As children, we are taught in absolutes.
Good or bad.
True or false.
Left or right.
One or the other.
There’s a date on the calendar when summer vacation ends and school begins. There’s a number of right or wrong answers on a multiple choice test. A grownup tells me how many bites I have to eat to get dessert.
The lines are drawn, pointed out, and enforced by others. Learning to walk presupposes that the ground is solid. Once you’re sure of it, you’re willing to take a step.
Experience over time, of course, inevitably yields an unraveling of the dichotomous worldview that had been so carefully administered. We become aware of exceptions, gray areas, ambiguities, biases and discrepancies. We fall and skin our knees. We study natural disasters in fifth grade. And suddenly we realize that, at any time, an earthquake could crack open what had once seemed settled. And then we watch the news and hear that it’s happening somewhere in the world right now.
There is a lot of fear in this place. Vulnerability. Disillusionment, confusion, cries of “That’s not fair!” and “Wait a minute,” and “Why me?” The sting of the bandaid being ripped off. Sometimes by accident, sometimes by a bully, and sometimes by the person you most trusted. Turn inward and face despair. Outward, betrayal.
And then the earthquake happens to you. Crisis. There is no luxury with which to utter accusations anymore. There is only survival.
Thankfully there is an open door—the next level of awareness, and one that I’m slowly awakening to. Familiarity. Acceptance. A growing ability to tolerate discomfort. A wisening and softening to the understanding that the earthquake is part of the plan. And somehow, so are we.
Yes, things first look like “either/or.” And it’s a human thing to wish they still did.
But the power—the peace—lies in the “and.”