“He who would create the new”
I mentioned on the Tuesday Book Club post last week that I’d just finished reading Marianne Williamson’s The Gift of Change. It’s the first one of her books I’ve read, and I’m already rereading it because there were so many ah-hahs in it I couldn’t absorb them all at once.
One of the quotes in there was from philosopher Rudolf Steiner, who wrote: “He who would create the new must be able to endure the passing of the old in full tranquillity.”
I’m sorry, but sometimes that’s really, really hard.
It’s hard even when it’s something small, like giving up foods that I know feel bad to my body anymore. Yesterday was another family party, and true to form I ate everything and then seconds and maybe even seconds-and-a-half if you count that leftover dessert crepe, and even as I did it I knew I was going to feel awful afterward–not awful as in guilty or scoldy about having eaten so much, but awful as in for the last few months my body has changed and just can’t seem to take so much food anymore. I’ve noticed it, I keep thinking I’ve learned that lesson, and then last night there I was again feeling physically ill because my poor little body was having to deal with everything I’d shoveled in there. I can imagine the me that is my body looking up at the me that seems to think it’s in charge and asking, “Why? Didn’t we already have this talk? I told you I don’t like this anymore. Don’t you care? Don’t you love me?”
Which is why I pulled out that Rudolf Steiner quote again last night to really study it. Because that’s me all over. I have these great images for how I want things to be now and in the future, but damn if I don’t cling so tightly to the way things have always been. I used to be able to eat a whole order of sweet and sour pork AND a pint of Baskin Robbins’ jamoca almond fudge in one sitting, for heaven’s sake. Are you telling me I can’t handle an extra heap of lasagna every now and then? Yep, ‘fraid so. And that’s a good thing, so can we move on to the tranquility part, please?
I cling to the old in so many areas of my life. I keep doing things the same way because “that’s how I’ve always done it,” which has to be the lamest excuse ever. And sometimes I feel like I can’t change things about my personality because all the people who have known me all my life will notice I’m acting differently and shout, “Fraud! Faker! Since when do you talk to strangers/go to parties/not get all peeved when someone keeps you waiting/let someone borrow your comb/order something besides a bean burro?”
But it’s okay, because I have this policy about mornings–especially Monday mornings. Clean slate. Absolutely. I truly believe that we as humans can just decide in one moment to change a particular thing about ourselves, and then–bing!–we’re changed. The key is to go forward from that moment on being that new person. It’s not magic, it’s just deciding and doing. You decide you want to be more patient, for example, and–bing!–from that moment on you start being patient. No waiting, no forms to fill out, just start behaving differently this very instant. Same with a lot personality issues. You don’t have to wait until you’ve built up to it. There doesn’t have to be any process at all. You can actually just decide to be different in some way, and in the very next second, be that person and act as that person would in all circumstances.
The trick is to let go of who you were and how you were behaving just two seconds ago. And I’ve noticed that’s the hardest part. Maybe it’s because we’ve made such a huge investment in who we’ve always been or how we’ve always done things. It seems like if we change, maybe we’re telling ourselves, “Boy, have you been stupid all this time. Can’t believe you actually thought you were doing okay. What an idiot.”
But it’s not like that. Look at it this way: if you moved to Fiji this morning, and nobody there knew you, and you decided that this new Fiji You was patient, fun-loving, fearless, sexy, confident, outgoing, happy–who’s going to say you’re wrong? The only person who would out you is you, my friend. So keep your mouth shut and go be that person, and you don’t even have to move to Fiji.
As Marianne Williamson puts it: “When we begin to live the greater life–not “seek” it, so much as simply choose to participate in it–then and only then do we find that it’s all around us, all the time.”
So on this particular Monday morning, the only thing I need to decide to do is be the kind of person from now on who tastes a little bit of everything at family parties and respects her body’s right to call it quits when she’s had enough. Simple. Bing! I just became her. Wow, what a relief. Body, are you happy? Yes, she says, she is. Thank you. Now go start behaving exactly as that person would.
What about you? If you were moving to Fiji this morning, would you show up exactly as the person you are, or would you maybe tweak a few things?
Technorati Tags: Marianne Williamson, The Gift of Change, Rudolf Steiner
February 12th, 2007 at 8:04 am
I would try really hard in Fiji to let go of my past disgraces. Does anyone else just find yourself sitting and thinking and then BAM! you are remembering some dumb-ass thing you did when you were younger or some stupid thing you said to someone (not necessarily cruel, just stupid) when you, apparently, weren’t thinking?
I can’t let go of them, obviously. Stuff that I did when I was younger, more callow. And we’re supposed to be that way when we’re in our 20s, say; we’re supposed to learn and grow, but I simply think about those things and cringe all over again.
