Trust/Doubt

“Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason."--Ralph Waldo Emerson
I love Emerson.  I love his transcendental point of view, his affirmational writing style in Self-Reliance, his awe of nature, his conviction that there was a better way for society to progress and that we, as members of it, were the key to that success.  Not just our elected officials or representatives, but we ourselves were the voices and vehicles by which change must occur.


But this quotation, this concept of trust, is rankling me tonight.  I am a woman of faith, more active now in that regard than I have been since my childhood, and I am a woman of forgiveness, believing that in order to move forward, to progress, I have to forgive the transgressions of those who have hurt me if only so that I can be set free from the pain of their prior acts.  And yet, despite my faithfulness and forgiveness, I am grappling with my own ability to forget the things that have happened in the past and so trust is taking a back seat to Doubt which, it turns out, is a pretty loud and ominous passenger.  


Doubt climbs into the car with all of its bags haphazardly packed and won't let you throw them in the trunk or in the backseat.  Doubt carries all its baggage in its lap, right out in the open.  Doubt's bags make it hard to see out the side mirror, to maneuver the air vents, to change the cd or radio station.  
Doubt takes up so much space; don't even think about using the cupholder.  


Doubt does not want to talk to you.  Or, more accurately, Doubt doesn't want you to talk.  Doubt sucks up all the air in the car and sets loose on a long and winding story that never seems to end, circling back again and again to that point in time that led you to invite Doubt in in the first place, a time so dark you don't remember what day it was, what the weather was like or whether or not you remembered to eat.  
Doubt has no interest in current affairs, future plans, or the good news of the day; Doubt wants to rehash the past, to scratch and claw at those old wounds until the scars left behind are jagged, weeping welts of pain, oozing and open to the elements, unable to heal without immediate and expert attention that you, driver, cannot see to just now.


I want to kick Doubt the hell out of the car.  I want to go back to the rest area where I fist met Doubt and avert my eyes when Doubt looks my way.  I want Doubt to sit in the rain, cold and lonely, waiting for some other poor sucker to come along and pick Doubt up.  I want to, but I am having the damnedest time making it happen and that may be because Doubt is one rational son-of-a-bitch.  All of Doubts arguments make sense.  Doubt says, "this happened before, it could--and probably will given your luck--happen again, so don't get your hopes up."  Doubt is a master of empirical and anecdotal evidence.  That's what makes Doubt so popular at conventions.  


But, I am sick of Doubt.  I am sick of the way Doubt smells--sour like laundry you forgot in the washing machine overnight--and I am sick of Doubt's heavy breathing when Doubt sleeps.  Mostly, though, I am sick of being unable to hear myself think as Doubt huffs and puffs and sighs through our journey together, so I think it's time to pull over, open the door, and run for my life, trusting I'll find a path worth taking before too long.


I never liked that car anyway, and besides, I feel like walking.

Gold

For the past six months or so, I have been swimming in a river of anxiety and uncertainty, wondering what will happen next, waiting to be happy, expecting the awaited actions of others to deliver the soothing balm of peace to my fear addled heart.  It has been exhausting, and I realize now the truth of Emerson's assertion that "[N]othing can bring you peace but yourself."

For a very long time I have lived my life along the lines of what I thought the right choices were, what could I do that would attract the least attention, how could I hang back and not make a scene.  I have had moments of stepping out of the shadows, but I couldn't live in that light because my gut instincts, my truest impulses and most authentic desires didn't seem to match up with what the world at large seemed to suggest was right--right for the world, maybe, but not right for me.  I have been my own worst enemy, bombarding myself with negative self talk that sought to judge, to berate, and to wear my own self worth down to a fine white dust that choked me whenever I managed even the shallowest breath.

I became terribly good at pretending things were alright.  I carried on jovial conversations at work and in my personal life, I made strides towards professional and personal progress, and I called on friends when I had a rough day, but never when I had a truly awful one because I harbored an irrational fear of being a burden to the very people who love me most.  I know, now, that I am no burden; I am deserving of kindness and love as much--if not more--in my weakest moments as I am in my strongest ones.

And I know now that I have the right to choose my own path, to stop worrying about what others will say or think and do what is right for me.  Eckhart Tolle said "Worry pretends to be necessary but serves no real purpose," and while I have given lip service to that concept many times, I have not internalized it or allowed myself to believe that my choices, my voice, were enough.

Today, I am beginning to learn that they are.  Today, I am beginning to learn that it is.  Today, I am beginning to learn that all of life is a river and my place in it as natural, as perfect, and as valuable as the gold that glinted up at panhandlers who flocked west for a brighter dream.  And if I want to shine in that river, polished to perfection by each swirl of the curling current, I will.

Hope

"We judge man's wisdom by his hope."--Ralph Waldo Emerson


I am trying to sow seeds of hope in an effort be as wise as I can.  Here's the effort from today.

Backyard: lavender Bougainvillea, blue Plumbago, gold Hibiscus

Side of the house: tall Daisies

Purple butterfly bush and orange...I can't remember what.  Front fence by gate.

Pink butterfly bush, NW corner--I wish I could flip the image.

Native grass on the north side of the house.

Light pink baby knock out roses next to the front door.