Surprises, like bursts of joy and pain constantly build and shatter me. Smiles with strangers, my embodied "OG" nod across the room with a man laden with the burdens of the hegemonic isms of our times , the first whiff of rain, they all bring hurricanes of glee. The surprise of a tender touch, my epithelial cells smitten by the graze. A surprise, an acknowledgement of a "new arrival" in my field of consciousness indicates that my reservoirs of cynicism and expectations remain low and there is a welcoming space for astonishment.
As a child of war, one of terrorism and hate crimes , a boy raised within the poverties of fear and lack- it is easy for me to experience sheer terror or shock instead of surprise. I freeze, every particle of me demanding structure and the "same old". Stay in the routine, my beloved friend "fear" implores. Return from the edged. Don't receive love. It is in these moments that reframing is God. It is reframing which allows for me to see the shedding of autumnal leaves as a telegram from the incoming spring season, accidents as opportunities to learn new lessons and ruptures as the time to practice repair.
But the reframing God(s) aren't only in the ease. They knock in the dark of the night as ghosts, interpreting new loves with stagnant pudrid waters of interpretations. How do we hold the terror and beauty of surprises- and still remain open?
My darling dog continues her teachings to me. Spectacles on, she unscrolls the lesson plan for today! "It doesn't matter how often the rabbits get away," she says! We have to try again. We have to sniff and wag our tail and bark greetings at strangers and friends. The day we stop greeting others, when we close our hearts (and noses) to surprises, when we get too scared to explore is when the banality of the world (aka bullying squirells) has won"
Ps: This post was definitely dictated by my dog! I was but ....a chimp with digits to type!
What a lovely dog you must live with! My dog was treeing many squirrels this morning. She also engages in serious recon- conducting reconnaissance of the neighborhood as we begin. I grow impatient waiting for her, but she takes the time to look around and see, and I learn from her, also.
I am surprised at how good I feel each day - better physically than I can remember and I am about to finish my 7th decade. Finding the proper exercise has been the gift !
And I am surprised that life delights me again after a grief so deep that it too surprised me.
Christina Baldwin ,in her book Seven Whispers, said that one of her whispered prayers is to
"surrender to surprise" ! I love that openness to what a fresh new day might bring !!!
One of my favourite books - the exquisite Seven Whispers! I often rely on "moving at the pace of guidance" though appreciate your reminder to "surrender to surprise." Thank you for this connection to my friend.
"Surrender to surprise" is a beautiful thing! Thank you for sharing that. I hope this means the grief has subsided, even if just a little, that you are surrendering to surprise and delight once more. XO
About 20 years ago I wanted to travel to Italy. My Nona came from the North - a little village outside of Turin. There were family members still living there, but the connection had been dormant since Nona died. I thought it impossible. I was commuting, working, being a dad and a partner. For Christmas I got a travel guide about Italy. As I unwrapped it, I thought, "Well, that's a lovely and completely impossible dream. I was encouraged to look more closely and between the pages were placed, like bookmarks, $100 bills sufficient to pay for the airfare." I wept. I went. I was changed.
I am surprised that I continue to live, move, and have my meaning after loss of a rigid walled prison, which is to say, on the other side of a demolition of faith. I am still trying to decide which scraps to build another shelter with - or if I like sleeping under the stars enough to bother more than living nomadically. Liberation allowed me to grow, to adapt to an environment both harsher and more beautiful than I could imagine under the security of lock and key.
“Liberation allowed me to grow, to adapt to an environment both harsher and more beautiful than I could imagine under the security of lock and key.” So eloquently put. I hope that you find comfort along the harsh, beautiful path you are traveling on.
What a profoundly beautiful surprise! I wonder if the cathedral under the stars is a new shelter of air, light, beauty and reality that always holds you and all and beckons you and all life forward?
The immediate response that came to mind upon hearing this prompt was - being born! (not just being cheeky, it’s true!). But.. that is too short of a story. (god forbid!).
..
Padraig - thank you so very much for these reflections and this contemplation. What a gift. It opened up a space of hope in my heart during this time when it has felt necessary, urgent, vital - and yet it has been far away. Reflecting on surprises and the possibilities they open up …. wow. thank you.
…
A surprise:
In October of 2014 I was on a flight from California back to NY with my father, just the two of us on a flight together, which had never happened before. While both my father and I can talk at length to others, for some reason, perhaps it’s the father-daughter thing, the generation thing, the culture thing, the two scorpios thing, a family dynamic thing - or just a thing that got solidified and then stuck for no good reason - I was a bit worried, thinking, “what will we talk about for the entire flight??” So at one point during the flight, after asking my dad “do you want to eat something?” and “do you want to watch a movie” and “do you want to listen to something?” all of which were ‘no’s, I picked up the NY Times and decided to hide behind the paper for a bit. I came upon an article about Bhutan, and a breathtaking photograph of the Taktsang Palphug monastery, built on a cliff overlooking the Paro valley, and shared it with my dad. I asked him if he’d like me read the article out loud to him (his vision had become compromised), and he agreed. So I sat back, safe in the comfort of reading an article, not having to share my own thoughts or feelings, and I imagined he too, could rest easy as we both took refuge in this activity. After reading the article, which itself was interspersed with various surprises (the article starts out with a very romanticized view of Bhutan - “happiness is akin to holiness,” no plastic bags allowed, a nation of organic farming, “a land of devout Buddhism and pristine natural beauty,” the very title of the article, “Bhutan: A Higher State of Being”- into which my dad interjected how the country expelled thousands of Hindus of Nepalese origin who were forced into refugee camps in eastern Nepal - something the author of the article later gets into, describing it as a violent process that involved torture and sexual violence; we learn how in 1952 Bhutan abolished slavery and began to re-organize it’s medieval infrastructure… and we learn how “In 2006, the king shocked his subjects by unilaterally ending Bhutan’s absolute monarchy, leading an effort to draft a constitution and institute free elections…” at the time the article was written, homosexuality was still illegal (it was just legalized in 2020)) - after the litany of surprises the article itself described, what happened next is the surprise that I mean to write about here, although recalling (and re-reading the article now) has brought more hope too, as reading history can often do (and its opposite)… As I gazed longingly at the photo of the monastery, my dad said to me, “you should take a trip there.” (this was not a surprise to me, as my dad always encouraged me to travel). I surprised myself with my response, “I don’t really have the travel bug anymore, dad. I don’t need to visit any beautiful monasteries. If I could go anywhere right now, I would do a 3-month meditation retreat with Pema Chodron."