I haven’t killed anyone or anything, mind you. They’re really just stupid, silly things, things I’d never do now.
This post is already too long, but these lyrics (from the song “Tomorrow On The Runway,” actually written by Karen Peris to her child, which I read some place) by one of my top-five favorite bands say much more beautifully what I’m trying to say:
“Old days, don’t come to find me,
the sun is just about to climb up over there.
‘While my heart is sinking I do not want my voice
to go out into the air’.
Did you leave the darkness without me?
You’re always miles ahead.
And you’re standing in tomorrow on the runway.
Oh be the music in my head,
the air around my bed, oh be my rest.
Replace the small disgraces of
the times and places that I never really left.
Did you leave the darkness without me?
You’re always miles ahead.
And you’re standing in tomorrow on the runway.
Oh I want to fly, fly forward into the light,
be alive, to come alive,
on the leaf-bright Friday drive,
sudden horses at the red light,
turn around, see clearer ways to go now.”
February 12th, 2007 at 8:18 am
Jules, that’s beautiful! I’ve never heard of that song or the songwriter. What’s the band? I must get that!
And so true about the disgraces that make us cringe. You’re right that those were the mistakes of youth, and I know I learned valuable lessons that I’ll never have to repeat, but dang, I hate to recall some of my idiotic, mean, destructive behavior of old.
Which is why I look forward to fresh starts like Monday mornings.
February 12th, 2007 at 8:51 am
The Innocence Mission (I know that’s a bit much for a band’s title, but I believe it came from an old, old, oooollllld children’s book title). Read here to see that an independent music critic at NPR chose “Befriended” (the CD from which that song comes) as the numero one CD of ‘03, which is a big deal, I think. Don’t even get me started on this band. They are like my religion. Karen Peris (lead singer, head writer) writes lyrics that teeter right on the edge of poetry (if they aren’t already poems in and of themselves).
They’re not for everyone. But they never, ever sing any come-over-here-baby-I’m-feeling-groovy-tonight songs (which are sometimes necessary, depending on your mood - not knockin’ those). But they sing of love and loss and childhood memories and winter mornings and hope and solitude and oh they just are wonderful. At first listen (and with Karen Peris’ very distinctive warble), they may take getting used to. But, as No Depression magazine put it so well, “what may at first seem fragile becomes, instead, a journey toward a rendezvous with grace.”
I said, ‘don’t get me started’ and then off I went.
I love your Monday morning philosophy and shall adopt it.
February 12th, 2007 at 9:31 am
The small disgraces of youth? How about yesterday’s, last week and last year. I’ve been chewing shoe leather my entire life.
February 12th, 2007 at 10:05 am
“When we begin to live the greater life–not “seek” it, so much as simply choose to participate in it–then and only then do we find that it’s all around us, all the time.”
That is so powerful!
And I am right there with you about the food. I ate a Little Debbie Valentines cake 2 pack the other day (it was for my kids, but they were sharing) and I thought I was going to throw up after I did.
February 12th, 2007 at 12:36 pm
In regard to my last comment, I wanted to add that chocolates do not make me feel ill.
THANK GOD!
Especially truffles, you sneaky little gift-giver you.
February 12th, 2007 at 2:38 pm
Change is hard. Any day of the week. My first response to change is toddler-like, “No.” If it is change that someone/something else is imposing on me, it is “NO! NO! NO!” Most of the time, once I get that out of the way, I’m OK-I try to think about what I am getting with the change, not what I am giving up. Plus I ate almost a whole bag of peanut M & M’s this morning-is that how I can get a b donka donka so I won’t get eaten by ogres?
February 12th, 2007 at 4:01 pm
Yes, Deborah, you’re on the right track for sure.
February 12th, 2007 at 6:36 pm
rb, i love this post.
i think the hardest thing about change is for others to accept it, not be theatened by it and not try to defeat it. change is a powerful and frightening phenomenon.
jules, your reference to your younger more callow self is wonderful. don’t we all wish we could , hmmm, time-travel to correct some stupid injury inflicted by a ruthlessly indifferent tongue? i try very hard not to forget those, after-the-fact, shameful moments so i can be vigilant to opportunities to atone, even if just slightly.
so i quess i would say i don’t want to escape to fiji or anywhere else. i want to make my peace, or not, the same place i made my mess.
February 12th, 2007 at 6:44 pm
Annette, love it.
February 12th, 2007 at 8:20 pm
So I’ll say fewer stupid things as I get older?
Thank God.
February 12th, 2007 at 9:38 pm
Yeah, but if I’m anything to go on, it won’t be until you’re much, much older than I am.