Transition
"Wanting to find a place where everything's okay is just what keeps us miserable. Always looking for a way to have pleasure and avoid pain is how we keep ourselves in samsura (the vicious cycle of suffering during our life journey). As long as we believe that there is something that will permanently satisfy our hunger for security, suffering is inevitable. The truth is that things are always in transition. 'Nothing to hold onto' is the root of happiness. If we allow ourselves to rest here, we find that it is a tender, nonaggressive, open-ended state of affairs. This is where the path of fearlessness lies." --Pema Chodron, Buddhist nun
So many things right now are in transition, uncertain. I am in financial crisis again--the adoption assistance check didn't come on time (which happens every July, but this year, I forgot about this and didn't plan for it), the state government has shut down which will mean I am paying for more of Lisa's services (therapy, meds, etc) out of pocket. In some ways, this has been good for me. I realize I have never been good with money. I have always spent everything I earned. If I look back over the last three years, I see where I made my mistakes--I didn't have any savings when S arrived, I had to purchase a lot of basic necessities for her in the beginning, and then, a year later, my father got sick, so I made several trips to Ohio. In the midst of all this there was the trip to Greece, which I really couldn't afford but did anyway (I'd committed before my father got sick, but still). I had to keep using credit for these expenses, and now my credit is also maxed out. Of course I'm getting all kinds of invites to take on more--I've always been able to pay more than my minimum payment, so my credit score is good--but I've been throwing them in the trash.
S and I had a talk about paring back our expenses. It actually went very well. She's working on being alone at least a little more without major incident, so far, so that we can cut child care expenses. I have told her I'm no longer going to let her talk me into buying things we had not planned on, and that we had to really save for any big purchases like new shoes. We have been doing pretty well the last couple weeks, and as a result, although I had to ask her child care providers if they were able to wait another week for their paychecks, we are going to be OK. The adoption support check will come, and the state government will begin functioning again--it's all just a matter of time. But I know I need to figure out how to save even as I try to pay down my debt so that, when things like this come up, I have something to draw on.
In the meantime, I'm still waiting to hear about what kinds of resources she'll have after she's 18 (I wrote about the details of this early last month--I'm no closer to answers now, and the magic 18-year-old deadline looms). I have gotten confirmation over the phone that her adoption support is "very likely" to continue, but I've yet to actually get written confirmation. In the meantime, the other agencies are waiting for that decision before deciding what they will give us. Adoption support initially was going to wait for Social Security until the Social Security counselor, God bless her, got on the phone and ripped the Adoption Support people a new one for playing a game of chicken over our family's resources. Someone has to give, because everyone says she qualifies, but for how much will depend on how much other agencies will give us--so someone has to name an amount first.
It is easy to feel sorry for myself, but I have a good job and private insurance and, now, a plan to be debt free and have a modest savings in the next three years, if I can stick to my plan. I also only work half-time in the summer, so I have the time and space to do some long-term planning and to think things through. I can't imagine what the truly poor families that rely on state support are dealing with right now. S's co-pays, which are now covered by Medical Assistance, which kicks in when my private insurance is done paying, will amount to about $400/month--and that's WITH most of the cost of her services being covered by my private insurance. That means if we didn't have private insurance, we are talking about somewhere around $4,000/month--nearly twice what I make each month. What will a family with a child with a disability--and hers are minor, in the scheme of things, compared to what some families are dealing with--what will such a family do during the shutdown? Of course, some providers will simply provide services and medications for free out of an ethical responsibility to those with the highest need. S's therapist has already told me she considers her to be high need, so she'll continue to provide services even if she doesn't get the 50% out-of-network cost that she currently gets from MA.
I think one of my problems with the idea that groundlessness equals happiness lies in the fact that, if read too literally or in the wrong ways or with the wrong kind of theology in mind, I could decide to just sit around and wait for God or the universe or whatever to take care of us. But that is powerlessness, not groundlessness. There are things I can do, and I have done them--written and called our legislators, talked firmly to each agency about how I don't appreciate the game of chicken they are playing, and that someone has to step up and tell us in the next week how much my child is going to get so the others can make their decisions, and, of course, spending the countless hours applying for these things in the first place so that we can keep paying down debt and paying basic expenses.
But groundlessness--that is something different than powerlessness. Groundlessness is about knowing that there is no permanence. Again, with the wrong mindset or theology, this, too, can be threatening. If nothing is permanent, why try to do right by people? Why try to convince legislators to see issues your way if they will, eventually, no longer be in office and you'll have to start over again? Why make friends and work at those friendships? Why fall in love, why have children? I had trouble with this concept because deep inside I wanted to believe that what I did COULD make things, situations, relationships, whatever more permanent. Of course, to some extent that is true. We have deeper friendships and relationships when we work at them, when we make the time and space for them. We have more just political systems when we remain involved in them, even as they transition again and again.
