About Inner Peace...

At my husband’s recommendation, I’m reading the best-seller The Untethered Soul by Michael Singer.  It’s a book about establishing inner peace. Since the Universe has a great sense of humor, yes, that means all sort of s##t is has come flying at me from all directions since I started reading about inner peace.
 
The book urges us to stop resisting what is. Accept. I like that idea. The gist is that to feel peace, we need to relax and let energy pass through us. Do not push events away/deny or cling to them, but just simply be present, witnessing and experiencing things as life taking place. It is our need to fix and control that stresses us out, because, he says, it’s impossible to do either. Singer emphasizes that events belong to the moment, not to us.
 
On further reflection, it sounds a tad hippie utopian, like we should just check out and sing the Beatles “Let it Be”. Sure, there’s wisdom in that song, but aren’t we here to make a difference, to act against so much evil in the world? Didn’t the Holocaust happen precisely because people “let it be”? Singer says we can deal with events first by taking away our fear and desire because they block our energy. We need to see things not as problems, but simply as stepping stones on our spiritual journey. This is where I am reminded that those monks who achieve such enlightenment have no children.
 
Realistically, fear and desire are pretty much the meat in a job search sandwich, not that monks search for jobs either. During my husband’s five-month stint of ongoing unemployment, he has come super super super close to three more jobs since I last blogged.
 
So if I am to observe our unemployment from a place of no desire or fear, instead of feeling peace, I feel anger. For there is a new trend: ghosting. Apparently, ghosting is the new black. Remember how 20 years ago, all the kids got trophies just for showing up? Well, these kids are now in the work force. “Rejection” is not a concept they remotely recognize. So should they want to “go in a different direction” (even after multiple rounds and hours of interviews) they actually tell you, “We’ll be in touch!” You believe them, send the heartfelt thank you email and believe they’ll “be in touch”. Then they NEVER contact you again. Not a reply (or God forbid, feedback!), or even a polite email acknowledging your connection, or a thank you for your time. This has happened with jobs in Arizona, in California, even from the Governor’s office in New Mexico after three hours of meetings. It’s the rage.
 
I even got ghosted by one of my oldest friend’s cousins, a recruiter in Boston whose marketing person told Jory he was “perfect for a job” and then asked for $350 to submit his resume. The cousin had been responsive until I told her I genuinely wanted to understand what the charge was for….and…..then (wait for it) she ghosted me.
 
Ghosting is flat out inconsiderate, entitled, rude. It implies that you do not even merit the dignity of a reply. It leaves you checking your phone and email for days hoping for some reply, some explanation, some closure. After all, the hardest part when someone goes missing is the uncertainty. You have hope, and this hope keeps you on pins and needles. When you learn the missing person is dead, at least you can begin closure, and ultimately move on. Not that death is easy, as I keep getting reminded….
 
So yeah, remember how I’m reading this book on inner peace, trying to not get sucked in to life’s drama? Mmm hmmm.  Three days ago, the American Embassy in Rome calls Jory. They ask him if he has a minute for an urgent matter. Is it a scam? No, they need to speak with him as the emergency contact on his father Gary’s passport. It is “The Call”.  Gary was just killed a few hours ago in a freeway accident. Jory’s stepmother (who has no kids) was in a hospital. They had no other information at this time, but will call him “the moment they do”.
 
Shock.
 
Gary was in Italy? Gary was dead?
 
From online Italian news reports, we learned that an American tourist (later identified as Gary Rosen) had been a passenger in a van of ten people and had been hit by a truck that transports cars. Kind of like a mac truck - wait - what? People can actually get hit by a mac truck? The shock keeps coming. The crash was so bad that 118 emergency personnel responded. Gary had been killed instantly, and four people (Jory’s stepmother among them) were airlifted to a hospital in Rome. An investigation is ongoing.
 
Horrific.
 
Yesterday, crickets from the Embassy. Were they ghosting us? Jory called them to find out how and where his stepmother is. We got bureaucracy at its finest: because Jory was his father’s emergency contact, but NOT his stepmother’s, the Embassy won’t share information about her. Not even what hospital she’s in. The argument that she is a shell-shocked widow alone in a hospital in a foreign country who would probably like to hear from her dead husband’s only child made no sense to them.
 
The violent departure of a soul, intentional or not, is seismic. It’s traumatic. If someone in your family has died violently, the trauma singes your soul. It’s different from other deaths - some of which can actually transform you even more. But the shock from a violent death is scalding.
 
Here we are, a continent away, and processing. In the days since learning the news, I’ve been late to work meetings, forgetful of emails, neglectful of work, missed my street turns – and it’s not even my father! How my husband is managing to put one foot in front of the other, let alone continue to send out resumes and take interviews, I have no idea. None. It's surreal. Life in Albuquerque looks the same, but his family has forever changed.
 
Again, you can chant along with the Beatles “Jai guru deva om, nothing’s gonna change my world”, but things change. All the time. And the more you don’t change with them, the harder life gets.
 
Instead, my mind goes to the vibrant frenetic sounds of Bono: “I’m ready. I’m ready for the laughing gas. I’m ready, I’m ready for what’s next.” It’s the sound of acceptance, of showing up.
 
I carry this exuberant song in my mind partly because my cousin Jenny took me to the brilliant Achtung Baby at the Sphere right before Halloween. This song of acceptance now carries terrific memories. Jenny and I had last seen each other at my parents’ memorial, and the time before that at her father’s funeral. So, it was overdue that we meet in a place like Vegas to have FUN. We were on the Floor, right next to the stage, dancing and singing and laughing, drinking in a feast for the senses. The band sounds amazing, partially because they accept where they are. Since all members are in their 60s, the running, falling to the knees, and backbends of the last Achtung Baby tour are gone. Now, they simply stand and sing, and let the Sphere do the work. And it works.
 
As for the inner peace…well, it’s certainly a journey, and a long one at that.

I think the best we can do is find serenity in acceptance, in gratitude, in joy, in friendships, in writing and, let's face it, in good chocolate and wine. For, as I was reminded this week, tomorrow is not guaranteed.
 
Happy Thanksgiving.