Loss: The hurtful condition of having lost something or someone.
So my sponsor makes the much deserved and much desired transition from Here to The Big Meeting In The Sky. My mother passes peacefully as well, not six hours later.
Freaky. Not a day I'll forget soon.
I'm upset in a diffuse way but not devastated although I'm sure that things will intensify once I'm boots-on-the-ground in The Old City. I got to talk for many hours with Ken as his cancer made its grim march through his major organ systems. He was at peace and ready to move on . I learned a great deal and grew a great deal spiritually during this process, talking openly about death and dying and love and what comes next. One of my greatest life adventures. It just goes to show me that I can always be passing along a spiritual message no matter what my circumstances are.
My mama suffered a devastating injury from which she never really recovered. I didn't get to speak a single word with her after this event but I knew she was pain-free, spiritually and emotionally secure. She had been having many small ischemic events over the last few months and I worried about her long term well-being - I believe the choice wasn't going to be between recovery and death but somewhere more shadowy and indistinct. I don't think anyone wants to hang on in a nursing home, greatly diminished. That being said her passing on may have been a blessing in disguise.
Ken went to a lot of funerals for other residents of his retirement community. I commented on this once and he replied: "You know, Seaweed, at my age there are a lot more funerals than christenings."
I'll feel the loss of both of these people and I'll feel the loss in different ways.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Always With The Loopholes
Seemingly: To appearances; apparently.
I rang up Willie the other day to go over my behavior and my motives with my family - as usual, he was mildly helpful, probably because he had drifted off somewhere nicer when I was talking. Tit for tat, so to speak. Our conversation included a discussion of my near-death sponsor and I was taken aback when he said that he would pray for him. Funny, this Program: I talk all the time to profane, irreverent guys, picking apart the world in venomous detail, but not really meaning it deep down inside. Still, I'm sometimes surprised when the real Willie or LWSJ or Seaweed comes out. I don't know why this is - we're all working good Programs which means we're doing things that run counter to our way-cool outer personas.
"Of course, the guy prays," I thought. "Why would I assume anything but?"
Nobody asks me to talk for months and then this week I give a full hour lead, help out on a panel at a recovery house, and am on tap to kick things off with a 5 minute talk at both my Wed and Sat meetings. I figure I'm so spiritual that I'm becoming a charismatic presence all over Vacation City or I'm so fucked up that people are doing whatever they can to get me to meetings.
I read from the books. I can't imagine that anyone wants to listen to me pour over the excruciating minutiae of my boring life for more than 30 seconds.
Here's what's on tap for tonight, right outta the book:
"Or, if my disturbance was seemingly caused by the behavior of others, why do I lack the ability to accept conditions I cannot change?" (Ed. Note: love the use of "seemingly." Even our founders were looking for a loophole).
"The moment we ponder a broken or twisted relationship with another person, our emotions go on the defensive. To escape looking at the wrongs we have done another, we resentfully focus on the wrong he has done us. . . . Let's remember that alcoholics are not the only ones bedeviled by sick emotions."
"Finally we begin to see that all people, including ourselves, are to some extent emotionally ill as well as frequently wrong, and then we approach true tolerance and see what real love for our fellows actually means."
All good stuff, yeah.
I rang up Willie the other day to go over my behavior and my motives with my family - as usual, he was mildly helpful, probably because he had drifted off somewhere nicer when I was talking. Tit for tat, so to speak. Our conversation included a discussion of my near-death sponsor and I was taken aback when he said that he would pray for him. Funny, this Program: I talk all the time to profane, irreverent guys, picking apart the world in venomous detail, but not really meaning it deep down inside. Still, I'm sometimes surprised when the real Willie or LWSJ or Seaweed comes out. I don't know why this is - we're all working good Programs which means we're doing things that run counter to our way-cool outer personas.
"Of course, the guy prays," I thought. "Why would I assume anything but?"
Nobody asks me to talk for months and then this week I give a full hour lead, help out on a panel at a recovery house, and am on tap to kick things off with a 5 minute talk at both my Wed and Sat meetings. I figure I'm so spiritual that I'm becoming a charismatic presence all over Vacation City or I'm so fucked up that people are doing whatever they can to get me to meetings.
I read from the books. I can't imagine that anyone wants to listen to me pour over the excruciating minutiae of my boring life for more than 30 seconds.
