Because It Hurts to Argue with Reality

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It Hurts to Argue with Reality

It Hurts to Argue with Reality

Every day, I wake up grateful, yet I’m still shocked at times by the recognition of how entrenched that habit of dread is in me. Despite countless mornings of immediately affirming, “Thank you for everything, I have no complaints whatsoever,” my heart doesn’t immediately open as my eyes flutter awake.  I have to look for goodness.  I have to remind myself of how loved I am and how blessed I am. I have to remember not to argue with reality. I have to pray to find my way back to gratitude.  My mind wants to go to what’s wrong instead of latching on to what’s right.  Appearances are so seductive.  The nearly empty bank account wants to pull me into fear.

I’m having none of it, because I know how the Universe works.  I am not derailed by my thoughts, particularly not the ones that lie to me.  I think of Byron Katie and remember that life is so much easier when you love what is.

“I am a lover of what is, not because I’m a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I argue with reality.”     ~ Byron Katie

Yesterday, I had paperwork I needed to overnight for a house I have under contract.  I had all the signatures and docs I needed to host a bon voyage party, save one: the document proving it was a cash deal.  My clients have a line of credit they are using to purchase the property, but the only document I had proving their possession of adequate funds was a letter stating the loan was being processed.  An intention to process, not an “it’s a done deal” doc.  Nothing concrete.

They have closed. The line of credit has been approved, but I had no proof of that.

I won’t bore you with all the details, but suffice it to say that the actual line-of-credit owner is the dad and he is in his mid-eighties.  When I was gathering signatures on Saturday, I tried to impress upon him an understanding of what would be needed but he wasn’t particularly interested in listening.

Bitch that I am, I sicced his son on him.  Maybe he could get through to his dad that this time-sensitive package was missing an essential component.

In the end, I mailed it in without the correct proof of funds document.  I couldn’t wait any longer.  It was a five hour exercise in patience.

But I wasn’t the challenged party.  While it might have been nice to mail the thing at 10:30 rather than 3:30, from my perspective, all it really did was give me space to write.  I wasn’t the least bit flustered by being allowed to park my butt on my loveseat instead of venturing out to the UPS store.  For the son, however, it was a different story.

We texted and spoke many times during those five hours.  He was trying not to make his dad feel incompetent.  I get it.  My own parents are hardly spring chickens and my father who was always quite tech savvy is ninety.  Technology evolves faster than his learning curve.  Who am I fooling?  It evolves faster than MY learning curve.  It’s not that I am incapable of learning this shit; it’s more an unwillingness on my part to invest the energy into figuring it out, as witnessed by my not yet completed website repairs.  The shit hit the fan once I changed servers and I am nowhere close to done with learning all that I need to learn to fix all its deficits.

Not arguing with reality takes patience.  It takes acceptance.  Some days it takes actually waving a white flag because it takes more than I have to give.  Or so I think.  Yesterday, my patience was devoted to being a loving space for my clients.  My role, and I understood it early on, was to demonstrate what acceptance looks like; to show the son how to muster patience for his father by remembering his compassion for this man who has trouble with his computer a lot of time, this man who loves him; this proud man who is trying to help him.  It takes surrendering to whatever is happening.

It hurts to argue with reality.

Somedays things just don’t unfold the way I think they ought to, yet mostly, I don’t find it overly challenging.  Usually I can just go with it.  I know I don’t know what anything is for.

I am grateful for my faith.  I feel sorry for people like my son who want to fight what is happening; who insist upon arguing with reality, as Byron Katie puts it. What’s happening is happening.  You can either go along for the ride and look for the blessings, or decide you hate it and be miserable.

As I write this, my husband is in the other room blowing a gasket because the some lawyers are acting like they haven’t received the documents we hand-delivered to them three weeks ago. I remind myself that even this is perfect.  Even this is unfolding in divine right order.  I let him be upset.  I stay calm. I breathe in peace.

Outside, the air is sweet with the scent of rain.  Autumn presses at the edges of the days.  Life is good when I stop to notice.  In letting go of the argument I ask what is to come in.  We sit down together.  We love one another.  We dance.

Namaste, my friends, Namaste.

Don't believe your thoughts

Don’t believe your thoughts


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