What came next is the surprise I wish to speak of.
My dad’s response: “You should go.”
"You should go" ?!?!?! And take THREE MONTHS OFF OF WORK?!?! To meditate?!?! This from the man who during my earliest days of life left for work at 4am and came home at 10pm, as he worked to build a nest for his family in a land where nothing was guaranteed - not health care, not shelter, not food. “You should go"(meaning, not work!) from the man who would descend the staircase to his home office after dinner every night, after having worked all day; this from the man who would make omelettes as a “midnight snack” to keep energy going for the hours of work ahead. “You should go” from the father about whom I proudly proclaimed, “Oh, my father, he works 365 days of the year, even Christmas!” “You should go,” (and take three months of your life and not work) from the man whose only out-loud verbal prayer I ever heard was, “work is the highest form of prayer”…. repeated, daily, like a mantra, in actions, not mere words.
To this daughter, who for years and years would get a lump in her throat upon saying the word “vacation." This one, whose trips and travels would involve service work, volunteering, explicit education, visiting family or friends, attending a obligatory function... but vacation for vacation’s sake? That was much too much of a luxury. It just didn't feel right.
To hear these words from this man, my father - yes, I was completely surprised. And it was the kind of surprise that released me. It was permission. It was a blessing. Maybe even a plea? There was something so genuine in how he said those words. What I heard underneath the words was, “my daughter, my life has been what it is… the causes and conditions have made it what it is... I may have made mistakes... I was allowed this and not allowed that.... I am tired.... I walked this path... Now you, my daughter, you must walk yours."
Ahhh, I had a feeling someone would ask! Do we have to be so literal about it? Going, that is??? ;-) No, I didn't.
That flight with my dad was fateful in more ways that this one...later on in the journey he shared with me about a symptom he was having, about which I freaked out, sort of, and insisted he see a neurologist ASAP. (I thought maybe he'd had a stroke of sorts - couldn't lift his left arm, said it felt like "dead weight" and mind you, this had been going on for weeks!!!! uggh!!!). Long story short (yeah, right, Mona!) - he came home, saw a neuro and soon thereafter was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. For me, this changed things. I didn't want to go on retreat (and have no contact, no phone etc) for 3 months. That was 9 years ago. A lot has changed. I would still love to do an extended retreat, of at least 3 months, likely more, but I don't feel like now is the time. And I feel peaceful about that. But his "you should go" has given me "permission" to make other decisions that I would not have allowed myself to in the past.... and, for me, the idea of why I would want to go on retreat, of meditation and buddhist practice, is not to be a good meditator or a good buddhist, but it is to be more awake and loving in the world. so having elderly parents and participating in some way in their care, is really an opportunity to practice 24/7. yes, retreat offers a training ground and I do think does or can provide something quite unique. and, it will come, in time, if it still feels right.
Ah Mona, your life is a bit of ‘page turner’. Thank you for adding to your intimate story with your Dad. You have me thinking through how both permission and prohibition shape a life...and how one can morph into another and the actual outcomes. xo Tobes
Oooh. “... how both permission and prohibition shape a life.... and how one can morph into another and the actual outcomes.” omg, wise one, so much to reflect on! Thank you, Tobes!
Mona, what a lovely and vivid short story! Thank you for sharing it <3
It reminds me of the permissions that my own dad gave me to go and be myself. I tried to be like him, a mental health worker, after he died but, thankfully, I just couldn't hold strangers' pain the same way I can my friends' and other loved ones'.
Which is to say that your story reminds me of that delightful surprise and my dad's constant blessing to be myself. He had grown up poor and rarely took a vacation til I was in sixth grade or so when the travel bug bit him. So, I also learned from him that it's okay to follow your heart into new places.
Oh, thank you so much for sharing, Sam! It is indeed a blessing. On the one hand it seems so straightforward - of course, let your children live their lives, follow their own hearts.... and yet, in just having a niece, I can see how easily one can slip into thinking one "knows better" or projecting one's own wishes, desires, fears, unfulfilled dreams, etc onto the child...
And how great you could figure out for yourself that your dad's path in mental health care was not yours...