But, most things are out of our control. And that has been, for me, one of the hardest lessons. I want to believe I won't die before age 50--so I make sure that (although I am overweight) I never get to the weight my mother was, that I have a more active lifestyle than she had, that I eat healthier and exercise more. I do my breast exams and go to the hospital every time I feel a lump. But ultimately, I could die at any time, of course. I can only control the situation so much.
When you lose a parent young, your body and soul fight between wanting to control everything and feeling completely hopeless about the future. I have learned, slowly, over the last almost 30 years, to find a place in between these two extremes and to stay there at least, well, 40% of the time. The other 60% I'm still trying to control or feeling hopeless. But at least now I can catch myself doing each of these, and I can find my way back. No, I will tell myself, don't walk away from this conversation--it matters, what you say and how well you listen matters--even if your full presence may not change anything, your full presence is a witness to the ways we can love and live in hope. No, I will tell myself, don't just give up on trying to get the next chapter of the novel written--even if no one else ever reads it, writing is the way you connect to your soul, and these characters, even if no one else ever meets them, are teaching you something important. Stick with them.
That is groundlessness--acting out of love and hope even when we know our efforts may not matter at all in the long run. We can have hope that they will, but even if they matter only in the short run, haven't we given witness to the acts of love and hope that are transformative? If we can't do whatever needs to be done to create a permanent change, haven't our voices and actions mattered, at least in terms of how we have inspired others or even ourselves to do the next right thing?
Lately I've been open, again, to the deep conversations that have always sustained me. My father's death, my student's death, my mentors' deaths--they blocked me in some deep ways that I didn't really recognize until this summer, when people started showing up and longing for the same kinds of deep conversations I so desperately need to sustain myself. And so I have been having them. And even when they are heart-wrenching and take me to deep places where there are wells of pain I have not yet touched, I can come back to the surface and keep swimming--I don't stay there.
I am learning to be fully present, not just with these friends but also with my child, again. I can tell the difference--aggression is gone, and all our conversations are more real now, and I can more easily feel everything, without holding too tightly to any feeling. I am finding a way to work steadily on everything from my office's annual report to the ongoing search for resources without panicking about what will come next. Somehow when I'm able to be in this groundless place, I also make better decisions--about money, about how I spend my time, about how I set boundaries around what is and is not possible at work or home.
I'm in a good place even though there is so much transition, so much I can't control.
So many things right now are in transition, uncertain. I am in financial crisis again--the adoption assistance check didn't come on time (which happens every July, but this year, I forgot about this and didn't plan for it), the state government has shut down which will mean I am paying for more of Lisa's services (therapy, meds, etc) out of pocket. In some ways, this has been good for me. I realize I have never been good with money. I have always spent everything I earned. If I look back over the last three years, I see where I made my mistakes--I didn't have any savings when S arrived, I had to purchase a lot of basic necessities for her in the beginning, and then, a year later, my father got sick, so I made several trips to Ohio. In the midst of all this there was the trip to Greece, which I really couldn't afford but did anyway (I'd committed before my father got sick, but still). I had to keep using credit for these expenses, and now my credit is also maxed out. Of course I'm getting all kinds of invites to take on more--I've always been able to pay more than my minimum payment, so my credit score is good--but I've been throwing them in the trash.
S and I had a talk about paring back our expenses. It actually went very well. She's working on being alone at least a little more without major incident, so far, so that we can cut child care expenses. I have told her I'm no longer going to let her talk me into buying things we had not planned on, and that we had to really save for any big purchases like new shoes. We have been doing pretty well the last couple weeks, and as a result, although I had to ask her child care providers if they were able to wait another week for their paychecks, we are going to be OK. The adoption support check will come, and the state government will begin functioning again--it's all just a matter of time. But I know I need to figure out how to save even as I try to pay down my debt so that, when things like this come up, I have something to draw on.
In the meantime, I'm still waiting to hear about what kinds of resources she'll have after she's 18 (I wrote about the details of this early last month--I'm no closer to answers now, and the magic 18-year-old deadline looms). I have gotten confirmation over the phone that her adoption support is "very likely" to continue, but I've yet to actually get written confirmation. In the meantime, the other agencies are waiting for that decision before deciding what they will give us. Adoption support initially was going to wait for Social Security until the Social Security counselor, God bless her, got on the phone and ripped the Adoption Support people a new one for playing a game of chicken over our family's resources. Someone has to give, because everyone says she qualifies, but for how much will depend on how much other agencies will give us--so someone has to name an amount first.
