“I was having the best week, and then (insert bad thing here) happened. I don’t get it; it just doesn’t seem right or fair”
Does this sound familiar?
Chances are, we all hear or say some variation of this on a regular basis. We have an expectation that when things are going well, we won’t be disturbed by the less enjoyable aspects of life, and that pleasure and pain are separate territories within the realm of human existence.
I was taking a walk with a friend the other day along our local lakefront trail, and we were talking about this paradox. My friend shared the learning that joyfulness is an attitude, not a state of mind. On that early spring day, green was still slow in re-appearing, and the landscape was dull and dreary. The wind was cold and biting, the water was grey and choppy, cigarette butts and plastic bottles lined the shore, and it seemed like spring was never going to arrive. Ugh. And, on that early spring day, we saw the unique shape of gulls soaring over the water, the intricacy of tree branches that could be seen before leaves returned, and the number of like-minded people walking and riding along the trail. Two very different attitudes toward the same day.
From spring through fall, I use the waterfront trail to commute to work, and am reminded each day of this paradox. This man-made trail winds along the shore of the bay, past a rail yard, migratory birds, native plants and trees, under railway tracks and a major highway, then into marshland, before emerging into a residential area. For a long time, I tried to block out the sight of the factories across the bay, and the sounds from the rail yard and the highway. I’d take photos of the birds and flowers, and choose angles that avoided sight of the factories or ships in the harbour. As if pretending they didn’t exist would somehow make them go away. Now, as I ride or walk along that trail, I get to practice seeing all of it; contemplating the interconnectedness of all of these things, the balance between them, and the fact that I am dependent on both the man-made and the natural world.
In my work as a yoga therapist and teacher, I get to help others see that paradox is a part of life. In the resting at the beginning and ending of class, we experience the way breath, sounds, sensations and thoughts move through a resting body. And that to try to control or restrict these movements feels anything but restful. Most of my students and clients are working with me because of something that isn’t working well and the resulting pain. When we work together we get to explore what is and isn’t working well, and if we ignore or don’t acknowledge either the function or dysfunction, progress becomes very limited, if not impossible. We learn that true strength is a combination of stability and mobility – too much stability creates strain and rigidity; too much mobility creates vulnerability and lack of support.
We can choose to ignore the parts of life we don’t want to see, to fight with what life offers us – – but to do so is frustrating and exhausting, and doesn’t change a thing. Or we can choose to find joy in the mystery of paradox, and when we decide to grow our skill of seeing without judging, we will see things so much more clearly, and then be able to make better choices in every situation.
