Dancing With Adversity

I have a confession to make. Last week, when I was picking up four hours’ worth of tree limbs that had crashed down in our yard during the storm, I found myself lapsing into “poor me” mode—you know that feeling where you wallow in self-pity and wonder “why me, Lord?”  As that dark mood fell upon me, it occurred to me that perhaps the H in “Hm…” stood for Hypocrite.

In earlier postings, I’d written about how important it was to celebrate each day and to be grateful for the many blessings in our lives. If that were true, why was I unable to walk the talk? Why was there this great, gaping distance between what I professed to believe and what I experienced in that moment? It’s easy to believe in the sun when it is shining right there in front of our eyes; not so much when it slips behind a cloud. In those moments, positive affirmations seem like mere platitudes.

When I was a child and feeling sorry for myself, my mother would encourage me to embark on a mental exercise where I went up-and-down our road in my mind, paused at each house and peered in like the proverbial fly on the wall. She suggested that if I stopped and thought about what the family in that house had experienced in their lives and then, reflected back on my own life, I would see that sooner or later, adversity knocks on everyone’s door: financial difficulties; illnesses and accidents; marital disputes; the loss of loved ones; the one thing that is certain in life is that eventually, trouble will find us. What shapes our experience is not what happens to us so much as how we react to it.

When it comes to thinking on the bright side, I would suggest that it’s not simply a case of making up one’s mind to be positive, but rather a long process of practice. Certainly, it is important to become conscious of any negative thinking traps in which we might be ensnared. A degree of self-awareness and self-honesty is crucial. Once one is aware of the need for change and desires it sincerely, it isn’t a case of clicking one’s ruby heels and magically finding ourselves transported home to the bright side, but rather, of putting one determined foot in front of the other and inching one’s way towards positive change.

I stumbled across this stoic, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, philosophy when I walked the Camino in 2005. I’m sure I’ll write more about this Spanish pilgrimage/adventure and what I learned from it in future postings, but today, I would like to talk about a taxi cab moment when I was riding from Biarritz, France to nearby Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port where I was scheduled to begin my trek. The French driver pointed out the car window towards the Pyrenees Mountains and indicated that this would be where I’d be walking—that I would have to hike up-and-over them on my first day. 

I took one look at the towering mountain range before me and thought, “What in the world was I thinking?! What possessed me to assume that I—who got her one-and-only D in the subject of Physical Education during her public school career—could walk the Camino?!" A feeling of dread settled over me.  

Sure enough, when I set out early the next morning, I encountered a steep, uphill path out of town. In that moment, it would have been tempting to turn back—to run back to the B&B where I had been staying and pull the bedcovers up over my head for a few weeks; instead, I set out on the path putting one-booted-foot-in-front-of-the-other and in doing so, moved forward, albeit slowly, towards my destination—Santiago—which beckoned 480 miles to the west. 

By doing so, I not only made it up-and-over that first mountain range, but walked over 250 miles across varied, often difficult, terrain before wrenching my ankle and having to call it a day. Although I did not walk the entire Camino—and yes, my bucket list includes a return trip to finish what I started—the lessons which I learned along the way have stayed with me.  

First and foremost is how far you can go simply by putting one foot in front of the other. Sometimes, when facing adversity and finding ourselves paralyzed by it, it’s useful to remember how important it is to move forward towards the hope of a better day—to simply keep moving. 

And just as the Camino has yellow arrows to point pilgrims in the right direction towards their ultimate destination, positive words can encourage us along the way. In that sense, they’re not mere platitudes, but rather, guideposts that prevent us from losing our way.

 


Similarly, there is much to be said for following in the inspirational footsteps of others. A few weeks ago, I read a CBC news item about Tiffany Staropoli who was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer back in May and is now determined to dance her way through it. 

When I saw this uplifting video whose soundtrack features Great Big Sea’s When I’m Up I Can’t Get Down, I thought about the dancer Martha Graham and her famous quote about how there is a “life force” that is translated through us into action—how there is only one of us in all of time and therefore, this expression is unique. She went on to explain that if we blocked it, “it will be lost. The world will not have it” and it’s not for us to judge how good it is or to compare it to others.  

In other words, I need to stop thinking of myself as a hypocrite for not getting it perfectly right in that moment when I was picking up sticks. It was a huge step forward on my path to simply recognize that I was mentally whining. 

What I didn’t realize until I looked it up on the Internet was that Martha Graham also talked about how we learn by practice. According to Graham, to practice “means to perform, in the face of all obstacles some act of vision, of faith, of desire. Practice is a means of inviting the perfection desired.” 

I don’t know about you, but instead of whining and wallowing in self-pity the next time adversity knocks at my door, I’m going to try and remember the words of Martha Graham and the amazing, courageous spirit of Tiffany Staropoli–to invite adversity in with wide-open, welcoming arms and ask, “Shall we have this dance?” 

And if I falter and step on its toes, I’ll hang onto the hope that I will have a long lifetime in which to get it right.