It is easy to feel sorry for myself, but I have a good job and private insurance and, now, a plan to be debt free and have a modest savings in the next three years, if I can stick to my plan. I also only work half-time in the summer, so I have the time and space to do some long-term planning and to think things through. I can't imagine what the truly poor families that rely on state support are dealing with right now. S's co-pays, which are now covered by Medical Assistance, which kicks in when my private insurance is done paying, will amount to about $400/month--and that's WITH most of the cost of her services being covered by my private insurance. That means if we didn't have private insurance, we are talking about somewhere around $4,000/month--nearly twice what I make each month. What will a family with a child with a disability--and hers are minor, in the scheme of things, compared to what some families are dealing with--what will such a family do during the shutdown? Of course, some providers will simply provide services and medications for free out of an ethical responsibility to those with the highest need. S's therapist has already told me she considers her to be high need, so she'll continue to provide services even if she doesn't get the 50% out-of-network cost that she currently gets from MA.
I think one of my problems with the idea that groundlessness equals happiness lies in the fact that, if read too literally or in the wrong ways or with the wrong kind of theology in mind, I could decide to just sit around and wait for God or the universe or whatever to take care of us. But that is powerlessness, not groundlessness. There are things I can do, and I have done them--written and called our legislators, talked firmly to each agency about how I don't appreciate the game of chicken they are playing, and that someone has to step up and tell us in the next week how much my child is going to get so the others can make their decisions, and, of course, spending the countless hours applying for these things in the first place so that we can keep paying down debt and paying basic expenses.
But groundlessness--that is something different than powerlessness. Groundlessness is about knowing that there is no permanence. Again, with the wrong mindset or theology, this, too, can be threatening. If nothing is permanent, why try to do right by people? Why try to convince legislators to see issues your way if they will, eventually, no longer be in office and you'll have to start over again? Why make friends and work at those friendships? Why fall in love, why have children? I had trouble with this concept because deep inside I wanted to believe that what I did COULD make things, situations, relationships, whatever more permanent. Of course, to some extent that is true. We have deeper friendships and relationships when we work at them, when we make the time and space for them. We have more just political systems when we remain involved in them, even as they transition again and again.
But, most things are out of our control. And that has been, for me, one of the hardest lessons. I want to believe I won't die before age 50--so I make sure that (although I am overweight) I never get to the weight my mother was, that I have a more active lifestyle than she had, that I eat healthier and exercise more. I do my breast exams and go to the hospital every time I feel a lump. But ultimately, I could die at any time, of course. I can only control the situation so much.
When you lose a parent young, your body and soul fight between wanting to control everything and feeling completely hopeless about the future. I have learned, slowly, over the last almost 30 years, to find a place in between these two extremes and to stay there at least, well, 40% of the time. The other 60% I'm still trying to control or feeling hopeless. But at least now I can catch myself doing each of these, and I can find my way back. No, I will tell myself, don't walk away from this conversation--it matters, what you say and how well you listen matters--even if your full presence may not change anything, your full presence is a witness to the ways we can love and live in hope. No, I will tell myself, don't just give up on trying to get the next chapter of the novel written--even if no one else ever reads it, writing is the way you connect to your soul, and these characters, even if no one else ever meets them, are teaching you something important. Stick with them.
That is groundlessness--acting out of love and hope even when we know our efforts may not matter at all in the long run. We can have hope that they will, but even if they matter only in the short run, haven't we given witness to the acts of love and hope that are transformative? If we can't do whatever needs to be done to create a permanent change, haven't our voices and actions mattered, at least in terms of how we have inspired others or even ourselves to do the next right thing?
Lately I've been open, again, to the deep conversations that have always sustained me. My father's death, my student's death, my mentors' deaths--they blocked me in some deep ways that I didn't really recognize until this summer, when people started showing up and longing for the same kinds of deep conversations I so desperately need to sustain myself. And so I have been having them. And even when they are heart-wrenching and take me to deep places where there are wells of pain I have not yet touched, I can come back to the surface and keep swimming--I don't stay there.
I am learning to be fully present, not just with these friends but also with my child, again. I can tell the difference--aggression is gone, and all our conversations are more real now, and I can more easily feel everything, without holding too tightly to any feeling. I am finding a way to work steadily on everything from my office's annual report to the ongoing search for resources without panicking about what will come next. Somehow when I'm able to be in this groundless place, I also make better decisions--about money, about how I spend my time, about how I set boundaries around what is and is not possible at work or home.
I'm in a good place even though there is so much transition, so much I can't control.
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