I’m probably going to disappoint you. Yes, at some point, it’s true. We’ll be going along just fine and then, out of the blue, I’m not going to satisfy some request. I’m going to behave in a way you’d rather I didn’t. I’m going to say something that hurts your feelings, or keeps you from getting what you want from me.
I talk about the ways that we can be in service to each other, but the reality is this: Can we always know what that is? Others can tell us what we can do to be in service to them, but there is a higher service: it’s called what happens. It’s always in effect. It’s always plentiful. We’re never in short supply of the great and mighty IS. We’re never NOT in service to Reality.
How do I know whether something should happen? Because it did. That simplifies things quite a bit. But that means I’m almost guaranteed to disappoint you if you think that what I should have done is something other than what I did.
I should be better. I should have grown more. I should have a different attitude. Why? Because that is what enlightened beings do? Because if I don’t, I’ll have a heart attack? Because you raised me better than that? Because it would make you happy and give you what you want? These all sound perfectly reasonable, and still—I’m going to disappoint you. I may even disappoint you by dying. It’s inevitable. I know what you like and dislike, and at some point, I’m going to do the latter.
Here is something else . . . you’re going to disappoint me, too. Do you know how many times I’ve wanted you to do something other than what you did? Do you know how much I want your support? Sometimes, I have it. It’s wonderful! Sometimes, I don’t, and I have to give myself all of those things for which I was asking.
What now?
Do you think I should be the one to be there for you when you need me? Well, I’d like nothing better—especially because I love you. Except for those times when there is something else I need to do. Is it okay to plan on that, too?
What now?
Everything I say about you can be turned around and said about me. That’s the truth of it. If I loved you and you loved me, then we’d be doing all sorts of things for each other, right? We’d have this schedule in mind, and the schedules would match perfectly. There wouldn’t be any of this awkward mishmash of timing. I’m not ready to commit . . . you are. I have to work that day, but you’re free. I have something important to do, but you need me to put it aside to do something for you.
And if I don’t? If I can’t? What if I need you to understand the “why not”? Can you give me that? Isn’t that love, too? But even if you can’t understand, this is perfectly all right—because it’s the truth. It’s the exact right thing for you, and we’re both in service to reality.
This all sounds too ridiculous. Who could really live their life like this, openly embracing all of this disappointment? It’s too scary, because we’ve been soothed by the notion that the people we love, who love us, don’t want to disappoint us. We’ve been led to believe that they will go out of their way not to do so if only we make known our thoughts on the matter. And this is what happiness is about, right? People doing things for each other because they love each other and love means a lot of “shoulds.” I certainly don’t like disappointing the people I love, but it still happens—and how can that be so? Does it mean I don’t love them enough? But I do! I love them, and I still disappoint them. I still cannot fulfill every request—sometimes, even important ones. And they love me, yet they cannot fulfill every request.
What now?
The what now is that we can start our search for people who can. We can abandon the people in our lives who are not fulfilling our needs in the ways that we’d like, and move on to those who will (because clearly the problem is with them and not with us).
We can look to populate our community with those who are like-minded, those who will mimic our behaviors so that there is less dissension. Dissension makes us uncomfortable. It asks us to look at things that are unpleasant, and who wants to do that? It’s unpleasant! I’d much rather have everyone agreeing with me and doing what I want. Don’t I deserve that, after all I’ve done?
We can try to explain to people how much they are disappointing us, and hurting us in the doing . . . we can explain what we need, and then see if they can supply it. (I can tell you the answer now, no crystal ball required: sometimes they can; sometimes they can’t.)
We can become lovers of reality. Meaning that I love whatever happens. I’m disappointed. I’m hurt. I’m joyful. I’m excited. I’m pissing someone off. I’m uplifting someone. Great! In all these things, I’m in service. What could be better than that?
(Notice there is no “or” in the list above because the truth is that we’re going to give all of these options a try at one time or another—although the last listed is also pretty much the last to occur to anyone still holding out for that magical place where life is like a Burger King Whopper: we can always have it our way.)
Here’s the thing: I love you right up until the moment when I don’t! I will do everything I can for you, right up until the moment when it appears that I do less—which is also everything I can do. You see? Today, I want to be with you. And tomorrow comes, and I want to be with myself. I want to be healthy, and enlightened, and to grow past all of my fears—and today, I plan to crawl beneath the blankets and ignore the phone if it rings.
So how do I move forward in my life, in my attempts to become a lover of reality? How do I move forward as a sister, a daughter, a girlfriend, an employee? Does being a lover of reality absolve me of being a good person? Can I simply say, “Well! I’m doing whatever I want, and hurting you in the meantime, and I’m being in service! If you don’t like it, that’s your business.” Or does being a lover of reality mean that I still do my best to respect and love others, as I would myself? What does this look like, when my agenda conflicts with your agenda? It’s pretty hard NOT to have an agenda!
Being a lover of reality does not absolve us of being good people. Then again, reality is not the thing that causes us to suffer. Most religions or spiritual belief systems will tell you that it’s the STORY we tell ourselves about reality that leads us to suffer. When we begin to sense the story behind our feelings, behind our reactions, we naturally begin to feel a greater sense of compassion for ourselves and for others. We are less likely to pass on our suffering. But there is danger here! Especially for those of us who are smart and quick to analyze. We can see everyone else’s story, but we cannot see our own. This leads to less compassion. We see the weaknesses of others, but without taking our own into account, we become manipulative, we become arrogant, we keep waiting for others to fix their problems—so they can go back to the all-important task of giving us what we want, or at least so that they become less of a burden on us.
But it’s not about getting what we want from others. It’s about learning to love what we have, in this moment. When we love what we have, when we are in line with reality, then the behaviors that exhibit a lack of compassion and respect for others tend to fall by the wayside, since most of that is driven by our suffering—our disappointment, our expectations, our desires for things that don’t exist, the stories we tell ourselves about what we should be getting and what others should be doing. When those stories disintegrate, what remains? This moment. The sweet, spicy taste of tea. The warmth of a hug. That shooting pain in your arm. That ray of sunlight mingling with tufts of cat hair floating to rest in the dusty corner. The first wail of a newborn boy. The end of something. The beginning. Love.
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