sorryless

There is no I in acceptance

Sorryless48 Comments

I remember the time I almost went mad in the middle of a beautiful day.

Everything went quiet, as if my brain was busy spinning the sounds into a dull series of thuds whose trespass became increasingly indecipherable to me. Simple conversations required a herculean effort. Words became pin pricks, sentences became wildly rampaging herds.

As far as anxiety attacks go, this fucker was ambitious, It went on this way for several hours with no real let up. There were ebbs, but it was mostly just a long and rolling flow of my heart beating out of my chest, my legs shaking as I walked, sweating as if I’d just gone for a run and shallow breathing.

I was working, which actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise because I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been home alone. So there I was, going just a little bit insane, in the middle of a beautiful day.

And nobody saw a thing.

That was my last serious anxiety attack, and it’s been three years since that day. Almost. I say this with a cautious respect for the goings on inside my brain. Because I know how things can change, in an instant. I know how a beautiful day can turn into a struggle not to drown. I am humbled, but I am also hopeful. Both.

When you learn yourself, truly learn yourself . . that’s when you grow. You can’t lie about it though. There’s no cheating to the process, hells no. You have to be bluntly honest in your appraisal. And then you have to do one of the hardest things known to man, woman and sometimes beast. It’s called acceptance. This is the sticky part of the label for a lot of peeps, because they confuse acceptance with resignation. And lemme tell you, the one ain’t the other. Being resigned to something is like wearing concrete boots, whereas accepting something is akin to running barefoot in a meadow. One is limiting, the other limitless.

You become you when you begin to see the character in your warts and the medals in your scars. You will find there is an extraordinary quality to just being who you are. You’ll find that your spirit becomes the same thing as water in that it finds a way. It’s all about moving in the direction of that little voice inside you; the sensible sounding voice . . not the one who sounds just like Keith Richards.

I find Zen in the passionate embrace of words, being there for a friend in need and volunteering my time to a cause I love. I find rhythm in a smile and a laugh and a kiss. I find music in the warble of restaurant conversations whose waves crash robustly on top of each other before dying in the mysterious foam. I find peace in climbing rock walls, long runs and carving black diamonds.

The flip side is a low down dirty shame who has ridden off into many a tenuously sublime sunset. I’ve laughed with the sinners when I didn’t feel like crying with the saints no more. Because the truth of it is, for every positive and healthy choice I’ve made over the course of my life, I’ve followed through on some really bad ideas.  I somehow managed to survive catastrophes of all shapes and sizes and flavors.

So that’s the thing right there. To not hold it against myself just because my cerebral cortex has been sweet talked into just as many bad ideas as good ones. Being true to yourself is a diet for the soul. It demands that you be accountable, disciplined and infinitely patient. When you rise up, be grateful. When you fall, learn from it.

Understand yourself as that old Tennessee Williams quote that goes, If I got rid of my demons, I’d lose my angels. I remember that one every time I think back to that beautiful day, three years ago.

Almost.

 

48 thoughts on “There is no I in acceptance”

  1. Really nicely written. I like the part ‘being true to yourself is a diet for the soul’. I think acceptance sort of means you acknowledge and accept the existence or the battle with ‘whatever’…it doesn’t mean the ‘whatever’ owns you. I think anyone who has a ‘whatever’ will identify with what you wrote here.

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  2. My last major panic attack was 13 years and two months ago, not that I’m counting. Anxiety and I are friends now. She helps me, when I let her, that is. Nothing worse than getting in your own way.

    Good thoughts here. And as for making not so great decisions, I think the Indigo Girls said this well, too: “At least we laugh about it now how we escaped alive. It’s remarkable the mess we make and what we can survive.”

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  6. This is beautifully written and deeply moving. I love what you wrote about the spirit and water I often feel water flowing all around inside me strange rivers and rivulets and ponds as well as wild oceans. Thanks for writing it. ❤

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    • Lily,

      Apologies for the lateness of this comment of yours (a fabulous one, by the way) showing up. It was in the spam folder for some reason. Well, all’s well that ends well. Thank you so much!

      Liked by 1 person

  12. Wise thoughtful words beautifully expressed. Yes, we should always be true to ourselves as it means being true to our souls. Couldn’t agree more with this: “When you rise up, be grateful. When you fall, learn from it.” This piece is wonderful writing with some lines of prose-poetry.

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    • Thank you MOMENTS!

      It was written from the dark recesses of a particularly difficult decision I had to make. Being fair to yourself and to someone you love doesn’t always work out the way you imagine it would.

      Thank you for the comment!

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  15. Beautiful writing! Your description of a panic attack is poetic. Now that’s a feat in itself, but you went on to a truly important lesson in life. And your metaphors are spot on. My own battle to accept myself and what life brings me is constant, and I have felt the concrete boots. But I step out of them when I choose what I can change and look for the good in the rest. And thanks for reassuring me that my anxiety attacks are not the full monty. just little reminders that life is harder for sensitive people.

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  16. Marco,

    While I have enjoyed jumping into your pool from the start, this particular post makes it the most worthwhile. You know I adore your writing, no matter what it is. I may have told you once or twenty times how much your honesty as you deliver prose too beautiful to ignore is what makes these all the more… more. Potent, powerful, honest. Like Leonard Cohen’s lyrics, quoted almost ad nauseum, but with good reason. Me, being me, goes for the whole stanza:

    Ring the bells that still can ring
    Forget your perfect offering
    There is a crack, a crack in everything
    That’s how the light gets in

    I won’t try to say I understand because I have not been blessed with panic attacks, though my sister thought hers was a heart attack and merited a ride in the ambulance, so I believe its intensity can be petrifying. I am so glad your last one was now four years ago and that this has been a gift of sorts because you can embrace all of yourself… a self I find particularly engaging.

    Dale

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