Here's what's on tap for tonight, right outta the book:
"Or, if my disturbance was seemingly caused by the behavior of others, why do I lack the ability to accept conditions I cannot change?" (Ed. Note: love the use of "seemingly." Even our founders were looking for a loophole).
"The moment we ponder a broken or twisted relationship with another person, our emotions go on the defensive. To escape looking at the wrongs we have done another, we resentfully focus on the wrong he has done us. . . . Let's remember that alcoholics are not the only ones bedeviled by sick emotions."
"Finally we begin to see that all people, including ourselves, are to some extent emotionally ill as well as frequently wrong, and then we approach true tolerance and see what real love for our fellows actually means."
All good stuff, yeah.
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Don't Wanna Go
I was rehashing my non-decision to do or not do something or the other regarding my family back in The Old City because it's what we drunks do: rehash things endlessly. I noticed that one of my big justifications was the money I'd have to spend and I thought: "It's enough with the money already." I realized that the money, while not to be discounted, is a subterfuge for the real reason that I'm not on a plane right now: I don't want to go. If I wanted to go I'd spend the money.
That being said there's this: I AM careful with my money and it IS a relatively expensive trip to get back to The Old City which, for some incomprehensible reason, has very high fares in the middle of the winter. This line of thought is OK - not totally commendable but understandable, reasonable. Then we get into the subcutaneous stuff, the resentment stuff - my family has never come out here; my family doesn't offer to chip in when I go back there; my family won't pick me up at the airport or drop me off for my return flight unless it's damn convenient for them, leaving me to foot the bill for cars and hotels and the like.
Not trusting my own ability to think like an adult I have been bouncing all of this off my friends in recovery who, for some reason - the bastards - aren't telling me what to do. I never realized how annoying it is to tell someone that you have faith that they'll handle a sticky situation appropriately. I guess the acid test for me is that I'm at peace with my relationship with my sponsor and I'm at peace with my relationships with my family. This doesn't mean I can't act better or keep learning but that I'm doing the best I can with what I've got at this moment in time.
That being said there's this: I AM careful with my money and it IS a relatively expensive trip to get back to The Old City which, for some incomprehensible reason, has very high fares in the middle of the winter. This line of thought is OK - not totally commendable but understandable, reasonable. Then we get into the subcutaneous stuff, the resentment stuff - my family has never come out here; my family doesn't offer to chip in when I go back there; my family won't pick me up at the airport or drop me off for my return flight unless it's damn convenient for them, leaving me to foot the bill for cars and hotels and the like.
Not trusting my own ability to think like an adult I have been bouncing all of this off my friends in recovery who, for some reason - the bastards - aren't telling me what to do. I never realized how annoying it is to tell someone that you have faith that they'll handle a sticky situation appropriately. I guess the acid test for me is that I'm at peace with my relationship with my sponsor and I'm at peace with my relationships with my family. This doesn't mean I can't act better or keep learning but that I'm doing the best I can with what I've got at this moment in time.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Conundrum Time
Suffering: A state of pain or distress.
Last rites for my sponsor yesterday. Mom, released from the ICU to a nursing facility associated with her retirement home, promptly falls and breaks her hip, and is back in the hospital. My sister sent a note saying that she's really out of it and that the medical personnel aren't sure if this is an adverse reaction to the anesthesia or a symptom of a permanent condition. She may be too old and too weak to snap out of it.
I'm not thrilled by any of this news. This is part and parcel of the uncomfortable stuff that we have to put up with whether we want to or not, and I'm in a place where I can deal with it reasonably. My sponsor is a piece of cake - we've had a few months to talk about death and dying from soup to nuts so I'm in a good place with him. Sad but no regrets. He knows that I'm not making the long trip back when he does die and I'm sure he would've told me not to come if I had asked.
My family, however, is a different perplexity altogether. It's a long and expensive trip to a place in the grip of a cold winter and, as I've made clear, I'm not thick as thieves with these people. I love them and I want to be supportive but it's not like they're right down the block and it's not like they made any effort to stay in touch when I was right down the block. Or, to quote Little Westside Jonny: "It's not like we can just jump on a bus and get out of here."
