A New Year

It is my custom, every January 1^st , to rise as early as I can and go for a run. However, unlike my runs the rest of the year, my New Year run has a rule – I may think only of those things for which I am thankful, only of the positive.   As I went for my run last year I struggled with finding any positive – the best I could conjure up was relief that 2005 (and 2004 for that matter) was over.  Fortunately for me the fates have me pegged and I was not permitted to merely wallow in self pity. As it happened, a mile or so into my run, still awash in bleak thoughts, a car approached me.  Pointing behind me the man driving asked ‘who is your friend?’ I turned to find a young fawn waiting at my heels.  As I stood there the fawn approached me, nuzzled my hand for some petting and we all smiled in wonderment. Then the man drove off saying ‘it’s a mitzvah for the New Year’ and I was left in attendance of the fawn – and responsible for its well being.  Therein followed a series of antics, which, no doubt, were quite comedic to observe, intended to get the fawn to abandon me and rejoin its herd. I ran up the drives of Gladwynnian estates, stumbled through briars (whilst the fawn looked bemusedly on) and had chatty and meaningful conversations with my new compatriot. One congenial human offered the use of his guest house for the fawn (to which I silently replied ‘only if I get to live there too’).  After a few miles it became apparent that the fawn was determined to stick with me and in a unanimous vote we decided to head towards the nature preserve where the likelihood of a deer family reunion was high.   So it was, after some deer-like leaps and scrambles that I found myself, on that bristly January morning, sitting on my meditation rock, in the middle of a stream, my arm around the shoulders of a fawn (do fawn have shoulders?).  In companionable silence we listened to the flow of the stream over rocks and I, filled with a silly, amazed and reverent spirit looked at the world anew, positive thoughts in abundance.  Thanks to a nimble legged fawn, in a couple of hours, my world had turned from grey to miraculous. I may have believed I was rescuing a fawn but in the end I wondered just who rescued who.  January 1^st proved prescient for all of 2006, a year that came to be filled with wonder, marvel and gratitude– a theme which I have recalled many times.  

Now it’s January 2007 and I keep coming back to what the man in the car said ‘it’s a mitzvah’.  At the time I assumed the colloquial meaning of the word, a blessing. In it’s more traditional sense however a mitzvah (and I beg forgiveness of all Judaic scholars in my interpretations) is a sacred command, an obligation to act. Obligation is not a word we embrace, it feels weighty, filled with visits to Aunt Ethel in the hospital, thank-you notes for shirts we won’t wear and attendance at very dull meetings. Obligations are things to get through and there is little pleasure to be found there. Yet, despite these perfunctory connotations, the root of the word obligation is ‘to engage’, that is to commit ourselves.  Parker Palmer, the author, writes of ‘letting your life speak’ – of living your life – that is, bringing yourself fully to what you do. Parker admonishes us not to live the life we think others expect of us but to live the life we are. In one of those odd paradoxes we can often uncover ourselves when we simply engage ourselves, fully engage ourselves; particularly when we get rid of all our buts, hesitations, justifications and grievances. When you bring yourself wholly to the task at hand you find yourself in the task. The world didn’t demand that I rescue that fawn (though my command from within is to respect living beings), but in doing so, in forgetting about me and tending to it, I found the very thing I had been looking for – gratitude.  We don’t learn who we are from what someone tells us or what we imagine we would like to be.  The things we seek cannot be found in our heads, answers are not rooted in the mystical and we cannot put off all obligations. Faced with the inevitable, feeling reluctant in heart, it might do well to recall the Outward Bound motto – ‘If you can’t get out of it, get into it’.  I recall a time when I had ignored the mowing of my lawn in favor of well deserved (in my opinion) self indulgent despair. Finally, at 6+ inches of lawn and after a warning from the landlord – who made clear that I most certainly had an obligation – I cut it.  I tackled that lawn as if it were my very last. Afterward, as I sat in fading sunlight, motes of grass falling through the air, admiring the lawns new military haircut, I found myself smiling – my despair had been sent packing.  I have often looked at what others have and felt heartache that it was not mine, yet I know too that when I looking at someone else’s life I am not tending mine. There is a Quaker concept of ‘way’, which says that sometimes our ‘way’ reveals itself only when the ‘way’ we sought closes to us. To find what we seek we must stop knocking endlessly on the door of what was or what is not ‘us’, we must turn around and see what is ours. As the Shaker hymn goes ‘by turning we will come round right’.  Obligations are not wants – a want is ours to dismiss, to fulfill or to keep within our heads whereas obligations are ‘commanded’ of us, they ‘ground our ideals in action’. Wants however, if they are to be met, do require a foundation of obligation. My friend Mxxxx did not become an Ironman simply because she wanted to. It took many mornings of rising in the dark and running or biking for miles with no hula dancers, no cheering crowd, no buff guys putting medals on her neck to bring her to the finish line in
Hawaii.  Along the way she also discovered another truth, just how very much she wanted it. (although I would like to add that incorporating buff males into obligations is not altogether a bad idea) Deer rescue aside, meeting obligations is not usually fun, and even the best of efforts may be perfunctory – okay, so I will put on a suit for the wedding, I will bake brownies for the PTA, I will give to this charity.  But perhaps the mystery of obligation is that it can start with little and expand. If we develop the habit of investing ourselves, from ‘within and with all’-  the landscape changes; we are able lose our judgment of people or the situation, we see more, we feel more, we forget our reluctance and discover that indeed we are – how did that happen? – enjoying ourselves, learning, looking at the world with a different set of eyes.  

