A storm came through my area not too long ago, and the beautiful trees – the very ones I was praising for their generosity of shade during hot days – deposited some good-sized limbs in my yard, ones that would probably give me a concussion if I happened to be standing underneath when they fell. And this created another task that I had to accomplish – picking up all the downed limbs and sticks so that they could be disposed of.
The very thing that I was so grateful for just a few posts ago – the trees and their branches – created extra work that I wasn’t grateful for, not to mention the hazard of possibly getting conked on the head. And this had me thinking about how everything contains both blessing and problems, cool experiences and hassles, all at the same time. What are we to do with that?
Author Sharon Salzburg has some insight when she writes, “Equanimity holds it all. Peace is not about moving away from or transcending all the pain in order to travel to an easeful, spacious realm of relief: we cradle both the immense sorrow and the wondrousness of life at the same time.” Equanimity doesn’t mean we don’t praise the trees and their leafy branches for the sweet shade on a summer day; we appreciate it while knowing that those very branches and leaves are going to fall. We love other people while knowing that we will not always agree and understanding that they will disappoint us at some level. Our choice to embrace the good and endure the difficult means we can’t reject either one: life is a package deal.
Rather than thinking that our human capacity is only for the most convenient and pleasurable experiences, we trust that we have the unlimited ability to experience life to its fullness with its highs and lows, joys and sorrows. I like the imagery Salzburg uses, “cradling both immense sorrow and the wondrousness of life.” To me, this suggests a tenderness for the awe-inspiring nature of life and for the grief and sadness that accompany it. Even as we gently hold a baby or a puppy, we cradle the joy of summer shade with the dexterity to accept the fallen leaves and branches when they happen.