I put together a few tortured notes to my sister this morning trying to get across the idea that I'd like to come home once, if possible: now, to help out, or after my mother dies, if that's indeed in the offing, no sure thing. I'm telling you that it was one tortured, bullshit note after another - I sounded whiny or defensive or uninterested, sometimes all at once. I got precisely none of these notes cleared by my Public Editor, SuperK. She wasn't trying to be mean; she was really trying to help but nothing sounded good at all.
I settled on this: "What can I do to help?"
I then called my Vacation City sponsor - soon to be known simply as "my sponsor" - and I called Willie so that I could bounce this bullshit off a couple of trusted, disinterested parties. They recognized the conundrum; they validated my behavior; they wished me good luck. As it should be: I'm not looking for someone to make my decisions for me but rather to help me make sure my behavior is not too crappy. I want to be able to look back at whatever I decide to do with no regrets.
I like this line from our literature: "Until now, our lives had been largely devoted to running from pain and problems. We never wanted to deal with the fact of suffering."
Last rites for my sponsor yesterday. Mom, released from the ICU to a nursing facility associated with her retirement home, promptly falls and breaks her hip, and is back in the hospital. My sister sent a note saying that she's really out of it and that the medical personnel aren't sure if this is an adverse reaction to the anesthesia or a symptom of a permanent condition. She may be too old and too weak to snap out of it.
I'm not thrilled by any of this news. This is part and parcel of the uncomfortable stuff that we have to put up with whether we want to or not, and I'm in a place where I can deal with it reasonably. My sponsor is a piece of cake - we've had a few months to talk about death and dying from soup to nuts so I'm in a good place with him. Sad but no regrets. He knows that I'm not making the long trip back when he does die and I'm sure he would've told me not to come if I had asked.
My family, however, is a different perplexity altogether. It's a long and expensive trip to a place in the grip of a cold winter and, as I've made clear, I'm not thick as thieves with these people. I love them and I want to be supportive but it's not like they're right down the block and it's not like they made any effort to stay in touch when I was right down the block. Or, to quote Little Westside Jonny: "It's not like we can just jump on a bus and get out of here."
I put together a few tortured notes to my sister this morning trying to get across the idea that I'd like to come home once, if possible: now, to help out, or after my mother dies, if that's indeed in the offing, no sure thing. I'm telling you that it was one tortured, bullshit note after another - I sounded whiny or defensive or uninterested, sometimes all at once. I got precisely none of these notes cleared by my Public Editor, SuperK. She wasn't trying to be mean; she was really trying to help but nothing sounded good at all.
I settled on this: "What can I do to help?"
I then called my Vacation City sponsor - soon to be known simply as "my sponsor" - and I called Willie so that I could bounce this bullshit off a couple of trusted, disinterested parties. They recognized the conundrum; they validated my behavior; they wished me good luck. As it should be: I'm not looking for someone to make my decisions for me but rather to help me make sure my behavior is not too crappy. I want to be able to look back at whatever I decide to do with no regrets.
I like this line from our literature: "Until now, our lives had been largely devoted to running from pain and problems. We never wanted to deal with the fact of suffering."
Sunday, February 22, 2015
CONSTRUCTIVE Criticism
Criticize: To find fault. (Ed. Note: That definition gets down to business, real quick like.)
So I gave a lead last night, or I qualified or told my story: what it was like, what happened, and what it's like now. As a general rule I'm not a big fan of speaker meetings - I can barely stay focused when I'm speaking, a fact that doesn't speak well to my ability to pay attention when other people are speaking. One of the great rules of writing is you are not nearly as interesting to others as you are to yourself. I think I dozed off a couple of times on my feet last night. Why someone would voluntarily come to what could be a perfectly good meeting to listen to someone drone on and on about themselves is beyond my ability to comprehend. Plus, the meeting started at 8:30 which is past my bedtime although they had cake AND cookies.
I gave my little spiel and sat down. A few people thanked me for talking but most just drifted out, on to live their lives, as they should - I'm under no illusion that what I say is any better or any worse than anyone else. We're drunks, not professional speakers or comedians working out their bits. The first speaker was a young woman with just a little sobriety, clearly very nervous, and she was great which speaks to the fact that it's not the length of sobriety - it's the quality that matters.
