On Believing

As a kid, I believed in things. The sure feet of Peanuts, my gentle horse. Santa Claus, God, the heat-emitting charisma of my older cousins, the say-so of my sister and brothers. I believed that following rules, like brushing my teeth and raising my hand and, by-God, being there if I said I’d be there meant that things would unfold in predictable order, in fair proportion to my effort, and on time. 

For the most part, this scaffolding imprinted in early life held. I graduated from college with a shiny degree and ideas, friends and family that would encircle me for the rest of my life, and job interviews. I kept on living with my body in the present, my thoughts on the distant horizon, as I relished my freedom to make choices and plans. If A, then B. When this, then that. I kept working toward that perfect future, never realizing that the distance between here and there hadn’t changed. 

At some point, I began to notice things, namely the things I wasn’t noticing. Like how many of my thoughts were about “when the kids start school” or “when I close the big deal.” My attention was always leaning forward, putting the present-tense eggs into a farcical future-tense basket. I was missing a lot along the way, so caught in thought that I would arrive at work or even at my parents’ doorstep 300 miles away with little recollection of how enthralling it felt to drive through Wyoming’s landscape, marked with lives that were precious, skies that stayed spacious, untarnished, steady.  

Through this small, defiant act of noticing, a new navigation system emerged. I began to loosen the grip on rules and rigid beliefs. I began to hear the louder voice in the present. This showed up in ways both practical and magical. Noticing the menacing sky and the clench of my body as I considered the best timing for a long winter drive, I dropped the rule of showing up at any cost in favor of avoiding near-death interstate travel. I noticed how few people were impacted or even noticed whether I was obeying my lifetime litany of rules. I rested when I was tired, said, “No,” when I needed to, began surrendering “should.” This taste was freedom. 

As the practical noticing marked better decisions, something else happened. My lifelong habit of choosing sides, of fighting fiercely for things I believed in – so many things – began to fade. Over time, I began to recognize my habit of hardening my stance also hardened my mind, my heart, my views. And this rigid stance never produced the results I wanted. No one was more surprised than I to discover the wide expanse of freedom that came with softening more, or heaven forbid, looking for points of similarity, rather than difference. 

Eventually, I realized that my rules and bootstrappy willpower had inverted from strong foundation to low ceiling. There was simply not enough room for a well-balanced life in tight quarters with “how things had to be,” in fierce resistance to anything that was happening off-plan. Because let’s face it, life happens mostly off-plan. 

I still believe in things. The generosity of Santa Claus. That showing up for others carries real weight. But I understand now that it is a feathery presence if we don’t first show up for ourselves. I believe in a benevolent God, though I couldn’t describe Her to you except to say it feels like mercy, through compassion-colored glasses. I honestly think my work and my relationships are better. My thinking is clearer, and my results are measurable—here in the present, not someday, long into the future. One could say I’ve gone soft, I guess.