Maybe he wishes he had taken more spontaneous vacations in life and spent less time working and he is encouraging you to not follow in his footsteps, without saying it outright? I personally think a 3 month retreat with Chodron sounds magical. Look deep within to ask yourself why you discard the idea outright, maybe you'll find something else that surprises you and then I hope you'll laugh in the face of that and go anyway. No regrets, sweet girl!
On another note, my dad and I have the same thing happening, so I very much feel you on what you wrote. Thank you for sharing this one, Mona!! XO
Ohh! Also, this makes me think of something Ani Pema Chodron said. Someone asked her if she had any regrets. She thought about it for a bit and then said something like “I left home and became a nun too soon. My kids were still young. They needed me.” And I think of how I heard a student who was a mom lament to Ani Pema how she wants to go on retreat to deepen her practice but she has children and how Ani Pema told her - now you have these children to care for. Practice when you can. Practice in daily life. Now may not be the time....
I responded to Toby above with some context, but that’s how I feel about it now. If it’s still right, I trust that time will come.
1. I'm 37, co-founder of an ad agency making waves and bucks; disenchanted by the city I live in, the work I do, my marriage. But I'm in a fur-lined rut. Then I break my neck.
1a. Now 76 - divorced, happily remarried, new city, new work. While I'm not recommending a broken neck as an incitement to change, I believe shock is more effective than surprise.
2. At the age of 75 I began writing a memoir in the shape of a series of haibun. I thought I had a terrible memory. I discover my memory is selective. Perhaps we curate our memories to justify what we have become. I face, still with some reluctance, the demons that were me. And I am surprised, one more time, that writing is healing.
My sister and I have been talking a lot recently ( we're in the same decade as you are) about our selective memories. It's nice to share this experience with you across the internet.
I often think about surprises these days. It seems to me that , after you reach a certain point in life, there are very few good surprises. The good surprises tend to come early on in life. For me, college brought a slew of exciting surprises: classes, professors who mattered, other students who became life long friends, work options that turned into my life's work. Later, came the surprises that led to marriage and children and homes and all the details of an unfolding life. But those surprises are done. The career has been lived, the kids have flown the nest. Nowadays the surprises tend to be challenging ones: medical diagnoses of self, family, friends, or the phone call that alerts me to death's presence again. I keep wondering where are the good surprises? That's not to say that the days themselves are not full of life and vitality. I just don't see the good surprises that I used to know.
Maybe I need to change my outlook? Maybe I am too focused on the big events of life? Hmmmmm. Maybe I am forgetting about the small surprises: the unexpected gift of a visit from a two year old grandchild, or the forgotten blaze of red fall leaves , or the rush of delight when I can enjoy a text conversation with a trusted friend. I do miss the life altering surprises of relative youth. I resent that now the life altering surprises tend to come accompanied by grief and pain. But here's the thing. I AM still open to joyful surprises. I just need to let them find me. 🤷🏻♀️
Yes! Let the small surprises come to you with your eyes wide open! This morning I also was surprised by the most lovely red-leaves tree with the rising sun spotlighting it’s beauty.
I can relate in that I think most of my biggest surprises come from how I feel or react compared to how I thought I would at a certain age. These are not usually great. I have expectations based on hilariously idealized or fictitious versions of how my grandmothers would think or act in situations. I spent a lot of time with them as a child and worshipped them both, but I have to laugh at how I don’t want to do most of what I thought I’d like in my 40s based on those memories. I do treasure how surprising it is when something small makes me miss those days though like a meatball sandwich on good Italian bread on a cloudy day.
I have made it a life long practice of living open to the surprises that come from the existential delights of one breath of fresh air to the hard work and preparation of learning to sing to the hardships I have been dealt. I have learned preparation can be a vital prelude to many surprises experienced in my mind, body and soul. But what surprise has freed me? Saved me? The utter relief that came recently from the experience of having invited a person to the table I know is in stark opposition to what means the most to me, to have listened to them, conversed with them, know that I appear not to have been heard or may never be heard. But I invited them and sat with them, learned more about them, and confident in the presence of my own body, was able to gently articulate what was needed in that space in both silence and words, without pounding my point. And that was enough. Truly enough. And that surprised me. It was an unexpected gift. It's taken me a lifetime to do that. I hope I can keep doing that when it is necessary
I am rarely surprised by logic, and find it somewhat limiting, as it is only a small part of how we process. I am, however, often surprised by the emotional and instinctive—by a romance I didn’t see coming, a connection that defied my expectation, or an over-performance of a modest expectation I had set for myself or someone else. What a joyous thing that we don’t simply and rationally think our way through life.
I am constantly surprised in my life. Each day, I try to pay attention to the passing of time and the small moments that occur in order to remember that life has its momentous occurrences (war, birth, death), but it is the small moments that open the door to understanding the shared beauty of this planet.
I was at a summit on sexual violence and consent yesterday, and learning from people that translated often horrific experiences into educational and reflective opportunities for children and adults. My final session there was what I thought would be a creative writing session and ended up being a sound bath meditation, that I definitely needed. It was a gift that the universe placed before me, that even now, as I write this, I am still basking in.
I've loved this poem from years past, but am amazed that in the last month it has been offered to me here in this community, by my sister and at least one other place that I can't recall. Yes, I'm paying attention.
