Maria and I went out to dinner the other night and we ate at a nearby restaurant we love. It’s been open for a couple of years, and the owner came from a far away city, works with her husband, with whom she is close, and brings her young daughter into the restaurant every night. The couple has worked hard, the restaurant is increasingly popular, the food very fresh, healthy and good, and I have often thought of this woman as an example of how it sometimes works to take risks – even in this economy – when restaurants are closing left and right. She came out in her apron to greet us, and I congratulated her on her success.
She did not thank me, or agree that she was successful. She talked about her problems in college, and how very difficult it was to run a restaurant. Strange customers, staff problems, hiring difficulties. She went on for some time recounting how difficult her life was and she startled me again by saying that no one could imagine how back-breaking it was to run a business like hers. I am sure it is very hard. But I would have thought she would have been acknowledging at least some of her seeming good fortune – a new restaurant, successful, a close and seemingly loving family, a bold move that worked.
She did not ask Maria or I a single question about ourselves and I looked at Maria and I was reminded that Maria has never spoken of her work in that way, even though I alone have been witness to the heartbreaking and backbreaking and painful struggles that go into being an artist with a business. Freezing winters, boiling summers, blisters and split fingers, dust and breathing, struggles with design, machine, inspiration, pricing, shipping, sales. For that matter, it isn’t all that simple to write a book, even though many people think it might be.
Why would anyone think that no one else can imagine their hardship and suffering, hard work and hard choices? Or need to be told about them. It is perhaps one of the very few things we all can imagine. If you look at my Facebook comments, you can see that hundreds of complete strangers can easily imagine the challenges of my life, even if I don’t mention them. And many more are eager to share their sufferings. These struggle stories are the currency of our time – our lives are hard, nobody cares. The narcissist thinks he alone suffers and no one else understands him or suffers in the way he does. The spiritually awakened realizes we all do.
I do not measure success by the absence of difficulty, rather the way in which I respond to it. I hope I always ask the people I meet how they are and not simply present to them the troubling moments of my life. That is not who I want to be. That is not the big news in my life. The big news is I love my life, and the good and bad things in it.
Everybody suffers, everybody struggles. It is never simple to accomplish something that is worthwhile. It is never easy. There is no perfect life, not even a beautiful farm with animals. But I can’t blame my life for my challenges. No one forced me to be a writer, to get divorced, to buy a farm, to be a lunatic for years.
In my own spiritual life, I am learning something else. To not accept or embrace spiritual practice which causes me to blame myself for struggle. If I have a problem, it is not because my energy is bad. Or my thoughts gloomy or fearful. Or I’m reading a book with sadness. Or telling the wrong story. My attitude that is putting up a barrier to success and the things I want. Problems are not a manifestation of weakness or impure thoughts. I love the idea of good energy, and I practice it in my life. But that is magical thinking to me. I just can’t go there.
What the owner said to us that not is not important. What was is that I saw something clearly. I do not want to blame my life for life. I do not want blame myself for the struggle and challenge and disappointment that is a part of life. When people ask me how I am, I am fine. I do not see it in terms of my struggles, rather in terms of my successes and good fortunate, now and to come.