While most people spent the last week of 2016 cursing it, lamenting all that has gone wrong in the world, and hoping for a better 2017, I was focused a bit more locally.
During a recent extremely large earthquake centred near my hometown, my 93-year-old grandfather fell and broke his hip for the second time. As a result he lost his autonomy and was moved into a rest home with full-time care. Mostly blind and mostly deaf, but still sharp as a tack, this was quite the emotional and psychological challenge for him. One that had him understandably saying such things as he was “ready to go”.
He’d never imagined he’d have to face such a trauma at his age. None of us had. I think we’d all envisioned he’d eventually go peacefully in his own home with a beer in hand and a cheeky smile on his face. But here he was facing yet another of life’s curve-balls. Or one might say, another opportunity for growth.
As he endured the letting go of his physical objects and surroundings, my family and I endured the actual getting rid of them. It was a fascinating and at times depressing task.
As someone who moves regularly and travels a fair bit, I’ve never been one for holding on to objects. Over the years I’ve given away almost everything I’ve ever owned – including my own works of art. I know that the only things precious enough to hold onto are not material. And even the intangible will eventually have to be forgone.
However, the experience with my grandfather was an excellent reminder, and reinforced what I already believed – that life is about our experiences as they happen, not our possessions, not even our memories.
My grandfather’s house had four bedrooms. Only one was slept in. He had a large garden, overgrown because he would not allow anyone to work in it. His fence was left half painted, his workshop full to the brim with tools he couldn’t use. And his lemon tree overflowing with lemons because he was very particular about who he would give them to.
The house was overrun with knick-knacks – souvenirs from past holidays, 30 odd years worth of gifts, some handmade, from grandchildren. My grandmother had kept all the letters we’d written her. It was quite entertaining to read my own letters to her, some stating that I didn’t know what to say but that Mum was making me write. Haha! I took quick photos of them and threw them out.
These sentimental objects, sure, they seem like lovely things to keep… Added to multiple toasters and random kitchen appliances (hardly used), huge numbers of glasses and cups and china, and well, you’ve got an awful lot of stuff.
My parents were hell bent on sending as little of it to the dump as possible. And in the end, thankfully, the only major things we weren’t able to sell, donate, or recycle were the toasters and an ironing board.
Environmental impact aside, what was most fascinating to me was the concept that at some point along the way all these objects were meaningful to my grandparents. Someone had come home that day and said “I bought a new toaster, honey.” And here, at the end of his life, my grandfather couldn’t even see any of them. Here, at the end of his life, they had no meaning whatsoever.
Not even the hand-written letters from his grandchildren. Not the lovely mahogany coffee table or the big screen TV. None of it was important at all.
I stripped the lemon tree of lemons and put them out at the front gate with a sign that said “FREE”. I was thrilled that they were all eventually taken.
We had a garage sale and let people wander through the house taking whatever they wanted. I observed the flow of people, momentarily delighted by their bargains, and wondered if any of them had houses overflowing with trinkets their families would have to throw out someday.
Interestingly, although he could not see a thing, in his first days in the rest home my grandfather complained that he was in a concrete prison. We knew very well that his rest-home was the best in the town, surrounded by trees and water. He accused the compassionate and attentive staff of being thieves and “refugees”.
He was projecting his inner frustrations onto his outer surroundings.
My grandfather is no different than any of us. Whether we have the gift of sight or not, the only thing that actually matters is our inner state. Appreciating that you still have the ability to see what’s in front of you might even be a great place to start.
We see the happenings of our lives through filters that have developed as a result of past experiences. If you feel and believe that a lot of bad things have happened to you, it’s likely you will experience more of the same – a sort of vicious cycle; endlessly validating what we already believe, therefore drawing more of it to us. And all we actually get out of that pattern of thought is to be right. Unless, that is, your filter happens to be a cheerful colour!
Though it may sometimes seem to boil down to personality or natural disposition, we do always have a choice, and even the most ornery of us can shift our attitudes. Though, the older we get the harder it can be to change our automatic reactions.
Meditation is one great way to let go of baggage and be more in control of our emotions. Regardless, life always does us the favour of handing us the specific challenges we need in order to change and grow.
This lady gets it!And what exactly is the point of this continuous growth towards awakening or enlightenment?
Firstly, it’s about being truly alive and happy, and connected to your planet while you’re still here in a physical form. Imagine how great the world would be if we all found inner peace?!
It’s also about reaching a state of joy before you die. Death cannot be frightening if you are profoundly joyful before it comes. After all, it is then merely the eternal continuation of your already attained state of peace and love!
My grandfather now has a choice, continue to live and grow, or to let go and leave us. If he wants to keep going he’ll have to keep growing. And he has already begun. He does not care about his stuff anymore. He’s happy it has gone to people who need it. He’s decided to try walking again too. Plus, he’s drinking his medicine (aka beer)!
He’ll still have to find more joy inside himself, perhaps come to appreciate the people in his life a little more. And when he does, he may begin to sense his beautiful surroundings, and tell a few cheeky jokes to his lovely old-lady neighbours. I’m pretty sure he’ll get there.
But for those of us who haven’t yet made it to 93, why wait until then?
Silence the noise of your past and the worries of your future and go deep into the now. Focus on whatever makes you feel really good then be grateful for it. Perhaps even a deep appreciation for the pint of beer in front of you. After all, Granddad says these two things are the secret to his longevity: never worry about anything, and have a drink every night.
If we all do that, this year cannot fail to be better than the last!
Thoughts?