A little more than a year ago, I was in the midst of a divorce and living in an Airbnb, when I ended up in the emergency room and then a hospital and then surgery and a week later returned with over 30 staples in my abdomen. When I finally decided to leave my husband after almost 30 years together one of my fears was having a health crisis and being on my own, and here it was. The surprise was the many people who helped as I healed, who bought groceries, walked my dog, drove me to appointments, and on and on. Some were family, some were friends, some were strangers to me who have since become friends. It has changed my view on what we can be to each other, on the humbling and awesome experience of receiving help, what an important aspect it is of our humanity. And, having survived something I didn’t even know to be afraid of (what I had was quite rare) I cherish my body at a depth I hadn’t previously, I understand in my cells that things can change on a dime. I know kindness more intimately and it has changed what I believe possible in others and myself.
“Family secrets have a way of being felt even if they’re unspoken: Many people who grew up in a home with family secrets say that they always had a sense that something was not as it seemed, and that this resulted in chronic unease.”
While I knew the worst of it (because I lived it) there was something missing from our family secret. The seven-year-old me kept tugging at my hem, nagging me, saying “we were thrown under the bus, you and me.” Yanking my hem from her grubby hand, I told her she was just a selfish, bitter little girl.
Now, sixty years later, out of her unfiltered dementia, my mother revealed the truth. My soul collapsed, crushed (yes, under the bus). No surprise there. The surprise came when I picked myself up and ran to embrace that seven-year-old me. Now fully integrated, I trust myself.
It is said the truth will set you free, and that is always a surprise.
I have been surprised to experience that my body--not just my thinking--is an ally for processing difficult emotions, shifting moods, and finding clarity. I developed a very ambivalent relationship with my physical self for most of my life, and focused almost exclusively on trying to think my way through difficulties. What a delightful surprise to find that giving myself a hug, going for a walk, or creatively moving to music can shift my perspective with more ease and joy than the ponderous gears in my head!
There was a barista in my usual AM coffee shop who seemed so cold and unfriendly. I'd say, "Good Morning," and she'd grunt something unintelligible. This went on for quite awhile until one day my wife called me as I was going into the shop and said unexpected guests were dropping by and all our cups were in the dishwaher. Could I get some paper coffee cups? I stepped to the counter and asked a new person, a young girl, if I could buy six or eight of the paper coffee cups. She said she was new, so she turned to Ms. Cold and Unfriendly, and asked her. Ms. Cold said, "No," then, reached under the counter, pulled up about a dozen cups, and handed them to me with a huge smile, saying, "No charge for a good customer!" An Emmaus moment.
The moment I found out I was pregnant with my son almost 9 years ago was the surprise that saved me. I had struggled to get pregnant and had had losses. I was in an incredibly dark place prior to getting pregnant with him. I identify strongly with being a mother, and in the obstacles external and internal that I have daily, I try to be aware as much as possible of the incredible surprise and blessing that my life has given me.
I’ve been a educator for 10 years now, and I spent the the majority of it close to the shore line (I’m going to use the “boat on an ocean” trope, despite my lack of living near an ocean, or having a boat) -- I stuck close to lectures, and the material that I knew or forced myself to learn so that I was in “control.”
At the end of every semester, I returned to the docks, glad to have survived the storms. But more and more I tried to avail myself to the stories and advice of the other adventurers , those who sought deeper waters, the lack of structure, the surprises farther out at sea.
Some semesters the storms are more intense (I’m in the midst of a doozy) but I realized that the surprises came from giving over to the wind and water ( my students) -- from letting go. I have found that to be truly rewarding and life altering.
We can never know if we will be surprised if we don’t allow ourselves the opportunity to be.
Yay!! I am glad that you have allowed your students to soften you. They DO have a way of doing that, don't they? And, with thankfulness for that. Thanks for sharing! XO
Surprises, like bursts of joy and pain constantly build and shatter me. Smiles with strangers, my embodied "OG" nod across the room with a man laden with the burdens of the hegemonic isms of our times , the first whiff of rain, they all bring hurricanes of glee. The surprise of a tender touch, my epithelial cells smitten by the graze. A surprise, an acknowledgement of a "new arrival" in my field of consciousness indicates that my reservoirs of cynicism and expectations remain low and there is a welcoming space for astonishment.
As a child of war, one of terrorism and hate crimes , a boy raised within the poverties of fear and lack- it is easy for me to experience sheer terror or shock instead of surprise. I freeze, every particle of me demanding structure and the "same old". Stay in the routine, my beloved friend "fear" implores. Return from the edged. Don't receive love. It is in these moments that reframing is God. It is reframing which allows for me to see the shedding of autumnal leaves as a telegram from the incoming spring season, accidents as opportunities to learn new lessons and ruptures as the time to practice repair.
But the reframing God(s) aren't only in the ease. They knock in the dark of the night as ghosts, interpreting new loves with stagnant pudrid waters of interpretations. How do we hold the terror and beauty of surprises- and still remain open?
My darling dog continues her teachings to me. Spectacles on, she unscrolls the lesson plan for today! "It doesn't matter how often the rabbits get away," she says! We have to try again. We have to sniff and wag our tail and bark greetings at strangers and friends. The day we stop greeting others, when we close our hearts (and noses) to surprises, when we get too scared to explore is when the banality of the world (aka bullying squirells) has won"
Ps: This post was definitely dictated by my dog! I was but ....a chimp with digits to type!
“It is in these moments that reframing is God.” - beautiful! Thank you.
"The surprise of a tender touch, my epithelial cells smitten by the graze." I know this feeling well. What a lovely person you seem.
