I have been part of a discussion group this summer called "Healthy Child - Healthy Planet", a series of readings compiled by the
Northwest Earth Institute. The readings cover values, rituals, food and health, technology, nature...the whole gambit of pressures that are real in lives as we raise kids and sustain marriages. But the readings on advertising especially struck me.
One selection puts forth that advertising has
taken the place of cosmology within Western culture, that consumerism has become the dominant faith in our world. Brian Swimme, the author, states, "At a deeper level, we need to confront the power of the advertiser to promulgate a worldview...based on dissatisfaction and craving."
The reading and following discussion with other parents has given me a new awareness of how much energy I put into avoiding dissatisfaction and craving, of filling the void, the pain, soothing the craving with whatever is at hand. This makes perfect sense from the perspective of a life of being overweight. It makes sense on the many decisions (and I use the term loosely) I've made based upon my desire to purchase -- or be able to purchase -- something. It makes sense in what feels like an undercurrent in my personal history of striving to get somewhere, some thing, some place. And it makes sense as to why my "new dissatisfaction" stems from a life that is dictated by "so much stuff".
So what happens if I let myself just be dissatisfied? What happens if I live with the discomfort for a while, if I don't rush to fill it? What happens if I don't over extend to maintain an image of "normal"?
My daughter Callie and I read a book this summer, "Blue Willow" by Doris Gates. Written in the 1940's, it is the story of a girl whose father lost his ranch in the Dust Bowl and they, along with her stepmother, now are migrant workers in California's San Joaquin Valley. The only possession Janey has is a Blue Willow plate that belonged to her deceased mother. The plate is her connection with a time that once was and her hope for what someday may be -- a real home. Reading this book during the worst economic crisis since 1929, and during another move for my family, took on all new meaning from when I read it as a child.
At one point, Janey's father, trying to make sense of where they've come from and of what their life is now, tells her, "Courage means never losing your grip." So simple, so straightforward, what you could call "hardboiled", that phrase has been my personal slogan this summer.
When times are rough, confusing, when I doubt my past decisions and question my ability to make the right choice this time, when I can't see beyond the next step, it is time to just slow down, take a deep breath, and hang on. When I'm sad, feel a sense of loss from "what should have been", when I regret, I am trying to just hang on, hang steady, and not rush to numb the pain with something (food, irrational choice, blame, whatever.)
I don't have a great close to this posting.
This is a work in progress, this stretching my fingers, taking a deep breath, and readjusting my grip for the next leg of the journey.
