Getting Away From It All

I went off by myself once for four days to think and write and figure out what to do with my life. I had traveled for business and been alone in hotels and restaurants before, so that part wasn’t strange. But I had never in my life just gotten in my car, driven to a destination, and checked into a hotel, with the intention of spending the time in complete solitude. People may do that all the time, but, to me, it was the bravest thing I had ever undertaken.

It was Memorial Day weekend of 1984. I went to a resort in the Ozarks and stayed in something that was supposed to look like a little cabin. It was actually a hotel room located in a building some distance from the main lodge. I didn’t choose the best weekend because families tend to descend on resorts over holiday weekends. It was also cold and rainy, and I had packed clothes for hot and sunny, so I almost froze to death. But, that aside, it was the adventure of my life.

What did I do for four days? I flowed, doing whatever felt right at any given moment. At first, that was very difficult because I’m not a go-with-the-flow person. Not to mention that I was so stressed out, I was ready to come apart, which is why I had embarked on this “journey” in the first place. I was pretty desperate, as I recall.

I read, I wrote in my journal (pages and pages and pages), I meditated, I watched TV, I went to one of the restaurants when I was hungry, I ran or walked on the road in front of my cabin, I slept, and I did something I had never done before: I consciously thought. It was pretty amazing.

1984 was 24 years ago. What is astonishing is that it was not only the first time in my life I did something like that; it was also the last. I have never done it again, not even for a weekend. I have thought about it many times, remembering the magic of it, even though the room was probably on a par with Holiday Inn, the weather was horrible, outdoor activities were pretty restricted (I was into exercise in a big way then), and there were irritable parents and kids all over the pace.

I came home completely restored, though I could never explain what had happened that brought about the change. Those four days were a hyphen in my painful and pressured life — a time out that probably saved me, at least for a while. Why I have never done it again is beyond me, but, on some deep level, I don’t seem to believe I deserve such a gift. The fact that I have needed it, and it could have had the same curative effect many times over the years, is pretty apparent.

I have lived in my beautiful, cocoon-like condo for 24 years, and every time I think I should get away, I look around me and wonder why I couldn’t just do the same thing at home. So, I stay and, of course, I don’t do it. Instead, I work or clean or shop or flit from one activity to another; and at the end of the weekend I am in exactly the same condition I was in at the beginning.

What's wrong with this picture? Why would any sane woman wait 24 years to take another time out? Apparently, I just can't do it at home; so, when my daughter told me she was going on a cruise to celebrate her anniversary and was worried about her dog (read, child), I volunteered to come to Florida to dog sit. It was exactly what I needed. I had the house, the pool, the dog, a pile of books, and a laptop computer. By the end of 10 days I was as relaxed as a spaghetti noodle and I had found my solution: hop on a plane; bask in the sun; walk the dog; and u-n-w-i-n-d.

The Best of All Possible Worlds

When I first became a magazine editor in 1972, I read everything that came across my desk. Some of it was OK; some of it was terrible. On rare occasion, I would read something heart-stoppingly good. The first time that happened, I was reading an article by a writer and photographer named Bob La Rouche. It began this way: “The man, and the mountain. The mountain is Dhaulahiri … in Nepal. It is majestic implacable, inanimate, and a killer.” It could have been yesterday, but in fact it was 32 years ago. I still remember how I felt that day. Stunned, I think is the word. I had chills. I read the whole article, then, reached for the phone to call Bob La Rouche and tell him I thought what he had written was wonderful.

Now, I’m teaching writing — one six-week class a semester in continuing education, through the community college system. I wrote a workbook to help me do a better job. It was good but not great, so, I updated it. Then, I updated it again and again. It’s now in its fifth edition and 120 pages long. I’ve taught the same class — Writing, Publishing, & Promoting Your Nonfiction Book — for five or six years at different schools. In each class there is at least one special person who has talent and who might actually write a book. When I read something that person has written, I react as I did all those years ago. I read the whole thing, whatever it is. I barely breathe. I get chills. Then, I reach for the phone.