What a lovely dog you must live with! My dog was treeing many squirrels this morning. She also engages in serious recon- conducting reconnaissance of the neighborhood as we begin. I grow impatient waiting for her, but she takes the time to look around and see, and I learn from her, also.
I love every word of this because like the poems I love most, every word here is a surprise!
Dogs are a direct line to the divine.
"reframing is God." I will keep that one. Thank you, Braveheart.
I am surprised at how good I feel each day - better physically than I can remember and I am about to finish my 7th decade. Finding the proper exercise has been the gift !
And I am surprised that life delights me again after a grief so deep that it too surprised me.
Christina Baldwin ,in her book Seven Whispers, said that one of her whispered prayers is to
"surrender to surprise" ! I love that openness to what a fresh new day might bring !!!
Love to hear what "proper exercise" you discovered! I'm prepared to be surprised 🙂
I love your attitude! Thank you for inspiring me.
Just put Seven Whispers on hold at the library, thank you for the recommendation ❤️
One of my favourite books - the exquisite Seven Whispers! I often rely on "moving at the pace of guidance" though appreciate your reminder to "surrender to surprise." Thank you for this connection to my friend.
"Surrender to surprise" is a beautiful thing! Thank you for sharing that. I hope this means the grief has subsided, even if just a little, that you are surrendering to surprise and delight once more. XO
About 20 years ago I wanted to travel to Italy. My Nona came from the North - a little village outside of Turin. There were family members still living there, but the connection had been dormant since Nona died. I thought it impossible. I was commuting, working, being a dad and a partner. For Christmas I got a travel guide about Italy. As I unwrapped it, I thought, "Well, that's a lovely and completely impossible dream. I was encouraged to look more closely and between the pages were placed, like bookmarks, $100 bills sufficient to pay for the airfare." I wept. I went. I was changed.
A surprise times two! The gift of the airfare and the gift of the experience! Lucky you!
What a lovely gift!
What a moving account! Thank you for sharing that.
I am surprised that I continue to live, move, and have my meaning after loss of a rigid walled prison, which is to say, on the other side of a demolition of faith. I am still trying to decide which scraps to build another shelter with - or if I like sleeping under the stars enough to bother more than living nomadically. Liberation allowed me to grow, to adapt to an environment both harsher and more beautiful than I could imagine under the security of lock and key.
“Liberation allowed me to grow, to adapt to an environment both harsher and more beautiful than I could imagine under the security of lock and key.” So eloquently put. I hope that you find comfort along the harsh, beautiful path you are traveling on.
Welcome to the outside... So here’s wishing you safe travels, and a beautiful journey.
What a profoundly beautiful surprise! I wonder if the cathedral under the stars is a new shelter of air, light, beauty and reality that always holds you and all and beckons you and all life forward?
What a journey you are on! May you be continually and pleasantly surprised on the way.
💜☺️ thank you. And, you also, on yours.
The immediate response that came to mind upon hearing this prompt was - being born! (not just being cheeky, it’s true!). But.. that is too short of a story. (god forbid!).
..
Padraig - thank you so very much for these reflections and this contemplation. What a gift. It opened up a space of hope in my heart during this time when it has felt necessary, urgent, vital - and yet it has been far away. Reflecting on surprises and the possibilities they open up …. wow. thank you.
…
A surprise:
In October of 2014 I was on a flight from California back to NY with my father, just the two of us on a flight together, which had never happened before. While both my father and I can talk at length to others, for some reason, perhaps it’s the father-daughter thing, the generation thing, the culture thing, the two scorpios thing, a family dynamic thing - or just a thing that got solidified and then stuck for no good reason - I was a bit worried, thinking, “what will we talk about for the entire flight??” So at one point during the flight, after asking my dad “do you want to eat something?” and “do you want to watch a movie” and “do you want to listen to something?” all of which were ‘no’s, I picked up the NY Times and decided to hide behind the paper for a bit. I came upon an article about Bhutan, and a breathtaking photograph of the Taktsang Palphug monastery, built on a cliff overlooking the Paro valley, and shared it with my dad. I asked him if he’d like me read the article out loud to him (his vision had become compromised), and he agreed. So I sat back, safe in the comfort of reading an article, not having to share my own thoughts or feelings, and I imagined he too, could rest easy as we both took refuge in this activity. After reading the article, which itself was interspersed with various surprises (the article starts out with a very romanticized view of Bhutan - “happiness is akin to holiness,” no plastic bags allowed, a nation of organic farming, “a land of devout Buddhism and pristine natural beauty,” the very title of the article, “Bhutan: A Higher State of Being”- into which my dad interjected how the country expelled thousands of Hindus of Nepalese origin who were forced into refugee camps in eastern Nepal - something the author of the article later gets into, describing it as a violent process that involved torture and sexual violence; we learn how in 1952 Bhutan abolished slavery and began to re-organize it’s medieval infrastructure… and we learn how “In 2006, the king shocked his subjects by unilaterally ending Bhutan’s absolute monarchy, leading an effort to draft a constitution and institute free elections…” at the time the article was written, homosexuality was still illegal (it was just legalized in 2020)) - after the litany of surprises the article itself described, what happened next is the surprise that I mean to write about here, although recalling (and re-reading the article now) has brought more hope too, as reading history can often do (and its opposite)… As I gazed longingly at the photo of the monastery, my dad said to me, “you should take a trip there.” (this was not a surprise to me, as my dad always encouraged me to travel). I surprised myself with my response, “I don’t really have the travel bug anymore, dad. I don’t need to visit any beautiful monasteries. If I could go anywhere right now, I would do a 3-month meditation retreat with Pema Chodron."
