“When something bad happens to you and you did not have the power to avoid it, do not aggravate the situation even more through wasted grief.”
This was written in 1807 by Rabbi Leffin in the Mussar book Cheshbon HaNefesh. Last week, my Mussar study group was sitting at my dining room table discussing Patience and we pondered what this statement means.
In Mussar, Patience means much more than not getting your feathers ruffled. It means realizing and accepting that life does not unfold according to our own timetable, but that we interact within a larger community and that we must surrender to Divine timing as well. Working against the current of that can only cause struggle.
Rabbi Leffin’s statement concerns where we place our focus. In any moment, we can only choose how we ourselves will behave, not anyone else around us. In regards to Patience, I would rather wish someone well and remove myself from a situation causing me anger than spend time and energy getting worked up about it. I control my thoughts and how much suffering I will allow inside.
One of our group participants brought up the flood (Hurricane Harvey, not Noah’s), and talked about how this relates to patience. Nobody could have planned for such an event and so it is useless to be full of regret about things we wish we had thought to save or what could have been done. We must stop thinking that way because it only prolongs the suffering of the event itself.
I am not sitting around mourning what was lost and obsessing about my misfortune. And yet, I am still fragile. I’ve notice repeatedly that it doesn’t take much for tears to come to my eyes and I wonder when that vulnerability will dissipate.
I asked her and the group this: while I know this happened 10 months ago now, I don’t yet feel that I have come to terms with it. I don’t think I am “aggravating the situation,” but I still feel as though it only just happened. She responded that since we are all still dealing with the ramifications of the event, of course it’s going to be rather difficult to put it behind us. So true! Another person said it’s like my life was hit by a Mack truck. I like the imagery. I tend to discount what we lost and how it impacts us because we are so fortunate to have each other, a place to live, and the ability to buy what we need.
It has been very much front and center every single day as we calculated the loss, assessed the value of our land, got permits to rebuild, met with the architect, and now begin the build process. We were inconvenienced in having to salvage what we could from the house, pack everything, and move elsewhere (ultimately twice). What’s odd to me is that I feel the loss of a kitchen colander just as much as that of treasured photo albums and books, especially when I’m making spaghetti and looking all over for it. The realization that it must have been one of the thousands of items we had to throw out feels very defeating. It’s having to accept the situation all over again.
I’m finding that to thoughtfully create a house that is exactly what we love, it takes quite a bit of time just to select tile for the kitchens and bathrooms. I am starting to be able to visualize certain spaces and get excited for them to become reality, but it never really leaves my mind that this entire process was thrust upon me out of nowhere and is a huge inconvenience.
I accept the situation. In Mussar terms, I am “bearing the burden” and suffering as little as possible. I know there was nothing I could have done to prevent the hurricane and definitely nothing to do now but move forward. Who am I to fight nature’s storms and patterns? There is very little we have control over in the world.
The struggle seems to take place when we have resistance to what is. Wishing the storm never happened is part of bringing unnecessary grief upon ourselves. It happened. Let it go.
And yet, to my friend’s point, I can’t truly heal from this loss until I’m no longer feeling it’s aftereffects every day. I had not considered this. Of course I am reliving a piece of the storm every single time I visit our lot and feel a momentary shock that our house is not there. I relive it as I see and hear so many homes around me being torn down.
We’ve got to take the long view in times like these. Asking why this happened to us does not help to build a new house. Replacing new possessions, rebuilding routines, and literally constructing a home one board at a time takes a great deal of time. I’ll let the contractors handle the hammers and the saws. Patience is the tool that I can call upon to help me move from one phase to the next until we are, eventually, home again.
The trauma will always be with you and be less painful over time. I also believe that you are the type of person that this will make you more compassionate to others that have lost their home for many reasons and others who have suffered trauma.
That makes sense. I heard someone on NPR recently talking about losing everything in the 2004 Sri Lanka tsunami and I thought to myself, “that must feel so strange to have nothing left.” I couldn’t make the connection between what he went through and what we did. Then I realized the similarities and I was shocked that the compassion I felt for him was different from what I felt for myself. Strange. Of course, we have quite a lot of our possessions and that helps us feel like we are at least surrounded by familiar objects. The people who have to leave their homes and countries for survival … I do feel strongly compassionate for them. So much change all at once can probably feel unendurable.