearing Rosemary’s story made me think of a time years ago when I went to see my Tibetan teacher, Nyoshul Khen Rinpoche, in Taiwan. I loved Khenpo (as he was known) deeply and was overjoyed at seeing him again, but I was concerned because he appeared especially frail and ill. He was never really in great health, but this time he seemed considerably worse.
After the visit, we went back to our hotel, close to where we had met him. My traveling companions and I planned to see Khenpo again in a few days, but knew that during the interim he had moved somewhere else. When the day of our second visit arrived, a group of us, holding flowers and offerings, were waiting outside our hotel for taxis to take us to the new place. I was feeling incredibly sad. It seemed that now all I could think was, Oh no. This could be the last time I ever see him. The prospect was devastating, and I was deeply upset.
After the taxis picked us up, every one of them got completely lost in the streets of Taiwan. In that time of fruitlessly driving around, my attitude toward seeing Rinpoche suddenly shifted. I started thinking, I’d give anything to see him one more time. One more time would be the best thing in the entire universe! It would be the greatest gift I could ever have!
As it turned out, the taxis eventually found the right address, and we were able to see Rinpoche. Contrary to what I feared, he lived many more years, and I saw him many more times. But that experience taught me a valuable lesson, as I saw clearly how “one more time” can be the best prospect imaginable or the worst, depending on how I related to it.
In mindfulness, we are talking about a sense of an expanded present. Our protestations, our clinging to the past, our efforts to control the future may arise, but they are strongly attenuated by remembering to simply be with what is. We drop through our reactions to a space of profound, grateful connection—that is love of life itself. Always keep in mind that in reality, what we might have in this moment with a friend, with a place, with a dance, with a poem, is the one more time. Treasure it.
Love and loss and grief, letting go and embracing love and life again, form the tender, inexorable, but natural rhythm of our days. In opening to this rhythm, we find within ourselves the unshakable love we have been searching for. To this, too, we learn to say yes.
If love is an
ability, a nascent power curled within me, isn’t it then also a responsibility? My own responsibility? This is something I wrestle with often. The kindness or cruelty with which I treat myself once I’ve made a mistake, the way I take shame to heart or hold it in perspective, my ease of laughter and caring and encouraging myself, or consoling myself when my heart is broken—is that all up to me?
How about when I meet a stranger or owe a debt of gratitude, run into an old friend who is a friend no longer, see my heart open under the admiring gaze of another, or feel myself disappearing as I strive to endlessly please them—is my response really in my hands?
What about when life deals me a bad blow, when I am reeling from unfairness or cruelty, when my body betrays all I care about or my neighbor betrays all I care about or my country betrays all I care about? “Love is a strength, not a weakness,” might be my favorite saying, but what about those times when I am tempted to, in effect, cross my fingers behind my back before uttering it? Is the love that ensues or doesn’t—love for myself, for another, for life itself—also up to me?
I think it is up to me. It is up to each one of us. And I think that working toward fulfilling that promise is the most amazing thing we can do with our lives.
TAKEAWAYS FROM EACH SECTION
Section 1 Takeaways
–The capacity for love exists inside ourselves.
–We can find freedom from the negative stories we tell ourselves.
–Finding self-love can emerge from testing the borders of our judgments and assumptions.
–We are always changing and have incalculable potential.
–Perfectionism is an unproductive use of attention. Self-hatred will not make us “better.”
–Acceptance is what allows us to realize that all experiences are opportunities to learn and grow.
–Through lovingkindness for ourselves, we can learn to accept—and love—our imperfect selves.
Section 2 Takeaways
–Once we identify the expectations, assumptions, and habits of mind that we carry around about loving others, we can open ourselves up to real love.
–A great foundation for loving others is maintaining a level of curiosity; we can always learn more about those we are close to.
–In a relationship with another person, fairness is not a fixed principle of right and wrong but a mutual willingness to reassess the situation and adopt a fresh perspective.
–Whenever we are close to another person, there will always be a space that separates us. With mindfulness, we are able to explore that space with a sense of possibility, rather than fear.
–Letting go is essential in love—it is the opposite of clinging to expectations about how things should be and allows us to accept others (and ourselves!) as they are.
–Recognizing that no one else can complete us actually enhances our capacity to love and receive the love of others.
–Mindfulness enables us to see the conflict with a fresh perspective so that we can feel emotions like anger without getting lost in them.
–Sympathetic joy takes our attention away from our own preoccupations and allows us to see that joy is available in many more places than we have yet imagined.
–Forgiveness is a path to peace and a powerful element of love for ourselves and others.
Section 3 Takeaways
–Compassion isn’t a gift or talent—it’s the natural result of paying attention and realizing the infinite opportunities to connect with others.
–When we make very small efforts to engage in random acts of kindness, we actually make life less stressful and more pleasant for ourselves, as well as for others.
–Extending lovingkindness toward others (even those we may not know or like) doesn’t make us into pushovers, but stronger and more authentic versions of ourselves.
–The first step toward being able to show compassion for others is to set the intention to do so; we can take joy in the act of stretching ourselves with kindness and self-acceptance.
–When our fear response takes over and we isolate from others we perceive as different or threatening, we actually restrict our own sense of identity.
–When we look past our conditioning, we see that many differences we latch onto are built on social constructs.