What came next is the surprise I wish to speak of.
My dad’s response: “You should go.”
"You should go" ?!?!?! And take THREE MONTHS OFF OF WORK?!?! To meditate?!?! This from the man who during my earliest days of life left for work at 4am and came home at 10pm, as he worked to build a nest for his family in a land where nothing was guaranteed - not health care, not shelter, not food. “You should go"(meaning, not work!) from the man who would descend the staircase to his home office after dinner every night, after having worked all day; this from the man who would make omelettes as a “midnight snack” to keep energy going for the hours of work ahead. “You should go” from the father about whom I proudly proclaimed, “Oh, my father, he works 365 days of the year, even Christmas!” “You should go,” (and take three months of your life and not work) from the man whose only out-loud verbal prayer I ever heard was, “work is the highest form of prayer”…. repeated, daily, like a mantra, in actions, not mere words.
To this daughter, who for years and years would get a lump in her throat upon saying the word “vacation." This one, whose trips and travels would involve service work, volunteering, explicit education, visiting family or friends, attending a obligatory function... but vacation for vacation’s sake? That was much too much of a luxury. It just didn't feel right.
To hear these words from this man, my father - yes, I was completely surprised. And it was the kind of surprise that released me. It was permission. It was a blessing. Maybe even a plea? There was something so genuine in how he said those words. What I heard underneath the words was, “my daughter, my life has been what it is… the causes and conditions have made it what it is... I may have made mistakes... I was allowed this and not allowed that.... I am tired.... I walked this path... Now you, my daughter, you must walk yours."
Mona, did you go?
Ahhh, I had a feeling someone would ask! Do we have to be so literal about it? Going, that is??? ;-) No, I didn't.
That flight with my dad was fateful in more ways that this one...later on in the journey he shared with me about a symptom he was having, about which I freaked out, sort of, and insisted he see a neurologist ASAP. (I thought maybe he'd had a stroke of sorts - couldn't lift his left arm, said it felt like "dead weight" and mind you, this had been going on for weeks!!!! uggh!!!). Long story short (yeah, right, Mona!) - he came home, saw a neuro and soon thereafter was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. For me, this changed things. I didn't want to go on retreat (and have no contact, no phone etc) for 3 months. That was 9 years ago. A lot has changed. I would still love to do an extended retreat, of at least 3 months, likely more, but I don't feel like now is the time. And I feel peaceful about that. But his "you should go" has given me "permission" to make other decisions that I would not have allowed myself to in the past.... and, for me, the idea of why I would want to go on retreat, of meditation and buddhist practice, is not to be a good meditator or a good buddhist, but it is to be more awake and loving in the world. so having elderly parents and participating in some way in their care, is really an opportunity to practice 24/7. yes, retreat offers a training ground and I do think does or can provide something quite unique. and, it will come, in time, if it still feels right.
thanks for the question Tobes.
Ah Mona, your life is a bit of ‘page turner’. Thank you for adding to your intimate story with your Dad. You have me thinking through how both permission and prohibition shape a life...and how one can morph into another and the actual outcomes. xo Tobes
Oooh. “... how both permission and prohibition shape a life.... and how one can morph into another and the actual outcomes.” omg, wise one, so much to reflect on! Thank you, Tobes!
You are wonderfully thoughtful and present in this world, Mona! We are lucky to have you. XO
such kind words, Danielle!!
Mona, what a lovely and vivid short story! Thank you for sharing it <3
It reminds me of the permissions that my own dad gave me to go and be myself. I tried to be like him, a mental health worker, after he died but, thankfully, I just couldn't hold strangers' pain the same way I can my friends' and other loved ones'.
Which is to say that your story reminds me of that delightful surprise and my dad's constant blessing to be myself. He had grown up poor and rarely took a vacation til I was in sixth grade or so when the travel bug bit him. So, I also learned from him that it's okay to follow your heart into new places.
Oh, thank you so much for sharing, Sam! It is indeed a blessing. On the one hand it seems so straightforward - of course, let your children live their lives, follow their own hearts.... and yet, in just having a niece, I can see how easily one can slip into thinking one "knows better" or projecting one's own wishes, desires, fears, unfulfilled dreams, etc onto the child...
And how great you could figure out for yourself that your dad's path in mental health care was not yours...
Thank you for the kind words and for sharing!
Yes, Mona! I get that about slipping into "knowing better" - I'm glad that you were set free by your dad, and that my dad did the same! :)
I hope to give that gift to my children.
🙏🏾💞
How wonderful that you could hear so clearly the permission and the blessing in your father's words.
thank you Deacon! 🙏🏾
🥹 Sometimes all it takes is 3 words to open up a universe. (and you definitely should go!)
thank you, Mandy! I like that. 3 worlds to open up a universe. Yes! 🙏🏾
Maybe he wishes he had taken more spontaneous vacations in life and spent less time working and he is encouraging you to not follow in his footsteps, without saying it outright? I personally think a 3 month retreat with Chodron sounds magical. Look deep within to ask yourself why you discard the idea outright, maybe you'll find something else that surprises you and then I hope you'll laugh in the face of that and go anyway. No regrets, sweet girl!
