Message in a Bottle

If you’re paying even a tiny bit of attention to the news, you probably have a feeling or two about what’s going on in the world. As news sites continually remake their graphs to account for higher and higher daily covid counts, I feel a mixture of sadness and worry. I feel sad—so, so sad—when I think of the death, loss, disability, and suffering embedded in these statistics. I feel sad to realize how many others will have to navigate this long-haul journey. I worry about reinfection. I worry about the mental health impacts of a long winter of isolation.

But quietly, in the background of these noisier feelings, I feel something else. This quiet background feeling can best be articulated with the simple words it’s okay. I’m not quite sure what ‘it’ is or how ‘okay’ is defined, but the feeling persists, quiet and powerful. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

I’ve felt it steadily for a couple of weeks now, even when I visited family in Arkansas and most of us (including me) got sick with something that seemed a bit covidy. Two of us got tested, and our results were negative. I’ll breathe a sigh of relief when we all feel 100% again. But even now, it’s okay.

I wish I could bottle this feeling and share it with anyone who needs it (including future versions of myself). Moments ago, as I was contemplating what this bottling might look like, I set my full mug of coffee down on my nightstand. Or at least I thought I did. Apparently, I set it down next to my night stand. It plummeted to the ground, splattering coffee on the furniture, carpet, and wall. Since I had been busy thinking about how okay everything is, I remained bizarrely unruffled. I think I even laughed. Equanimity can blossom even in the absence of caffeination! Who knew? I’ll make myself another cup later.

It’s okay doesn’t mean coffee won’t spill. It doesn’t mean that everything will turn out the way we want it to. It’s okay doesn’t mean we won’t experience the full range of human emotions, that our bodies will heal on our chosen timeline, that we will never get sick again, that societies will always be just, or that our loved ones will be made immortal. It’s okay accepts the painful realities of life.

Acceptance of reality is not just resignation, though. It is not defeat, passivity, or giving up. Acceptance is active. It is the conscious choice to fully acknowledge reality. This means that we acknowledge the painful realities of mortality and human limitation and that we acknowledge our own power.

I have the power to choose my mindset. I have the power to choose compassion. I have the power to choose how I will share myself with the world. I have the power to do the uncomfortable work of discovering my own blind spots. I have the power to learn from the hard things in life and the power to be present for whatever arises. I have the power to sit back as a gentle observer of my own inner and outer experience. It’s this sitting back, this compassionate observation, this presence, and this empowered acceptance that I wish I could bottle. Of course, they can’t be bottled; they must be lived, one moment at a time.

What does acceptance look like for you right now? How do you cultivate peace amidst the pandemonium?