Accepting. | rejoyce letters, vol. 4

 

Hi Friend, 

In Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower, high school freshman Charlie is agonized because a girl he cares for is dating a boy who hits her. He confides this in his English teacher who responds with a quote I consider the backbone of the novel:

"We accept the love we think we deserve."

Accepting is tricky business. We've all heard the serenity prayer:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, 

Courage to change the things I can, 

And wisdom to know the difference.

But I think we can too quickly put things in the former category. We accept too soon. We say with resignation, "It is what it is," about an entirely changeable situation. (Maybe not easily changeable, but still entirely changeable.)

Sure, there are some definitively unchangeable things worth accepting. Example: I am six feet, two inches tall. For large swaths of my adolescence, I viewed my height as a struggle. Essentially, I rejected it.

[Aside: I believe I rejected it because society so clearly did. It wasn't particularly helpful that, starting in Kindergarten, adults constantly said to me: "Don't worry, the boys will catch up." 

It strikes me now that in this oft-repeated comment my height was not only being interpreted as an inherent problem (I don't think I would've worried about it had I not been informed, so insistently, to not worry about it) but also, this "problem" was immediately related to males. The "problem" wasn't how tall I was; it was how tall the boys weren't. From literally age five, my physicality wasn't about me; it was about males who were my age. (I could go very Simone de Beauvoir here and write a subject/object elaboration but will save that for another day. :)]

Accepting my height and not resisting it was an important, peaceful step for me. (I don't merely "accept" it now. At around 19, I started loving being tall and never looked back.)

I believe a certain level of self-acceptance is empowering; however, we often accept things into our lives that do not serve us. And accepting things here and there even though they don't feel right can be insidious. Suddenly, you look around and hate everything about your job. Or your relationship. Or your life. 

And it hurts because you likely know, at some level, you chose it, or, at least you accepted it. It's an incredibly painful realization: that the moth-eaten holes within yourself are not entirely from external sources. That there are holes that cannot be blamed on bad parents or bad partners or bad circumstances. There are holes eaten from moths that you accepted into your life. 

This is the worst, but it's also the best. :) Because on the other side of this realization is freedom. You do not have to continue accepting things into your life that do not serve you.

Brian Andreas sums it up well in this "life secret" in his lovely book Something Like Magic:

"Secret #7: You don't have to put up with anything. You can do something different."

To return to Chbosky, the question is less about what we accept and more about what we think we deserve. I'd even rewrite his quote as:

"We accept the life we think we deserve."

So: What do we think we deserve? What do we truly deserve? Is there a gap?

Often, there is a gap stemming from beliefs formed early in life. Rather than delve into limiting beliefs today, I decided to cut to the chase for you. (:

Things you deserve:

You deserve to be seen.

You deserve to be heard.

You deserve to be loved.

You deserve to be connected to your power.

As Rumi says:

"You were born with wings.

You were not meant for crawling, so don't.

You have wings.

Learn to use them, and fly."

You do not deserve a life of crawling, so no need to accept one.

with Love and with Light,

Joyce

p.s. I recommend Perks. The teacher lends books to Charlie, most of which I've read and loved. Also, "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac has a moment as does "Something" by the Beatles, two of my favorite songs. (Basically: I can't tell if this is an amazing book or just happens to be set in my hometown (Pittsburgh) featuring books and songs I love, but I almost never re-read books and I just re-read this one and still love it.)

p.p.s. Brian Andreas is awesome on Instagram.

p.p.p.s. In my second letter I spoke of the importance of finding joy, peace, love, and fulfillment in the present. I still believe this. Here's the thing: you never accept things in the past or future; you only accept in the present. So I'm advocating for present-tense changes in this (and every) letter.

Understanding. | rejoyce letters, vol. 3

Hi Friend, 

When I was in seventh grade I had an all-consuming crush on a boy with artfully-spiked brown hair who I'll call Mike. Mike and I had exchanged maybe fifteen words, but I had proof he knew my name. And if you think a boy knowing your name is not a foundation on which you can construct an elaborate fantasy reality in your mind, then you've likely never been a seventh-grade girl with a crush.

When I was not in Mike's presence, I was hardly alive. Other than the infinite things wrong with the previous statement, what was wrong to seventh-grade me was that we had but one of eight classes together (Home Economics). I spent the rest of the school day in nearly insufferable exile. 

So: my friend and I devised a plan. (I believe my friend also had a crush on Mike? Or fully supported mine? Maybe both. Middle school crushes were often, strangely, shared.)

We memorized Mike's schedule and, in the eight minutes between periods, we'd walk wildly out of our way to cross paths with Mike and THEN (this is where it goes from embarrassing to mortifying) we attempted to brush shoulders with him in the hallway. Like, physically. 

I don't fully get hormones, you guys, but we did this for weeks. Maybe months. 

What strikes me now is how little I understood Mike. 

I mean, I knew facts about him. But I am just now beginning to appreciate the vastness between knowing and understanding.

Things I knew about Mike: his schedule, his siblings' names, where he lived, his entire wardrobe (lots of Steelers gear), every word he spoke in Home Ec. Things I understood about Mike: nothing.