All my life my grandmother was simply ‘an elderly woman who cooked’. We loved her because one loves ones grandmother. At a family party one day my friend Jxxxx saw my grandmother sitting alone and she went over to talk to her. After a lengthy period of time I went to rescue Jxxxx who waved me away. Later Jxxxx said to me ‘your grandmother is amazing, she has had such an interesting life’.  Amazing? Interesting? In that moment I looked at my grandmother and saw her in a different light, as a person. I had talked to her innumerable times yet I had never heard her. Jxxxx may have felt an obligation to speak to an elderly person, but she did so with her heart, and in that, she saw more in an hour than I had seen in all my years.  This past year I came to witness the deaths of two people. One of them was my friend Jxxxx, who was and is a profound part of my life and my heart. The other was a man I never met, never even spoke to, but who somehow spoke to me.  During the last year of Jxxxx’s life I was frustrated that, because of the physical distance separating us, I could not ‘do’ anything for her. Ultimately I decided that the best I could manage was to vow to call her every day. But I also made a deeper commitment – to not simply call but to make those calls count.  I decided that I would refrain from any of the multitasking we tend to do while talking on the phone – folding laundry, typing on our computers, etc. I was determined to be fully there.  A thoughtful conversation should hardly be difficult – but I suggest one try it. Don’t drive your car, don’t walk, don’t do the dishes or flip through a magazine. Just sit and talk to someone, really talk – or even more, listen to someone, someone from whom you want nothing but to listen. Give completely of your attention, your thoughts, for as long as they want.  Most of the conversations I shared with Jxxx were of the simplest nature, no profound truths, no great wisdoms, just the sort of insipid chat we often deplore. As it was with the deer –  I intended those phone calls to be for Jxxxx only to find that I was the one being given a gift – that which I initially thought would be hard turned into something I loved. In listening, in hearing, in being still I learned to pay attention and I forgot about me – and I heard and saw Jxxxx as I never had in 20 plus years. In those calls I was reminded of what mattered – my laundry may not have gotten folded but I was able to hold my friends hand.  Of all the daily messages transmitted over that shared fiber optic cable the loudest was one of love. Those calls may not have changed my circumstances or her circumstances, but these days I am reminded, each time I call my mother, that it is a joy to be able to do so.  There is a word in Buddhism – ‘metta’ – which means ‘in loving kindness’.  Like mitzvah it is a powerful word for it asks that we not only speak of love or kindness but we act in it – that that we give fully and generously of ourselves, from the heart – without judgment, without expectation, utilizing all of who and what we can be. At the core of obligation is metta. It is said that we ‘cannot defeat darkness, only spread light’. When we live our obligations with metta we spread light, no matter how small, no matter how flickering, we bring light.  There is a parable of a man who cries out to God – ‘the world is a terrible place, send someone to help us’. And God replies – ‘I did, I sent you’.  If we wish to make a change, within or without, it is to ourselves we must look first.  Obligation – what if it wasn’t a burden, what if it is a gift?  There is a sign in the Hand Institute of Philadelphia that reads ‘you never know how much you need your hands till you can’t use them’. So it is with obligation – to be able to act, to be able to engage is a gift, it is life.  For Jxxxx the obligations of work, of vacuuming, cooking and especially of changing her grandchild’s diaper – for her, every one of those obligations was a celebration of life.  The life of Bxxxx, and I beg the indulgence of his family and friends in speaking thus, also spoke of living our obligations. Though he and I never knew each other, who and what he was expressed itself through the words and the deeds of his family and friends – whether it was the effort he went through to return some money  he felt he owed to a man from years before, in his attention and dedication to others or in the love he had for his wife of 60 plus years. In every story told of him at its core was a man who believed that his obligations were opportunities – to live his values, to give to life, to give to the people he held dear, to know joy.  He was a man who knew, as they say in
Brooklyn, that one must ‘not only talk the talk, but walk the walk’. If asked ‘is what you have done your life?’ I suspect he would have said, without hesitation, a resounding ‘yes’.  