Once upon a time, a writing teacher told me I had talent and should keep writing. I took those words to heart. In fact, I built my life around them. It is beyond joy to say them to another person, especially one who may not know it yet. I had that experience recently when a former student read one of her essays to me. I just had it again when I got an e-mail with chapter summaries for a book one of a current student is planning. Maybe I’m no longer stunned, as I was the first time. But I certainly am moved and touched and impressed and just plain wowed. Every time.

A few years ago, when I was in a fast-track class for wannabe professional speakers and those who served them, we were asked to identify our vision. What did we do, or if we weren’t doing it yet, what did we want to do? I wrote, “Help writers write,” though, at the time, I had no idea how I was going to do it. I had written a book on freelancing, which hadn’t done well due to lack of any discernible marketing. I wasn’t yet a speaker and, it turned out, probably never would be. I wasn’t teaching yet. I was trying to reinvent myself but discovered that, in my case, that was going to take years.

Since then, I have created my program, written the workbook, taught classes, ghostwritten three books for other people, and designed a new website devoted to, of all things, helping writers write. “Do what you love; the money will follow,” they say. OK, I’m doing it, I’m earning a living at it, and I'm loving it. I think that is the best of all possible worlds.

If I Were Enlightened

Like so many Westerners, I fell head over heels in love with Buddhism, with its Eight-Fold Path, Four Noble Truths, Three Jewels, and all the other numbered pieces of ancient wisdom. Five of this, six of that — so orderly. So easy to remember. So Eastern. So completely out of context. Maybe that’s why so many of us were so instantly seduced.

According to Buddhist thought, our goal is to wake up — to become enlightened, liberated, and free — just as Buddha did under the Bo tree. Of course, it took him several lifetimes, most of his present incarnation, and 39 days of meditation under that tree to it. But the point is, he did awake, and, supposedly, we can too.

If I were enlightened, I would be awake to reality. I would see life as it is — the Truth, the big picture. There would be no more mysteries or misconceptions. At last, I would know what it’s all about and could stop driving myself crazy about all those things that don’t matter anyway. But what would I actually know? What is the Truth?

The answer is this: I would know — not just think or believe — but know, with my whole being, the reality of impermanence — that everything in life is born and dies and, in between, is constantly changing.

I would know interdependence — that everything in the universe is part of everything else and does not exist in isolation.

I would know nonself —that nothing and no one is unique, separate, and alone.

And I would know karma — that every cause has an effect, and every effect becomes a cause.

I do believe those things. I have examined and analyzed them, and they all make perfect sense to me. But that doesn’t make me a Buddhist, and it certainly doesn’t make me enlightened. Accepting the logic of those four principles and knowing them, owning them, totally and unequivocally, are not the same. One is cerebral; the other is spiritual. Enlightenment is not a syllogism; it’s a giant ah-ha moment.

I want to be enlightened. In fact, I yearn for it. But I don’t think I have devoted enough lifetimes or even this life to its achievement. I can’t meditate for a half hour let alone 39 days. And my will just doesn’t seem to be strong enough to make the leap. But just for a moment, let us imagine that I have had that great ah-ha moment and that suddenly I know the Truth. How would that change me? How would I live my life?

If I knew that everything in life were impermanent, that everything changes and nothing lasts, that every living thing is born and dies, I would not spend my life accumulating so many things, things I would lose eventually anyway. I would not cling so tightly to what I think is mine — my youth, my belongings, my health, my body, even my life. I would not dwell on the past nor stress out over an unknown and possibly nonexistent future. I would pay attention to life instead of sleepwalking through it. I would live lighter, get rid of emotional baggage and a lot of other unnecessary stuff, give in to more urges, and ban the word should from my vocabulary. I would live the moments I have to live, one moment at a time, then let it go and live the next one.