Then why my obsession?

In Thich Nhat Hanh's book How to Love he writes: 

"Often, we get crushes on others not because we truly love and understand them, but to distract ourselves from our suffering. When we learn to love and understand ourselves and have true compassion for ourselves, then we can truly love and understand another person."

After reading that, I was back rushing through a crowded locker-lined hallway, trying desperately to brush shoulders with a stranger and calling it "love."

Thankfully, after seventh grade, I became enlightened and approached all of my relationships, romantic and otherwise, from a place of compassionate understanding.

Hahahaha.

Yeah, right. The next decade of crushes was basically variations on this theme: throwing myself into the paths of boys I hardly understood, brushing various body parts in desperate attempts at finding a connection that could bring me out of exile and make me feel alive.

This entire approach is clearly very flawed, but today I'm focusing on one aspect: my lack of understanding (for these boys and for myself). 

Rampant misunderstanding extends beyond romance, of course. Politically, it feels like half of our country does not understand the other half at all. (True for both halves.) It's so easy to "know" things about someone and judge them; it's so difficult to truly understand them. 

Another example: Have you ever been eating dinner with your parents and they start telling a guest a story you've never heard before? And you're like: Who are you? 

In Thich Nhat Hanh's Being Peace [Recommend! All forthcoming Hanh quotes are from this book.] he writes: "We are not capable of understanding each other, and that is the main source of human suffering."

The Buddha said in order to understand, you have to be one with what you want to understand.

But how?

It might not be about knowledge. Hanh: "Guarding knowledge is not a good way to understand. Understanding means to throw away your knowledge...The Buddhist way of understanding is always letting go of our views and knowledge in order to transcend."

[This made me think of "the Fall" in Genesis, stemming from Adam and Eve eating fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil.]

I unearth misunderstandings in my life all the time, but I like to think I'm moving in the direction toward understanding. I've begun asking "off-script" questions to people I "know" and then (the hard part for me): truly listening to their answers. This has been eye (and heart) opening for me.

Maybe Rumi summarizes it best: 

"The soul has been given its own ears to hear things that the mind does not understand."

It's difficult to shed things we "know"—we're conditioned to cling to them. But could it be worth it? After all, Hanh says: "Understanding is the source of love." 

with Love and with Light,

Joyce

p.s.  In my interpretation, the philosophical Chinese room thought experiment also addresses knowledge vs. understanding from a different angle (focusing on artificial intelligence).

p.p.s. Congrats to each one of you for having survived seventh grade. (:

Arrival. | rejoyce letters, vol. 2

Hi Friend, 

When my husband and I first started dating, we texted with T9 word, John Mayer had just dropped Battle Studies, and watching YouTube videos was still a novelty.

So I vividly remember the first time he showed me a YouTube video. It was called "Life and Music" by philosopher Alan Watts. (You can easily Google it if interested; I don't link videos since they show as attachments.)

The premise of the video is this: LIFE IS A HUGE SCAM. :) 

Okay, that's not entirely it. The video hones in on the ever-elusive "point of arrival." The trap of thinking that, as Watts says, "The thing is coming! It's coming!" It's coming after high school, then after college, then....etc. It's always coming, but never here. 

Essentially, society tricks us into thinking we will only experience joy, peace, and fulfillment in the future. (I'm not even getting into religions, some of which preach: Don't worry, life sucks, but you can have peace after you die.)

Even the U.S. declaration seems ominous: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Is pursuing what we truly desire?

Despite seeing this video at age 21, I do think I lived most of my twenties falling into this trap. Until recently, when I started monitoring my thought patterns (through meditation), this seemed to be my brain's default programming.

On the macro level: When I'm done with basketball, I'll be happy; When I get a raise, I'll be happy; When I quit this job, I'll be happy; When I move, I'll be happy.

And the micro level: I can't wait for spring; I can't wait for vacation; I can't wait for Friday.

I was constantly living with one foot out the door.

In Sara Bareilles's song Vegas she sings:

"It's always just around the corner, oh, you're on your way to somewhere. That is bigger, better, if you could only get there."

But you never get "there" do you? Because even if you did, you've been subconsciously trained to create a new "there" the second you arrive. Thus, you make your old ceiling your new floor, and, JAY Z style, you're On to the Next One. (Ceiling, in this case.) You unthinkingly sabotage yourself by delaying access to your full expression of positive emotions, because deep down you believe they only exist in the future. 

[Aside: I realize the JAY Z quote was not very cohesive but, more importantly, I realized my letters up to this point were starkly lacking rap lyrics (!) Also, there's a thoughtful JAY Z interview on Letterman's Netflix show My Next Guest Needs No Introduction I wanted to recommend.]

But here's the thing I'm starting to believe more and more: you have it within yourself to experience joy, peace, and fulfillment right now. I do not mean to suggest it's easy, but I do think it's that simple. Rationally: any emotional state you'd in theory have access to in the future, you'd also have access to this very instant. Your emotions aren't tied to "that thing." They are tied to you.

