Many years ago, my mentor and dear friend Kerby Ann said to me, “In the absence of information, we make things up. We fill in the blanks because uncertainty, not-knowing, is hard.”
At the time I was beginning my social work career and I was still learning. Learning how much information is enough information. How much is too much. What role does truth play, even when the truth is hard to hear. These are not easy questions. By nature we are compassionate people. We don’t like to see people we care about suffer. But suffering is part of living. Pain is part of humanity. Without pain, joy is meaningless.
So the other day, when I got a call from someone I love dearly, I sat quietly and listened through their tears, through the hard things they had to say. “I’m scared,” they said. “Everything I love is gone. I don’t know how to fill my days anymore. I don’t know what to do.”
As a listener, the urge to take away the other person’s pain is strong. “It’s going to be OK,” we want to say. “This will pass.” We reach to hand them the box of tissues as though to say, Stop crying. Dry your tears. Buck up. Be strong. But that would be a mistake.
Over the years I have learned that our job is not to take away the pain of others but to hold space for their experience. Emotions come and go. They are like waves against the shore. They ebb and flow. Eventually sadness subsides. Fear dissipates. Anxiety lessens. And then, like the waves, it comes again and lessens again, repeating itself over and over until we know for sure that this is what is. Difficult moments come and go. This is what we can count on. This is a part of life.
But there is also joy. The joy of watching the birds at the bird feeder. The dogs sleeping on the window ledge in the morning light. The richness of a strong, hot cup of coffee. Simple things. Things in the moment. Those are present too. The waves recede to reveal a mosaic of beautiful pastel colored coquina shells nestled in the sand.
In California we are under a mandatory Shelter in Place order. Stay home. No travel. No work. No movies. No sports. No gathering at all. No distractions. Life, as we’ve known it, has stopped. Now what? The waves are crashing against the shore, battering the beach and everything in its way. But know that underneath the waves are beautiful pastel coquina shells. Sharply pointed whelks. Mottled grey sand dollars. All present if we choose to look for them.
So here’s what I said the other day when that person I love so dearly called. “Yes, this is very hard. Yes, it’s scary. I understand. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you. And yes, I’m scared too because we do not have control of what is happening right now. Feel your feelings and then focus on something you have control of. Something you can do each day. Something you can show up for. Cook a new dish. Plant a garden. Call a friend. Read a book. Write. Sing. Dance. Learn Spanish, Italian or even Icelandic.
Fill in the spaces. Look for the coquina shells in the sand.
Image from here.
