My heart both sank and lept for joy with those words – “This
is nature, and we can’t control it.” The
sinking is because I really want to control it. Don’t you? I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s so real.
And if I break down my need for “control,” what I really want is something I
can count on. I don't want the shock or surprise of pain and disappointment. So I work hard to maintain a needed outcome. I write a lot about my self observations with some sense of shame, and I really want to point out this time that I am human and offer grace to myself in this awareness of control. Of course I want to control things - my past story tells me that chaos is always coming, so I must do my best to avoid it. I must avoid the conflict and pain. If I do a, b and c, then I won't have to suffer the hurt or disappointment. I can give myself lots of compassion for feeling that way and also be aware I want another way. So when the biologist said those magic words, I felt released from the burden that “it’s all up to me.”
What freedom there was here on this sea knowing I didn’t have to say,
do, or fix anything to make whales appear.
I don’t have that power. I can just sit, watch, wait, hope. I could also trust I would be okay if they didn't appear. But you know what, they did show up.
I’m thinking about this in all areas of my life – how hard I
work to fix, take care of, pursue, achieve, etc. to get a desired outcome and
to tackle issues that feel as big as whales because I believe it's all up to me.
What if I pause? What if I wait in hopeful anticipation? What if I rest
while the “whales” are swimming through their own forces of nature? What if I could trust that process?
We also learned that for every “blow” a whale gave and the number of times they surfaced, when they finally took their dive below, they would usually be
under water for about 1 minute per blow they took. So 5 blows = about 5 minutes under water.
This is their breath – the needed oxygen they need to take the plunge and
search for food. They store it up as
resources to do their work. Everything
in nature knows breath is the key component for life. We rest to work. We receive oxygen to use it. I have been missing some breaths. I am taking
plunges without breathing first. And I’ve been coming up gasping for air most days. Again, I have compassion for myself in this. I've taken on a lot as a new mom of 3 at once, and I just want to do everything well and keep everyone okay. It's normal to feel that way. And it's also exhausting.
I am learning when I sit back and don’t try so hard, that’s
when I take a breath. The more breaths I
take, the longer I can function. I’m aware of my need for control and short
temper with my kids when I haven’t gotten enough oxygen. My body can’t draw on any reserves for compassion
and patience. It’s as if my demand for
order is really my body’s demand for rest.
When I frustratingly ask my kids “Why do I have to tell you so many
times to ________,” I’m really asking, “When can I get some rest” or “When will
I get a break?” And here’s the thing – they can’t give that to me. I HAVE TO
BREATHE. I HAVE TO REST. That’s up to me – not them. And I can’t keep expecting myself to take a
dive under water if I haven’t stored up oxygen. I’m just drowning.
On our way back to the pier that day, we encountered an
unexpected whale surface. The biologist
excitedly shared how uncommon it was to see a whale in this part of the
sea. We were all just enjoying our boat
ride back and were given nature's gift of one more sighting. There is so much joy to experience after resting,
waiting, breathing. I am keeping those whales
close to my heart to remind me of my own beauty – that with my breath I can truly see myself and others, and I have more to offer those I love. I’m not powerful enough to pay money
or achieve all the tasks in the world to make a whale appear, keep life
predictable, or keep everyone I love free of pain and disappointment. Nature tells me I must breathe before diving, and that I must
trust the process of life. It’s not all up to me.