–We may not be part of an official group, but we all share certain everyday communities—a train car, the line at the DMV. In these common moments, we can recognize our profound interdependence.
–It takes immense courage and openness to alchemize feelings like anger into love and hope.
–When we learn to stop resisting tough feelings like anger, we can engage our feelings with awareness; once we do that, we see that these feelings are not permanent.
–Approaching life with a sense of adventure is always available to us, no matter where we are.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m very grateful to Bob Miller of Flatiron Books for always championing love, Carole Tonkinson of Bluebird for seeing so completely what I wanted to say, and my agent, Joy Harris, for being the best of agents and best of friends.
As in all things in my life, it takes a village and this did. Many people offered their stories, poems, quotes, and images of love. They are really the heart and soul of the book.
Danelle Morton helped me greatly in understanding the structure of the book, then collecting stories from people and crafting them to help the structure come alive. Lise Funderburg illuminated a clear path through the sticky terrain of love for another, whether parent, child, lover, colleague, or pet dog!
Lily Cushman became my assistant just after I began working on the book, and brought all my work to a whole other level of presentation, creativity, and impact.
Barbara Graham is a tremendously talented writer who put aside her own work to help me when I needed it most. Her broad knowledge of research findings about topics like meditation, trauma, and gratitude, combined with her humor and kindness and fundamental know-how of the mechanics of writing, made her contributions invaluable.
Charlotte Lieberman worked with me for a long time on this project, first helping me move from the sweeping beginnings of a scary blank screen to envisioning the book, then interviewing lots of people to capture their stories, helping me respond to editorial suggestions through several iterations, and doing whatever excruciatingly detailed work was called for, like seeking permissions to use quotations. And it is excruciating.
I had always wanted to work with Toni Burbank as an editor, and I finally got to. She is a legend, and deservedly so. My ceaseless travel and teaching commitments made me, I’m sure, a difficult case. Toni was always brilliant in pointing out what needed to be done despite that, and that brilliance is reflected throughout the book.
Of the many friends I am blessed with in this life, I can only mention a few: Joseph, Gyano, Steve, Elizabeth, Willa, and Josey are like my fam. Jeff, Jerry, and Jennifer provide unwavering support. My meditation community offers inspiration in both contemplation and actions. And I want to give a shout-out to Jason, Christi, and Kevin Garner. They seemed to somehow be there for the most intense moments of the book—turning in the first draft, turning in the final draft—taking care of me. And when I was most discouraged about writing, feeling like I might not be able to settle for just being mediocre, and perhaps would have to just settle for that, Jason and Kevin took me to see the play Hamilton. I walked out knowing I had to give writing this book all that was in me. So also a thank-you to Lin-Manuel Miranda, for his amazing play, which changed everything.
NOTES
INTRODUCTION: LOOKING FOR LOVE
we cannot live within: James Baldwin, “Letter from a Region of my Mind,” The Fire Next Time (New York: Vintage, 1992).
SECTION 1 INTRODUCTION: BEYOND THE CLICHÉ
to do with accountability: Linda Carroll, interview with the author, July 2015.
a right to be here: James Baldwin, “They Can’t Turn Back,” The Price of the Ticket: Collected Nonfiction (New York: St. Martin�
��s Press, 1985).
who can best us: Sonja Lyubomirsky, The How of Happiness: A Scientific Approach to Getting the Life You Want (New York: Penguin, 2007).
be reduced by them: Maya Angelou, Letter to My Daughter (New York: Random House, 2008).
calm, safety, and generosity: Kristin Neff, “The Chemicals of Care: How Self-Compassion Manifests in Our Bodies,” SelfCompassion.org, http://self-compassion.org/the-chemicals-of-care-how-self-compassion-manifests-in-our-bodies.
1. THE STORIES WE TELL OURSELVES
It Didn’t Start with You: Mark Wolynn, It Didn’t Start with You: How Inherited Family Trauma Shapes Who We Are and How to End the Cycle (New York: Viking, 2016).
the one after that: L. H. Lumey et al., “Prenatal Famine and Adult Health,” Annual Review of Public Health, no. 32 (2011).
more prone to PTSD: Rachel Yehuda et al., “Holocaust Exposure Induced Intergenerational Effects on FKBp5 Methylation,” Biological Psychiatry 80, no. 5 (2015).
nervous system and psyche: Nancy Napier, interview with the author, November 2016.
2. THE STORIES OTHERS TELL ABOUT US
ten attempt it: Statistics from 2004 i-SAFE Foundation Survey, https://www.isafe.org/outreach/media/media_cyber_bullying.
joyously and with cake: Frank Bruni, “Our Weddings, Our Worth,” New York Times, June 26, 2015.
my relationship … is blessed: Paul Raushenbush, “Debating My Gay Marriage? Don’t Do Me Any Favors,” Huffington Post, October 20, 2014, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/paul-raushenbush/dont-do-me-any-favors_b_6014926.html.
3. WELCOMING OUR EMOTIONS
I’m going to protect you: Daphne Zuniga, interview with the author, August 2015.
health and well-being: Jordi Quodbach et al., “Emodiversity and the Emotional Ecosystem,” Journal of Experimental Psychology 143, no. 6 (2014).
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