If I knew that all things in the universe were interconnected and interdependent, part of the never-ending process of life, affecting and being affected by every other thing — living or inanimate — I would view everything and everyone with reverence. I would nurture and protect the living planet and the ecosystem, knowing that they were once and were meant to remain in perfect balance. I would consciously seek to understand the connections and to sustain them. I would live in a state of gratitude for the miracle and mystery of this life we all share.

If I knew that I am not a unique and separate individual, that I breathe the atoms of the ancients and am inseparable from all who ever were or ever will be, that each of us is microcosm of the whole and thus perfect, I would honor every living being. I would understand that we are one in the same, separated only by the illusion of our packaging. I would cease to see the packaging and connect with others heart to heart and soul to soul. I would see the utter insanity of bigotry and hatred, of ethnic cleansing and homophobia, of cruelty and civil wars. I would devote my life to eradicating them from our world.

If I knew that every thought, word, and deed creates a reaction, a result, an effect — like a stone creates ripples in a pond — I would consider carefully the potential consequences of what I think, say, and do. I would never be careless with the power of the written or the spoken word. I would try always to do no harm and, whenever possible, to make things a little better. I would choose my words and use my words to build bridges of understanding and tolerance among people.

But, in reality, I am just here — quite ordinary, half awake, glimpsing only tiny fragments of the Truth, and waiting for enlightenment. Even if I only have to wait through this one little lifetime, that seems a long, long time. While I’m waiting, I have been meditating on an old piece of wisdom I heard once that advises: “Act as if...”

If attaining true enlightenment is beyond my present ability or time constraints, acting as if I have just awakened under the Bo tree and that I clearly see the Truth is something I can surely do. And, while I am waiting for the big aha, I can also realize that enlightenment often comes in tiny moments of clarity instead of all at once. Every time I connect with another human being … every time I realize that what I do or say creates a tangible result … and every time I protect our precious earth … I will experience such a moment.

The Cynical American

NPR drones on with hourly updates of late breaking catastrophes and endless commentary on what each one means. It is the background music of our lives, or at least the lives of those of us who consider ourselves progressives or liberals or Democrats or blue. The other half — the Christian right, conservatives, Republicans, and red— are getting the same messages but with a different spin on Fox News, Rush Limbaugh and AM talk radio. It’s as if we look at the world through opposite colored screens and, thus, we are not seeing the same picture. There seems no way to bring these opposing views into focus.

But whatever world we are seeing, I think both sides would agree that it’s an unmitigated mess. If it can go wrong in this country it has. We seem to go from one crisis to another with the president telling us we are on the brink of disaster, congress running around like a bunch of sheep with no border collie to guide them, and the media pushing the latest message, which is almost always incomplete and distorted.

One day we are told the sky is blue and cloudless; the next day it is falling. The enemy is Osama bin Laden; no, the enemy is Sadam Hussein. The economy is sound; the economy is falling apart. Mission accomplished; we’ve won the war. Well, on second thought, we haven’t won, and this is going to last far into the future. The US has the best health care money can buy; unfortunately, 47 million people don’t get to use it.

CEOs are making enough money to fund small countries; yet, every day thousands of people are losing their jobs, their homes, their retirement options, and any hope of financial security. Scandals are commonplace in congress, corporations, and Wall Street. And the beat goes on. I am no longer shocked at anything I hear. First, I am numb; second, I don’t believe a word of it.

It’s the lies that have made me a cynical American. I don’t know if the people who routinely stare into cameras and lie with perfectly straight faces even understand the concept of truth. Perhaps they did as children, but obviously the memory has faded. I have a sense of unreality, as I find myself living in a bad dream, unable to wake up.

I am frightened for my country, which I no longer recognize. I am frightened for my children and everyone’s children who will inherit the heap of debt, inequity, and decaying planet we are leaving them. I am frightened for myself because somehow I have to make it through the next 20 years. But being frightened is exhausting.

I need a paradigm shift, an aha moment, when I suddenly see how to negotiate the path through this tangle of deception, power struggles, discouragement. I need to wake up from this dream. But at this moment I have no idea how to do it.