On another note, my dad and I have the same thing happening, so I very much feel you on what you wrote. Thank you for sharing this one, Mona!! XO
Ohh! Also, this makes me think of something Ani Pema Chodron said. Someone asked her if she had any regrets. She thought about it for a bit and then said something like “I left home and became a nun too soon. My kids were still young. They needed me.” And I think of how I heard a student who was a mom lament to Ani Pema how she wants to go on retreat to deepen her practice but she has children and how Ani Pema told her - now you have these children to care for. Practice when you can. Practice in daily life. Now may not be the time....
I responded to Toby above with some context, but that’s how I feel about it now. If it’s still right, I trust that time will come.
Thanks again Danielle. ✨
I did see your reply to Toby. Thank you, Mona, for the reply. You are extraordinary. XO
ohh, not all that, but thank you, Danielle!
thanks so much for taking time to read, Danielle! sending good wishes to you and your father too. 💕
A blessing, indeed. Such a gift!
thank you, Chris! it really was/is.
Two major surprises, Pádraig:-
1. I'm 37, co-founder of an ad agency making waves and bucks; disenchanted by the city I live in, the work I do, my marriage. But I'm in a fur-lined rut. Then I break my neck.
1a. Now 76 - divorced, happily remarried, new city, new work. While I'm not recommending a broken neck as an incitement to change, I believe shock is more effective than surprise.
2. At the age of 75 I began writing a memoir in the shape of a series of haibun. I thought I had a terrible memory. I discover my memory is selective. Perhaps we curate our memories to justify what we have become. I face, still with some reluctance, the demons that were me. And I am surprised, one more time, that writing is healing.
"Perhaps we curate our memories to justify what we have become." I'm going to be thinking of this line for a while. That is profound. Thank you! XO
Agree.
My sister and I have been talking a lot recently ( we're in the same decade as you are) about our selective memories. It's nice to share this experience with you across the internet.
I often think about surprises these days. It seems to me that , after you reach a certain point in life, there are very few good surprises. The good surprises tend to come early on in life. For me, college brought a slew of exciting surprises: classes, professors who mattered, other students who became life long friends, work options that turned into my life's work. Later, came the surprises that led to marriage and children and homes and all the details of an unfolding life. But those surprises are done. The career has been lived, the kids have flown the nest. Nowadays the surprises tend to be challenging ones: medical diagnoses of self, family, friends, or the phone call that alerts me to death's presence again. I keep wondering where are the good surprises? That's not to say that the days themselves are not full of life and vitality. I just don't see the good surprises that I used to know.
Maybe I need to change my outlook? Maybe I am too focused on the big events of life? Hmmmmm. Maybe I am forgetting about the small surprises: the unexpected gift of a visit from a two year old grandchild, or the forgotten blaze of red fall leaves , or the rush of delight when I can enjoy a text conversation with a trusted friend. I do miss the life altering surprises of relative youth. I resent that now the life altering surprises tend to come accompanied by grief and pain. But here's the thing. I AM still open to joyful surprises. I just need to let them find me. 🤷🏻♀️
Yes! Let the small surprises come to you with your eyes wide open! This morning I also was surprised by the most lovely red-leaves tree with the rising sun spotlighting it’s beauty.
I can relate in that I think most of my biggest surprises come from how I feel or react compared to how I thought I would at a certain age. These are not usually great. I have expectations based on hilariously idealized or fictitious versions of how my grandmothers would think or act in situations. I spent a lot of time with them as a child and worshipped them both, but I have to laugh at how I don’t want to do most of what I thought I’d like in my 40s based on those memories. I do treasure how surprising it is when something small makes me miss those days though like a meatball sandwich on good Italian bread on a cloudy day.
I have made it a life long practice of living open to the surprises that come from the existential delights of one breath of fresh air to the hard work and preparation of learning to sing to the hardships I have been dealt. I have learned preparation can be a vital prelude to many surprises experienced in my mind, body and soul. But what surprise has freed me? Saved me? The utter relief that came recently from the experience of having invited a person to the table I know is in stark opposition to what means the most to me, to have listened to them, conversed with them, know that I appear not to have been heard or may never be heard. But I invited them and sat with them, learned more about them, and confident in the presence of my own body, was able to gently articulate what was needed in that space in both silence and words, without pounding my point. And that was enough. Truly enough. And that surprised me. It was an unexpected gift. It's taken me a lifetime to do that. I hope I can keep doing that when it is necessary
I like how you said you trusted your body to be silent when necessary. Using that word helps detach a bit from the situation.
By necessity I trusted the presence of my body because I needed every cell of its support for my restraint! lol
I am rarely surprised by logic, and find it somewhat limiting, as it is only a small part of how we process. I am, however, often surprised by the emotional and instinctive—by a romance I didn’t see coming, a connection that defied my expectation, or an over-performance of a modest expectation I had set for myself or someone else. What a joyous thing that we don’t simply and rationally think our way through life.
I like the way you put that: What a joyous thing that we don’t simply and rationally think our way through life.
I am more and more availing myself of that kind of joy. Thanks for putting it in words for me.
This is so so true. I frequently find myself surprised by the common beauty of living in rural New England.
What you say is so true. I often feel myself surprised by the comments n beauty of living in rural VT.
I am constantly surprised in my life. Each day, I try to pay attention to the passing of time and the small moments that occur in order to remember that life has its momentous occurrences (war, birth, death), but it is the small moments that open the door to understanding the shared beauty of this planet.