I have asked many times what makes us who we are – take away our possessions, take away our titles, our place, our jobs – even the people we know – and what are we? We are our obligations, we are those things which we are called to do, we are as we act, as we invest ourselves. And often, the quietest of acts speaks the loudest.   I have been the recipient of many a mitzvah this past year; I have known such kindness, such humanity, given freely and without expectation, that I sometimes think it was all a mistake, that it was meant for some other person with my name. These days I often say that in the book of  my life the dedication will be longer than the story. I have also learned much about having – during the holiday I was able to wrap up gifts for Toys for Tots – and I realized that as long as I had something to give I had enough. No matter how well we try to meet our obligations sometimes we don’t cross the finish line.  No matter how many books we read or essays we write sometimes we don’t engage ourselves very well. Trials, tribulations, loss, heartbreak – they do not go away simply because we are committed to doing the task at hand. Living can be brutal, we can face things that are beyond our ken and there isn’t always much room for waxing philosophic about obligation and letting our life speak. Sometimes all we have is our life – but so long as we have it then we must live it, for ourselves and for those who we love.   In the middle of theSchuylkill
River I discovered that despite my commitment to training the river was stronger than me.  Because, in my relentless pride, I wanted to show my daughter the meaning of perseverance I struggled to the point of nearly drowning. Then it hit me, my obligation was not to prove anything, my obligation was to show my daughter how to live not how to let one race be all of me. In that moment the swim changed and oddly I completed it.  There is an expression that time is money, but as one Rebbe said, time is life.  Though our obligations may be many to what avail is there to be less in meeting them? Why assume that obligation has nothing to give, why cut the feeling from them and lose the pleasure? If Jxxxx can find joy in vacuuming a rug, or Bxxxx in sending letters to his numerous grandchildren then why ask any less of yourself, why live less than your own life?  Rabbi Zusya, as the tale goes, said that in the coming world they will not ask me ‘Why were you not Moses?’ They will ask me ‘Why were you not Zusya?’.  Towards the end of her life I asked Jxxxx many times, ‘what, what can I do for you?’ She said only this – ‘Fulfill your obligations and do not postpone joy’.  In truth, they are one and the same.  

For Bxxxx and for Jxxxx bligation was not only the responsibility of life, but the joy of life.  Metta, mitzvah – they are hard words to fulfill, but in exchange you get life, your life.  May 2007 bring you many obligations.  This essay is dedicated to the memory of Jxxxx Mxxxx and Bxxxx Bxxxx.  Shalom.  