A dude I know somewhat came over and, without preliminaries, criticized my effort. He started out by saying that I needed speak more loudly which stopped me in my tracks. I was literally speechless. I have a big voice and I've been criticized many, many times for talking too loudly, never for not talking loud enough. This guy's a bit of a flake and his criticism was without venom but still, I can't ever remember being schooled on my lead. If I hear someone who really sucks as a speaker I still thank them. It's not easy to get up in front of a group of people and speak off the cuff for 45 minutes.
The assault continued. I had concentrated on my recovery and not on my exploits that led me to seek my recovery, using some of our literature to read a few sentences that have really spoke to me lately. My self-appointed mentor said that he had given a lead a few times using the same technique and blah, blah, blah, what people really want is to laugh. He shared an exchange we had a while back on family and said it made him laugh and that would have been a better approach.
I didn't try to explain that what might be appropriate in a more intimate setting might not be appropriate in front of a large group.
I put my arm around him.
"You know that I'm going to do whatever the hell I want?" I remarked.
"Oh, absolutely," he laughed.
So I gave a lead last night, or I qualified or told my story: what it was like, what happened, and what it's like now. As a general rule I'm not a big fan of speaker meetings - I can barely stay focused when I'm speaking, a fact that doesn't speak well to my ability to pay attention when other people are speaking. One of the great rules of writing is you are not nearly as interesting to others as you are to yourself. I think I dozed off a couple of times on my feet last night. Why someone would voluntarily come to what could be a perfectly good meeting to listen to someone drone on and on about themselves is beyond my ability to comprehend. Plus, the meeting started at 8:30 which is past my bedtime although they had cake AND cookies.
I gave my little spiel and sat down. A few people thanked me for talking but most just drifted out, on to live their lives, as they should - I'm under no illusion that what I say is any better or any worse than anyone else. We're drunks, not professional speakers or comedians working out their bits. The first speaker was a young woman with just a little sobriety, clearly very nervous, and she was great which speaks to the fact that it's not the length of sobriety - it's the quality that matters.
A dude I know somewhat came over and, without preliminaries, criticized my effort. He started out by saying that I needed speak more loudly which stopped me in my tracks. I was literally speechless. I have a big voice and I've been criticized many, many times for talking too loudly, never for not talking loud enough. This guy's a bit of a flake and his criticism was without venom but still, I can't ever remember being schooled on my lead. If I hear someone who really sucks as a speaker I still thank them. It's not easy to get up in front of a group of people and speak off the cuff for 45 minutes.
The assault continued. I had concentrated on my recovery and not on my exploits that led me to seek my recovery, using some of our literature to read a few sentences that have really spoke to me lately. My self-appointed mentor said that he had given a lead a few times using the same technique and blah, blah, blah, what people really want is to laugh. He shared an exchange we had a while back on family and said it made him laugh and that would have been a better approach.
I didn't try to explain that what might be appropriate in a more intimate setting might not be appropriate in front of a large group.
I put my arm around him.
"You know that I'm going to do whatever the hell I want?" I remarked.
"Oh, absolutely," he laughed.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Effulgency
Effulgent: Shining; resplendent; radiant (Ed. Note: I don't think I'm going to be able to get this word into the text today - I'm saying this upfront - but it's a great word that I looked up recently and if I don't use it real quick-like I'm going to lose it).
So I'm still trying to get my stomach, my bowels, and my sleep patterns back onto Vacation City time. My bounce-back-ability is not what it used to be. Oh yeah, and my Buddha-like, Zen-erific sense of calm and peace, an unflappability unheard of in the modern Western world, keeps dancing just out of reach.
I drove over to my favorite coffee shop yesterday to get a cup of overpriced specialty coffee. I pulled into a spot on a public street across from the shopping center and de-energized my engine, eschewing the parking lot. I do this sometimes - I have a dark car which I knew would bake in the hot sun and there are a few big shade trees on the verge of this street.
As I get out of the car the front door of an apartment nearby opens and a woman says: "Are you going over to the shopping center?"
I knew this wasn't going to lead anywhere that I wanted to go.
"Yes," I replied politely, eschewing my initial inclination to say something along the lines of "Fuck is to you?"
"Then you need to park over there," she said.
I paused. (Ed Note: "Nothing pays off like restraint of tongue and pen. We must avoid quick-tempered criticism and furious, power-driven argument." Go look it up.)
"Really?" I said, dubiousness dripping from my sulking and silently scornful lips.
"Oh, yeah," she replied.
