The way I got interested in this was I noticed in myself, when I growing up and until a few years ago, that I would want to say Thank You to someone, I would want to praise them, I would want to take in their praise of me — and I’d just stop it.
And I asked myself, Why?
I mean, I felt shy. I felt embarrassed.
And then my question became, Am I the only one who does this?
So I decided to investigate.
~ From Laura Trice suggests we all say thank you (3:28)
Beyond Control is a collection of articles, talks, interviews and whatnot illustrating how people practice the three alternatives to control – surrender, responsibility and intimacy. You can read more about the alternatives here:
Today Steve won the argument we’ve been having about self-hosting this blog. He signed up at Blue Host, and I had a small anxiety attack.
I hate when he does this shit. It’s what I call an AFGO. Another Fucking Growth Opportunity.
I know nothing about self-hosting. And I hate knowing nothing about anything.
Not-knowing is the thing I hate most in this life.
So I light a stick of lavender incense and sit at my desk and try to meditate the anxiousness away. I inhale and exhale. I try to focus on breathing. I begin thinking instead.
And the first thought that comes is:
Better to know than not to know.
That’s a Spenser saying. (I’ve been rereading Parker’s Spenser series, so his voice is sort of stuck in my head.) It could also be my life’s theme song.
I’ve spent my life trying to Know. It‘s why I collected thousands of books and spent decades burying my face in them. Why I went to college and grad school and postgrad training. Why I became a teacher and therapist and writer. Teachers and therapists and writers are people who Know.
I made a fetish of knowing. I thought Knowing would make me safe. I thought Knowing would give me control. A handle on Life.
But now I find myself thinking,
Life has no handle.
Life is bigger than handles.
Life’s a mystery. And what you know is always outweighed by what you don’t.
Better make peace with not Knowing.
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