MSMAMACHIC

My grandpa passed away in 2010 at the age of 95 (my grandma subsequently in 2017 at the age of 96).  Writing that sentence, I still feel overcome with grief.  When my grandpa passed away, I grieved his death deeply — to the extent that I felt a persistent ache in my throat for months afterward.  My grandparents were significantly influential in my life.  They were ordinary, imperfect people like you and I, with inherent flaws and humble insecurities. They were morally conscientious, industrious, salt of the earth people who built a life around hard work and love of family.  In a world that glorifies the illustrious and extraordinary, these attributes seem dull or uninspiring and yet, I’ve always believed that they’d gotten it “right.” When they smiled, I observed a warm, quiet contentment.  They were at ease with the choices they made and life they created.  When my grandpa died, I had my first of many existential crises.  I questioned everything about the way I was living.  

My grandparents owned one home and they maintained it throughout their lives.  They grew a garden every summer filled with geraniums, marigolds, tomatoes, cucumbers and parsley.  My grandpa loved baseball, fishing and riding his bike.  My grandma crocheted blankets for every grandchild, remembered everyone’s birthday and baked regularly.  They attended mass every Sunday.  They took pride in their work, lived within their means but gave what they could to the people they loved.  My grandpa had a wonderful sense of humor.  My grandma was more serious with just the right blend of tenderness and fire.  When asked how my grandparents met, my grandpa would say he met my grandma in a bar.  He said he had to drive her home because she’d “had a little too much to drink.”  My grandma would scowl, roll her eyes and say, “oh, go on” with the faintest smirk on her face.  This made me laugh because I’d never witnessed her touch a drop of alcohol. 

What a different world they lived in.  Their affluence was a reflection of what they’d worked and saved for.  They understood poverty, manual labour, moderation and frugality because they lived it.  Whereas today, discomfort and pain associated with deprivation is rare.  Most people can acquire whatever they want whether it’s within their financial means or not.   Thanks to the beauty of technology, the evolution of society, and non-stop stimulation, we can effortlessly numb via online shopping, social media, drugs, alcohol, meaningless sex, DIY Pinterest home decoration projects or saturated social calendars to alleviate the malaise of our idle minds. 

In Dr. Edith Eva Edger’s book, The Choice she says, 

“If you asked me for the most common diagnosis among the people I treat, I wouldn’t say depression or post-traumatic stress disorder, although these conditions are all too common among those I’ve known, loved and guided to freedom.  No, I would say hunger. We are hungry.  We are hungry for approval, attention, affection.  We are hungry for freedom to embrace life and to really know ourselves.”

When I initially read this, I understood it as the seemingly insatiable ache for approval, attention and affection that humanity goes searching for in all the wrong places.  Money, relationships, perfect images or achievements – often, we cycle, shifting back and forth between these various areas, thinking that if we subjugate one of them, we’ll feel secure, settled and fulfilled. 

There was a time in my life where I appeared to have everything.  I had meticulously planned my life in a way that checked all the boxes of what society, my social circles, my parents and my own belief system deemed as beautiful and successful. I acquired an education, a profession, social life, a marriage, and a home.  I thought that if I did everything “right” that life would reward me with good things and I expected to be happy.

Naïve and entitled people think this way.  Whereas naivety can be remedied by experience and truth, entitlement can be a very dangerous self-perpetuating mindset because the belief of “inherent deserving” condones perfunctory efforts particularly when the conditions become difficult.

The reality is, life owes you nothing.  You can do everything “right” and life can still deliver the most devastating hardships and heartbreaks.  You can do everything “right” and still lose everything in the blink of an eye.  My grandparents understood this.  It didn’t deter them from committing to their values or giving their best effort regardless of circumstance.  Their lives were not devoid of pain nor a spectacle of extraordinary elation and they didn’t expect it to be that way.  Most of their days were disciplined, uneventful and routine.  They knew what they stood for and it simplified everything else.  You either lived by your morals or you didn’t.  And if you didn’t, you probably weren’t going to feel great about it at the end of the day or at the end of your life.

I would argue that while indeed we crave approval, attention and affection because initially it feels good and momentarily it hits the spot, what we really hunger for is truth.  We hunger for it because there is something innately grounding about it.  But we fear it because of the discomfort it causes and the implications it poses.  The truth is solid and weighty unlike the millions of images, narratives and lies we are sold every single day, on every media platform, by the organizations in which we work, by our governments, our peers and ourselves. 

We hunger to really know ourselves but we are reluctant to see who that is because what if we can’t stand the sight of him/her?  Part of uncovering the truth means discovering qualities not fit for an Instagram post — details that don’t incite pride or coincide with anecdotes of a noble purpose.  Most people have good intentions and values they hold close but without courage and practiced discipline, they may abandon them in an effort to salvage approval, attention and affection.  

The beauty in the exposure of ourselves is that it annihilates the bullshit and produces an opportunity to change the way we live.  Here’s another hard truth — nobody gives a fuck about your excuses.  Nobody cares why you gave a half-assed effort or  failed to deliver on what you promised.  The only thing that matters is that you do or you don’t.  When you sincerely understand that no one else factors into your success or failure, you begin to live a truly authentic life.  

In living their values, my grandparents chose to feed themselves with something hearty and sustainable.  They could hold their heads high because they committed to honesty, impeccable effort and humility each day.  So, when I think about my life these days, I’m considering whether or not I’m feeding myself in a tenable way.  I’m beginning to see that this type of nourishment comes down to a simple code of conduct you hold for yourself.  If I can continually practice focusing my efforts on upholding my own ideals while maintaining integrity with myself, I can only hope that I’ll look back on my life with quiet contentment. 

xo,

Jen

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