An act of faith

In the middle of a weeklong visit from their daughter, her husband, and their delightful little girl, our beloved neighbors received word that their son had been rushed to the hospital with heart failure and might not live through his surgery.

So they are now gathered at the opposite corner of the country, holding a so-far-productive vigil at a hospital in Florida, and we are minding their garden, enjoying their peas and nasturtiums (which respond so well to these misty mornings we've been having lately), and holding their son and the whole family in our prayers.

Times like these are so challenging.  Life is full of the unexpected and the unpredictable -- some of it pleasant, and some of it not so pleasant -- and, because most of us find that terrifying,  each of us, over time, tends to develop a whole mess of sort of superstitious strategies for dealing with that. 

My strategy has always been a bit different from my husband's: he believes the correct approach is to "expect the best; prepare for the worst."  I'm good at the preparing part of that, but not so good at the expecting part.  I'm good at HOPING for the best, but mostly I'm too busy worrying to claim I actually EXPECT the best -- worrying is part of how I prepare for the worst; I keep sifting through all the possible negative outcomes to be sure I'm prepared for each of them.

Which is another reason, I suspect, that I found improv class so challenging: because you simply cannot prepare for what's about to come your way.  Your best preparation -- really -- is to be fully present to what is: the moment you take your eye off what IS to prepare for what you might do or say, something will arise that you had not -- and couldn't possibly have -- anticipated, and then, there you are, all ready to speak a prepared piece that has absolutely nothing to do with what is actually going on.

Patricia Ryan Madson, in her delicious gem of a book, Improv Wisdom, reassures us with these loving words of faith:  "When the human heart has something to say, saying it is always timely.  Improvisers always speak without a plan.  Discover the freedom that comes when you trust that you have what you need."  Reading this, I can begin to see why I love photography and blogging so much: it's really an act of faith.  Photography, for me, is simply a response to what is: it keeps me fully in the present.  And the blog -- though you could say I prepare for it by reading and meditating -- is really never prepared in advance: it is simply a response to whatever photo seems to present itself that morning.  Though I may go into the process with some base assumptions and biases, there's always a chance they'll get flipped completely on their ears by what emerges when I commune with the photo.

And I LOVE that -- because it feels like I am not in control.  Which -- in this case, at least -- I like, because I feel the universe is far wiser than I am about what might need to be said at any given moment.  So the blog is my daily act of trust; and I trust and hope that in allowing it to shape itself I am building habits of trust that will slowly begin to replicate themselves in other areas of my life; those places where I still have this overwhelming urge to control and prepare.

Madson has wonderful advice for folks like me:

•  Give up planning.  Drop the habit of thinking ahead.
•  Attend carefully to what is happening right now.
•  Allow yourself to be surprised.
•  Stockpiling ideas for future use is unnecessary.
•  Trust your imagination.
•  Welcome whatever floats into your mind.
• Fear is a matter of misplaced attention.  Focus on redirecting it.

Okay. Well then -- good luck with that!