The natural counterargument: but I don't feel positive emotions now! My response, which I say with kindness and gentleness: then you won't feel them in the future, either. Unless you can shift something in the present. Which you can!

[Note: I am absolutely not suggesting you make zero positive changes to your current life situation. (I believe getting in touch with your true desires is of utmost importance.) But I am strongly advocating you don't perpetually delay satisfaction just because that seems to be the default life approach in our society.]

I don't claim to know how to live this out fully, and I acknowledge it's a radical shift: to live not like you are going somewhere, but, rather, to live like you have arrived. 

As a "first step," I've been monitoring the time I spend in the present vs. the time my mind swirls over the past (regret, shame, guilt) or future (stress, worry, anxiety), and trying to increase my time immersed in the present. The short but profound book How to Relax by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh contains solid present-centering methods.

In this beautiful poem, Rumi says:

"This is enough was always true. We just haven't seen it."

What if there is no "next thing"? What if you've arrived?

After all, you are here. And you are made of Light and Love.

with Love and with Light,

Joyce

p.s. Another Rumi quote from his poem There's Nothing Ahead:

"The miracle of Jesus is himself, not what he said or did about the future. Forget the future. I'd worship someone who could do that."

p.p.s. Get. that. dirt off your shoulder.

p.p.p.s. JAY Z and Beyoncé have a daughter named Rumi.

Reckoning. | rejoyce letters, vol. 1

Hi Friend,

I'm 29 years old and unemployed. (Thought I'd lead with my most compelling qualities.) My contract ended March 30 and I haven't yet found "anything to do" in the traditional sense. That is to say: I haven't found anything to do in exchange for money which is what most everyone implies when they ask: What are you going to do next?

I should note: most people ask in the most caring way. Still, I'm hard pressed to answer honestly because I don't like making anyone uncomfortable. And nothing makes people uncomfortable like good, old-fashioned uncertainty.

[Aside: To particularly anxious askers I've actually considered saying: "I'm going to NYU law school in the fall." It's a blatant lie but I know the well-worn path would make them feel better. It wouldn't make me feel better. Going to law school sounds about as appealing as getting a Brazilian wax everyday for three years but every time feels like your first time.**

**The first time I got a Brazilian I texted my friend: "Holy shit that hurt!!" and she was all empathetically: "WTF did you expect?" I don't get Brazilians anymore because I take issue with a culture that wants men to be men and women to be girls. Also, they hurt.

Anyway! First-ever newsletter and I indirectly mentioned pubic hair (sorry!) but also: WTF did you expect? ;)]

Back to uncertainty: I think this ever-lurking fear of the unknown is perhaps related to the fear of things we do know but stuff away into the dark crevices of ourselves. The taboo topics, the things we all have and all feel but, yet, somehow, cannot discuss. The things we want to delete! delete! delete! rather than confront. (My discursive mention of Brazilians now seems strangely metaphoric.)

Listening to Isabel Wilkerson speak on reckoning in this On Being podcast episode was an epiphany moment for me. She said:

"Whatever you're ignoring is only going to get worse. Whatever you're ignoring will be there to be reckoned with until you reckon with it."

Take a moment to let that settle. I believe we will eventually have to reckon with everything we fear on both a macro level (see: slavery and the lasting impacts of systemic racism) and the micro level (see: that thing you never even told your therapist).

Well, to clarify, we'll need to reckon in order to fully heal. (Plenty of people go lifetimes without healing, so reckoning, like healing, is optional.)

All that to provide you with my honest answer to: What are you going to do next?

I am healing. In this phase, I consider it healing through reckoning. Specifically, I am reckoning with that thing I never even told my therapist. Also, everything else. I want to examine all the stories and beliefs I've collected over my 29 years to see if they hold up. In many cases, I want to transmute self-limiting beliefs into empowering ones.

At the risk of sounding cheesy or over-ambitious or both: I aim to open every unopened door within my heart.

In Melissa Febos's stunning memoir, Abandon Me, she wrote:

"The unseen parts of us have the most gravity. They repel and compel us."

A quote like that makes me long to illuminate the dark places. As does the Rumi quote of the week:

"You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens."

But the ever-looming question is always: How? Right now, for me, it's about energetically shifting things. I'm doing daily meditation, reading, journaling, forgiveness work, self-love.

And writing. I decided to write this weekly letter first and foremost for myself, to document this transition in an "official" way. If you'd like to read along, I'd be honored.

with Love and with Light,

Joyce

p.s. If Isabel Wilkerson's name sounds familiar, she's the Pulitzer-prize winning author of The Warmth of Other Suns. I haven't read it yet, but it's on my list. 

p.p.s. Trevor Hall has a beautiful song called You Can't Rush Your Healing which I've been listening to when I get anxious about the "timelines" of my healing (i.e. often). Here are my favorite lines, which encapsulate my meditation experience so insanely well I had to share:

"Confusion clouds the heart, but it also points the way.

Quiet down the mind, the more the song will play."

 

rejoyce letters are written weekly by Joyce Elizabeth from Brooklyn, NY. To unsubscribe, simply reply with "unsubscribe." To subscribe click here.

This letter was sent on April 9, 2018.