"I don't think so, " I said. "This is a public street." (Ed. Note: My brain was trying to relay a message down to my mouth along the lines of "Shut the fuck up" but it was being derailed by my Id or something effulgent like that).
I don't recall whether she spoke again or not but fortunately my brain managed to get a message that at least approached reasonability down to my mouth.
"I'll move," I said. "I don't have any problem moving (Ed. Note: Big lie there. Big, big lie.) but I really think you're wrong."
I swear to god she didn't say anything else but clasped her hands together and began nodding in a vaguely "Namaste" fashion.
"This is a public street - I really think you're wrong," I said again, uselessly, redundantly, my mouth trying to seize control back from my brain - you'd think the brain would be in the superior position considering it's dealing with the mouth but you'd be wrong a lot of the time. I was so right and I wanted credit for my magnanimous gesture.
I moved the car. I was under a Boil Watch for a half hour or so but the heat got turned down.
When I left I noted that there was no car in my vacated spot. And that the sun had shifted so that my car would have been in the full sun.
So I'm still trying to get my stomach, my bowels, and my sleep patterns back onto Vacation City time. My bounce-back-ability is not what it used to be. Oh yeah, and my Buddha-like, Zen-erific sense of calm and peace, an unflappability unheard of in the modern Western world, keeps dancing just out of reach.
I drove over to my favorite coffee shop yesterday to get a cup of overpriced specialty coffee. I pulled into a spot on a public street across from the shopping center and de-energized my engine, eschewing the parking lot. I do this sometimes - I have a dark car which I knew would bake in the hot sun and there are a few big shade trees on the verge of this street.
As I get out of the car the front door of an apartment nearby opens and a woman says: "Are you going over to the shopping center?"
I knew this wasn't going to lead anywhere that I wanted to go.
"Yes," I replied politely, eschewing my initial inclination to say something along the lines of "Fuck is to you?"
"Then you need to park over there," she said.
I paused. (Ed Note: "Nothing pays off like restraint of tongue and pen. We must avoid quick-tempered criticism and furious, power-driven argument." Go look it up.)
"Really?" I said, dubiousness dripping from my sulking and silently scornful lips.
"Oh, yeah," she replied.
"I don't think so, " I said. "This is a public street." (Ed. Note: My brain was trying to relay a message down to my mouth along the lines of "Shut the fuck up" but it was being derailed by my Id or something effulgent like that).
I don't recall whether she spoke again or not but fortunately my brain managed to get a message that at least approached reasonability down to my mouth.
"I'll move," I said. "I don't have any problem moving (Ed. Note: Big lie there. Big, big lie.) but I really think you're wrong."
I swear to god she didn't say anything else but clasped her hands together and began nodding in a vaguely "Namaste" fashion.
"This is a public street - I really think you're wrong," I said again, uselessly, redundantly, my mouth trying to seize control back from my brain - you'd think the brain would be in the superior position considering it's dealing with the mouth but you'd be wrong a lot of the time. I was so right and I wanted credit for my magnanimous gesture.
I moved the car. I was under a Boil Watch for a half hour or so but the heat got turned down.
When I left I noted that there was no car in my vacated spot. And that the sun had shifted so that my car would have been in the full sun.
Monday, February 16, 2015
More Skin Matters
So I'm dealing with my sponsor and I get a message from my sister that my mother is in the hospital and is not doing all that well. I'm dealing with that and I get a note from an ancient friend that his 28 year old son has some kind of weird cancer and the prognosis is muddled at best.
I wonder: Do I go home immediately in case my mother dies? Or do I gamble that isn't the case and wait a bit? I don't want to make the long trip home if the situation isn't dire but I don't want to miss a chance to see her one more time if it is. And what about seeing my sponsor again? Or providing some kind of emotional support to a friend?
It's amazing that I just spent some time mulling over the "comfortable in my own skin" concept right as this shit hits the fan. I can say that I'm at peace with the state of my relationships with all of these people. Isn't that a miracle? I can say that I'm at peace with ALL of my relationships. I don't mean to imply that these relationships are all tip-top and in fine mettle or that all of these people are fine with me, only that I approve of my own behavior. I'm confident that I'll make a reasonable decision that will enable me to sleep well at night. I'm not saying that I'll please everyone else but that's the way the cookie crumbles, whatever that means. I can't say I'm heavily in favor of any aphorism that involves the destruction of cookies.