Postscript –  

This was a hard piece to write, hard because it seemed disingenuous of me to write of obligations, of commitment, to write as if I had any knowledge of those things.  I have failed to cross the finish line more often than most folks have started, I have lived in my head, not acted when I should have and have been pretty chintzy with my heart on more than one occasion. I also know how easy it is to get frustrated and lost, to want nothing more than to dis-engage, to be tired or overwhelmed, afraid (very)  and especially to think everyone else’s obligations are much more fun than mine. Yet it seems that every time I was about to drown in the Schulykill I looked up and saw a boat waiting patiently nearby – not to rescue me but to give me a moment to think, to breathe, to focus. Every time I thought that I couldn’t make it up one more hill there really were buff males in hula skirts (thanks,
Vigo).  And even more, when I saw someone else in need, or when I knew that it was important for my daughter or someone I love – that it was from my heart – I was able to put all of me into whatever I faced.  Rxxxx Vxxxx once quoted a poem to me, ‘Here’s To The Winners’ – there is a line in the poem –  well, I think it’s clear…  ‘Here’s to the battle, whatever it’s for,To ask the best of ourselves, then give much more.  I am certainly not a paragon to the lessons of obligation, merely a student, albeit a very bad one. I suspect the struggle to write this reflects the struggle we each have to some degree with living our lives intentionally, with giving wholly of ourselves, with opening ourselves to joy as it exists and not as we imagine it should be.  I started many times to toss off a simple hale and hearty New Year greeting but every time I kept coming back to that word – mitzvah - it haunted me. For many nights Rabbi Telushkin and Rabbi Jacobson sat with me trying to help me understand. Later they were joined by Parker Palmer, some Buddhists, a Shaker and a Quaker and goodness knows who else. (Fortunately for us all the quantum theorists, neuroscientists, biologists, astrophysicists and ancient Greeks were not available for comment).  My run this January 1^st was quiet, a gentle reminder of all that I hold dear (deer?). Again I went running by my nature preserve – it had rained heavily during the night and as I ran I noticed small tributaries and streams that I had never seen before and I realized that sometimes it takes stormy weather to change the way the landscape looks. Then I found a new path that led into the preserve – and for whatever reason I followed it. The path lead directly to my rock, the place I shared with the deer a year ago. The rock was nearly buried because the water level was so high – but I was compelled to sit on it. So I leapt – and, surprisingly (to me), I landed safely, not even a splash. Yes, sometimes we can take those leaps and hit the mark. Sitting there, looking around, I thought that the water had never sounded so lush, the wood had never been so rich with color and texture.  Then, as I walked back to the road, my eye was caught by an Andrew Goldsworthy-esque object, two perfect pyramids made of stone slabs piled onto of each other – each layer smaller than the one before until the whole formed this perfect pine tree shape. One pyramid sat on a rock in the river, the other was on a tree limb over the water.  Built by wood-nymphs? Deer?  No matter, they were beautiful in their simplicity, a gift.  Running on the road again I was surprised by three deer that jumped out in front of me and leapt over a fence – perfect jettes across the roadside, a private ballet. As I ended my run I walked past a twiggy tree strewn with a necklace of bright red berries and pearlized water droplets.  Throughout the run I tried not to impose any desire for any sort of miracle, I tried to put all of my thoughts on the moment – and I failed again and again – but in between the failures, in between there were these glimpses, these exhilarations, these smiles, these bursts of beauty, these paeans to joy, to being alive – and these too are ‘miracles’..  I recently made a comment to my daughter about being old – and she said to me ‘why do you feel that your age is a problem, why don’t you celebrate having lived this long’. It took my breathe away – indeed, celebrate living.  The past year has taken and given more than I could possible have imagined, more than I could possibly tell.  I thank every one of you, every one who has given, held my hand (or me), talked, read, listened, made me laugh and inspired (and especially those who attended all my daughter’s performances at school!) – I thank-you from the bottom of my heart, with all my heart. Mitzvah, metta, obligation, heart, love, life – the wonderful thing about words is that they reach out and touch each other, they run in circles until they join hands and make sentences, tell stories, weave lives.  To paraphrase Emerson a bit – these are my thoughts and now they are my words. It is my hope that my words will become my deeds, my deeds will become my habits and my habits will come to speak of my character – and that my character will enable me to spread light.   Post post script – I also apologize for the length of this piece – it was originally penned as I (wo) manned the disability desk during the long hours of the Modern Language Association convention – the first draft was over 30 handwritten pages. What can I say – I was commanded to write and did so with all my heart. That’s what happens.