I was at a summit on sexual violence and consent yesterday, and learning from people that translated often horrific experiences into educational and reflective opportunities for children and adults. My final session there was what I thought would be a creative writing session and ended up being a sound bath meditation, that I definitely needed. It was a gift that the universe placed before me, that even now, as I write this, I am still basking in.
Agreed. The small moments make all the difference. Are you familiar with this poem from Danusha Lameris?
Small Kindnesses
By Danusha Laméris
I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk
down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs
to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”
when someone sneezes, a leftover
from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.
And sometimes, when you spill lemons
from your grocery bag, someone else will help you
pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.
We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,
and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile
at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress
to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,
and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.
We have so little of each other, now. So far
from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.
What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these
fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,
have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”
I've loved this poem from years past, but am amazed that in the last month it has been offered to me here in this community, by my sister and at least one other place that I can't recall. Yes, I'm paying attention.
I wasn’t till now, and am all the wiser and happier for reading it. Thank you.
It lives on my fridge and I love to read it every day. Such a wonderful reminder of what life can be.
“it is the small moments that open the door to understanding the shared beauty of this planet”
Beautifully put, Sean, and a good daily affirmation!
A little more than a year ago, I was in the midst of a divorce and living in an Airbnb, when I ended up in the emergency room and then a hospital and then surgery and a week later returned with over 30 staples in my abdomen. When I finally decided to leave my husband after almost 30 years together one of my fears was having a health crisis and being on my own, and here it was. The surprise was the many people who helped as I healed, who bought groceries, walked my dog, drove me to appointments, and on and on. Some were family, some were friends, some were strangers to me who have since become friends. It has changed my view on what we can be to each other, on the humbling and awesome experience of receiving help, what an important aspect it is of our humanity. And, having survived something I didn’t even know to be afraid of (what I had was quite rare) I cherish my body at a depth I hadn’t previously, I understand in my cells that things can change on a dime. I know kindness more intimately and it has changed what I believe possible in others and myself.
I LOVE this, Tami, thank you for sharing. I'm thrilled that so many people helped you and it sounds like, in a way, healed you as well. XO
Thank you Danielle! They did indeed heal me, physically and spiritually.
In The Atlantic (2/27/23), Lori Gottleib writes:
“Family secrets have a way of being felt even if they’re unspoken: Many people who grew up in a home with family secrets say that they always had a sense that something was not as it seemed, and that this resulted in chronic unease.”
While I knew the worst of it (because I lived it) there was something missing from our family secret. The seven-year-old me kept tugging at my hem, nagging me, saying “we were thrown under the bus, you and me.” Yanking my hem from her grubby hand, I told her she was just a selfish, bitter little girl.
Now, sixty years later, out of her unfiltered dementia, my mother revealed the truth. My soul collapsed, crushed (yes, under the bus). No surprise there. The surprise came when I picked myself up and ran to embrace that seven-year-old me. Now fully integrated, I trust myself.
It is said the truth will set you free, and that is always a surprise.
I have been surprised to experience that my body--not just my thinking--is an ally for processing difficult emotions, shifting moods, and finding clarity. I developed a very ambivalent relationship with my physical self for most of my life, and focused almost exclusively on trying to think my way through difficulties. What a delightful surprise to find that giving myself a hug, going for a walk, or creatively moving to music can shift my perspective with more ease and joy than the ponderous gears in my head!
Amen, Elena! I have found that same thing and it is a delight to me. And a vacation for my overthinking, too. LOL. Thanks for sharing this! XO
There was a barista in my usual AM coffee shop who seemed so cold and unfriendly. I'd say, "Good Morning," and she'd grunt something unintelligible. This went on for quite awhile until one day my wife called me as I was going into the shop and said unexpected guests were dropping by and all our cups were in the dishwaher. Could I get some paper coffee cups? I stepped to the counter and asked a new person, a young girl, if I could buy six or eight of the paper coffee cups. She said she was new, so she turned to Ms. Cold and Unfriendly, and asked her. Ms. Cold said, "No," then, reached under the counter, pulled up about a dozen cups, and handed them to me with a huge smile, saying, "No charge for a good customer!" An Emmaus moment.
The moment I found out I was pregnant with my son almost 9 years ago was the surprise that saved me. I had struggled to get pregnant and had had losses. I was in an incredibly dark place prior to getting pregnant with him. I identify strongly with being a mother, and in the obstacles external and internal that I have daily, I try to be aware as much as possible of the incredible surprise and blessing that my life has given me.
I’ve been a educator for 10 years now, and I spent the the majority of it close to the shore line (I’m going to use the “boat on an ocean” trope, despite my lack of living near an ocean, or having a boat) -- I stuck close to lectures, and the material that I knew or forced myself to learn so that I was in “control.”
At the end of every semester, I returned to the docks, glad to have survived the storms. But more and more I tried to avail myself to the stories and advice of the other adventurers , those who sought deeper waters, the lack of structure, the surprises farther out at sea.
Some semesters the storms are more intense (I’m in the midst of a doozy) but I realized that the surprises came from giving over to the wind and water ( my students) -- from letting go. I have found that to be truly rewarding and life altering.
We can never know if we will be surprised if we don’t allow ourselves the opportunity to be.
Yay!! I am glad that you have allowed your students to soften you. They DO have a way of doing that, don't they? And, with thankfulness for that. Thanks for sharing! XO