What follows is my half of some emailing back and forth with my ancient friend. I found it amazingly hard trying to convey how powerful a force my spiritual life is in my temporal life to someone who I don't think has a rich spiritual practice of their own, and I also wanted to tread lightly: nothing worse than some hipster dufus preaching from atop a dubious spiritual hilltop of his own construct to someone else who's in pain.
Note Number One:
"I'm not going to open up my email or text messages any more - my mom went to Good Sam last night with a brain bleed leading to pressure up in the skull which is affecting the brain stem. Prognosis not so hot. That on top of my AA sponsor of 25 years who had prostate cancer move into his blood and now into his bone. Prognosis absolutely evil. And now this.
I wonder: Do I go home immediately in case my mother dies? Or do I gamble that isn't the case and wait a bit? I don't want to make the long trip home if the situation isn't dire but I don't want to miss a chance to see her one more time if it is. And what about seeing my sponsor again? Or providing some kind of emotional support to a friend?
It's amazing that I just spent some time mulling over the "comfortable in my own skin" concept right as this shit hits the fan. I can say that I'm at peace with the state of my relationships with all of these people. Isn't that a miracle? I can say that I'm at peace with ALL of my relationships. I don't mean to imply that these relationships are all tip-top and in fine mettle or that all of these people are fine with me, only that I approve of my own behavior. I'm confident that I'll make a reasonable decision that will enable me to sleep well at night. I'm not saying that I'll please everyone else but that's the way the cookie crumbles, whatever that means. I can't say I'm heavily in favor of any aphorism that involves the destruction of cookies.
What follows is my half of some emailing back and forth with my ancient friend. I found it amazingly hard trying to convey how powerful a force my spiritual life is in my temporal life to someone who I don't think has a rich spiritual practice of their own, and I also wanted to tread lightly: nothing worse than some hipster dufus preaching from atop a dubious spiritual hilltop of his own construct to someone else who's in pain.
Note Number One:
"I'm not going to open up my email or text messages any more - my mom went to Good Sam last night with a brain bleed leading to pressure up in the skull which is affecting the brain stem. Prognosis not so hot. That on top of my AA sponsor of 25 years who had prostate cancer move into his blood and now into his bone. Prognosis absolutely evil. And now this.
Words are hard to come by and this to a man who rarely is at a loss for words. . . .
My clumsy attempts at gaining some spiritual perspective on life would have me suggest how important it is to stay in the moment. I have a tendency to project out into the uncontrollable future where I imagine terrible things happening when the fact of the matter is that all I have is right now. All I can do is what's in front of me, take the next step, do the next right thing, the next indicated thing. I don't think I've learned a more powerful truth than One Day At A Time. This helped me stay sober initially but now I find it to be so applicable to life itself - don't forget to be grateful for what I've got, not to be afraid of what I can lose, secure in the knowledge that in this sometimes hard life I will endure and I will see the reason behind everything, both good and bad. I'm not going to escape life's travails and I'm not going to get shut out of life's pleasures.
I hope this sounds OK. It comes from a man who loves you like a brother. Maybe go (I almost said "outside;" Christ, it's almost 80 here today) into a quiet room and sit with your thoughts, listen to your breathing, listen to the small,still voice reassure that, in the end, all will be well.
Note Number Two, in reply:
"Whew. I'm glad this was rec'd in the spirit in which it was sent. Generalized spiritual platitudes can fall flat when someone is in The Shit. One of the hardest things I have to do in The Fellowship is to discuss with someone new how to persevere through the troubles they're inevitably and justifiably going through - the blow-back is "Sure, what do you know ? Everything's going fine for you . . . " etc etc etc. At least in my recovery I've been where the newcomer is so I can speak with some perspective. Having a child get a tough diagnosis? Out of my league. Whatever you're going through is beyond my scope. Hang in there.
One of my little tricks is to keep something I call a Crisis List. I write down whatever and whenever something is bothering me, put in a dash, and then jot down the action I think I should take. About half the time I'm upset because I'm not doing something I should be doing and about half the time I've done everything I can and I just need to wait and see what god's plan is. The latter is MUCH harder - I think as men and as high-achieving, Type A personalities our first impulse is to take an action! Solve something!! when the fact of the matter is we don't have that much power. I once read that: "All action is easier than calm waiting."
Indeed.
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