Beyond the formula

I've always been wired to follow the formula.

X + Y - Z = My Happiness

Of course, the variables differ from person to person, but I believe that the principle applies to everyone. Here's an example of what my formula might look like:

 Jessica's Happiness = Education + Faith - Mistakes

In other words, my happiness might be maximal (I'm just gonna roll with it and assume that's a word) if I... X (complete my education as quickly as possible and begin my career) and Y (go to church every Sunday and do other things Mormon-y things that show that I have faith in God) and I make sure I never Z (stray from the model or experience any setbacks).

Freshman Yr. 2009 playing in the leaves with Jocelyn. I love this girl for so many reasons, but above everything else, I respect her unapologetic determination to embrace who she is and fight for what she wants.

Alright, I hear ya...I'm simplifying things for the sake of simplicity. 

The formula to my happiness is actually WAY more complex than this simple, three variable equation. It probably looks more like something out of my freshman calculus notebook. 

Still, the idea stands, I used to believe that there was a formula...that there was a way you're supposed to "do it." Whatever "it" is. My friend, Bex, made an interesting observation a couple of months ago about how many times I use the word "should." With that comment, I realized that I subscribe to a very prescriptive view of the world - something so deeply embedded into my nature that I have had to literally stop myself from continuing my thoughts after I say the word "should" or the phrase "supposed to" in order to analyze my biases.

But back to this idea of the formula...

If you're like me, then you mercilessly stress yourself out trying to fit the mold (whatever that mold is for you). I catch myself doing acrobatics to shape myself into the perceived ideal of a number of different "molds" - Brazilian, woman, friend, Mormon, student, wife, teacher, daughter etc. Somehow, I got the idea in my head that there's a specific look to the life I'm supposed to lead - and that I'm supposed to do it all perfectly.

That kinda pressure will snap you in half.

If we allow those pressures to govern out lives, and if we allow them to make our decisions for us, the result can be catastrophic. It will break you down into pieces so small it could seem impossible to put the authentic "you" back together. That's where I'm at today.

I'm actually surprised it took 22 years for the stress I put myself under to bend me out of shape.

High School Graduation 2009. My dad. There is an infinite list of things we disagree about, but I can never deny how much I look up to your ability to be authentically "you" no matter what. You are very stubborn, but I can only hope that God has blessed me with the same stubbornness that gives you courage to have a relentless "no-nonsence" attitude.

BUT as seemingly soul-wrecking as it is has been to stare down into the existential abyss that resulted from this awful experience, it has been a bittersweet combination of terrible and thrilling, and I'm strangely excited about where this journey will lead me.

I was about to lose it in church today. I couldn't stand the idea of sitting in Sacrament Meeting (think of it as kind of like the Catholic Mass, if that helps you), so I left midway and found a quiet room to sit in for a while. I just wanted to feel close to God for a minute (and tune out the voice in my head that I mistake for God...the one that criticizes and shames me...but the real God - the one I believe loves and cares about me and my happiness). I really struggle to tell the difference on most days.

So I went and vented to my bishop (a spiritual leader for Mormons). I told him how alienated I felt from the people in my ward (congregation). I confessed that I was bothered by how isolated I felt because of my culture, my personal struggles and circumstances, etc. I admitted that I never felt like I would never really fit in, in spite of my best efforts.

 And I gotta say - this guy is really great. He didn't tell me what I was wanted to hear, he said exactly what I needed to hear but never really thought was a possibility...

He said, "Jess - I think God values diversity a lot more than we give Him credit for. Look beyond the formula."

Wait - what??

So I could still be a faithful Mormon right now - without the perfectly manicured yard, the crying testimonies, the baked goods, the white fence, the Republican ideology, the beautiful, smiling babies, the picture-perfect marriage, the blonde, blue eyed women, the ambitious career dreams, and the fail-proof life?

I'm still okay?

And that's when it hit me. God loves me where I'm at. He wants me to be the best, authentic version of me possible. 

I do not believe in a God who wants to destroy my individuality, but I admit that I did believe that for SO long. Instead, He wants a Jessica that will honor her identity. God doesn't expect me to feign happiness, or to force myself to follow a perfect formula or to fit into a perfect mold. God wants me to be me - as I am, and trying as hard as I can to reach my potential. He doesn't want me to ever stop being me.

