Looking out my Backdood: A recipe for failure

The other day I said, “I was worried that Jane (nearly 95 and frail) might not hold up during your special dinner at the restaurant.”

Immediately I was scolded, “No, no, no. Don’t say that. That is a negative thought. We don’t need negative thoughts. That is bad.”

Whoa on me. I was taken aback. And I felt uncomfortable. I hadn’t meant that I was immersed in worry, sending sure death pulsing into the Universe. I’d had a fleeting thought, perhaps improperly expressed, that my friends’ dinner go well, without being shortchanged by Jane’s needs.

Wondering from whence came my discomfort, because I don’t mind being scolded, I let the matter simmer. It flung me far back into my past when I was grabbing onto any idea which promised me the moon, life without pain and angst, riches, success, beauty and life forever, O Queen.

That era of my life was a miserable, terrifying time, for which I am grateful to no end. Without the horrors, miseries and terrors, I would never have been given the gifts to help me turn my life around. I am grateful.

I learned that no matter how hard I tried to stuff the painful and negative aspects of that time into a box and bury them, they refused to stay underground but insisted on staring me in the face until such time I got the courage to deal with them. Courage and grace and tools and self-discipline.

I learned that when I “thought” something to be the most horrible thing that could happen in my life, often it was the greatest gift. I simply had to wait for the gift to unveil itself. Was this easy? Was this fun? Heck, no. I got nowhere by saying to myself, this is negative so I refuse to think about it.

I also learned that making real changes in my life took much more than positive thoughts. It took action. I had to make a decision and put it into action.

Each one of these prickly gifts, and lucky me, I was gifted a lot, helped me to turn my life from pain and misery and depression to a pretty dang good life, one with a lot of friends and laughter. I could tell you some stories, believe me.

I like to liken life to a battery. A battery has both positive and negative poles and both are necessary for the battery to work.

I learned to be grateful when an event, situation or imagination, hit me upside the head. Learned to be grateful and wait until I could see what the box really held. ’Twarn’t easy. I am no judge of what is positive and what is negative.

For my friend, maybe her “positivity” works, but for me, I can’t buy into “If I only think positive thoughts, I will only have positive results.” Like I said, I tried.

Contrary to what I just said, I also believe that thoughts are important. They matter. Thoughts contain energy. They add to the collective unconscious.

I am very human. I have negative thoughts. Mean and evil thoughts. Ugly thoughts. Critical thoughts. Worries. Along with kind and loving and generous thoughts. Human. The thing is, I’ve also learned which ones to hang onto. I choose which ones to feed and nurture. It’s not easy. That self-discipline-action thing again.

I have help. Or Help, if you prefer. I tap into that Help frequently. My Help comes in various forms, including when from the trenches, I desperately cry out, “Oh, God, I need help.”

Most of the time Help comes in human form. You. My friends. My enemies. Or a cloud. Or a tree. Or a giant philodendron leaf larger than a turkey platter, the most beautiful leaf I’ve ever seen that stopped me in my tracks. Or a rock. Or a scent. A sound. A touch from my dog. Or when I stub my toe on the metal screen door.

My battery is working. Both poles. When I tried to have only good, pure, sweet positive thoughts, I only got into more trouble. Maybe it works for you. Celebrate what works.

For me, it felt good to sluff off that need to be perfect, thinking only good thoughts, at which I was an abject failure.

My friend perceived my words as negative. To me, I was expressing that I cared. I cared about my elderly friend, and I cared that my friends have a good dinner together.

We are not all born on the same page. We don’t all need the same lessons. Maybe even I can learn to say “I care” instead of “I worry”.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].