Especially in recent weeks, my mom has taught me that it takes a special brand of courage to love and forgive another human being. She has the strength to love without condition and to give me an infinite number of chances to earn her love when I disappoint her. In my version of heaven, God is as hardcore as my dad and as compassionate as my mother.

This probably came as a bigger shocker to myself than to the people who know me well, but I spent so much time believing that I absolutely had to fit into a certain prescribed ideal that I began to lose track of who I actually am - what I actually want - and what I actually believe in.

I stopped living an intentional life - a life I could take ownership over and be proud of. I started to live the life I thought was expected of me.

And while it's thrilling to realize this at such an early age, I recognize that it's also come at a devastatingly large price. One I never really recognized until now.

It is still a work in progress for me. 

Now that I've realized some of the traps of the formula, and the need to push past it, I'm struggling to determine what it all means for what lays ahead. I'm not sure exactly what will be the result of all this soul searching, but I am convinced that it would be an ungodly waste (and a foolish mistake) to trade a deliberately lived life filled with euphorically shed blood, sweat, and tears for a safe, untarnished life devoid of intention and meaning.

I'd rather live beyond the formula.

***

It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all, in which case you have failed by default. J. K. Rowling

Our greatest asset

“Our needs are our greatest assets. It turns out I’ve learned to give all the things I need.” 

- Andrew Solomon

The above quote blew me away when I heard it earlier during Solomon's TEDTalk. It inspired me to evaluate the things I most desperately yearn for in my life, and made me wonder how I should go about turning these needs, or weaknesses, into strengths (Ether 12:27) in the way that Solomon was able to do.

Most importantly, Solomon reminded me of a lesson I learned long ago about the good that can come from tribulation (D&C 122:6-7). It reminded me that the things we lack often hold the potential to become great blessings in our lives. After all, if I have suffered some unfortunate event, this pain grants me exclusive insight.

I take comfort in the knowledge that my painful experiences allow me to empathize with those who have suffered similar pain. In experiencing the need for something - whether it be physical, emotional, or spiritual - we can develop a greater ability to show compassion. No one needs to feel like they are fighting a battle on their own.

Please be mindful that I am NOT perfect at living his principle yet. I still find myself wallowing in self pity from time to time on a daily basis. I resist the wisdom of seeing the greater picture, and I narrow my focus to only my life, and my suffering. When I do this, I feel almost completely engulfed by my weaknesses.

So I'm glad Solomon, and those more diligent in following this ideal, continue to remind me that the way out of our metaphorical abyss is to use the things we KNOW (even when all we seem to know is pain or struggle). We can become experts in our struggle, and find passion in overcoming those challenges so that we can then lend a hand to those in need.

Indeed, this ability can become our greatest asset if we choose it.

Comment below if you have anything to add.

The art of losing

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

In one way or another, we all experience loss throughout life. As Bishop points out in one of my preferred poems above, the art of losing is one that all participate in, though in varying degrees.

We may lose trivial things, like our keys or an hour of the day, without any serious repercussions. With simple losses such as these, we may overlook the habit that forms. It comes with ease. We may even, with time, turn calloused to the loss of the little things.

 We all eventually learn about great loss - we lose track of what path our life should follow, or may lose significant moments in our pasts. Without any conscious decision of our own, we learn about the loss of a loved one.

Though these losses all feel like tragedy in the moment, Bishop reminds us that with time, we forget the pain that comes from loss. Our wounds eventually heal, and we must continue forward.

And nobody likes to feel pain. Why should they? So why no forget? Why not push it out of our minds?

I'm not sure I have an answer here. I do it too, all the time. I push the hurt out of my mind. I occupy my time and energy with other things, even meaningful things. And I forget about loss for a while, until it strikes again.

Perhaps the real disaster lies in forgetting the importance of the things or people we have lost along the way. I wonder whether the real tragedy in loss is that our default is to forget and move on. 

We need to give ourselves time to heal. But I don't believe we should forget. In fact, I think we do ourselves a disservice if we avoid confronting the loss we experience, and we refuse to look over into the abyss. It can teach us incredible things about ourselves.

In spite of the pain.