Raccoons are in charge

Who did you think was running things?

Hey, friends. There’s been a death in my family. I just found out this week. It was unexpected, as death often is, and shocking. I’m having crazy dreams and trying my best to ride the waves of emotion without crashing out and damaging myself or anyone else, all while trying to show up as well as I can for my family.

As a result, this week’s post is an update of a previous newsletter for the sake of energy preservation. You can read the original version here. As we Quakers say, please hold me and my family in the Light.

XO, Asha

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In the face of the world as it is right now, it feels like we are being called daily to take big, bold, life-defining action. I’ve been that trumpet, so I’ll never discourage you from thinking outside the box and using your imagination to formulate symbolically potent action to change the world for the better.

I urge some caution, though, because that call to significance has pitfalls. Namely, a kind of arrogance, imagining your individual efforts are the linchpin upon which the world rotates. The right-sizing of that arrogance entails remembering everyone’s work, as important as it is, is only a drop in an ocean of collective effort. That drop running over a stone will never see the stone worn away to nothing, but the stone gets worn away anyway, one humble, hopeful drop at a time.

The other pitfall of our sense of urgency is imagining that what we do outside of the confines of our mundane, daily life is exclusively what matters, rather than the small, seemingly inconsequential moments we share with our loved ones, coworkers, or the random person we pass on the street.

But the vast majority of our integrity practice is built on daily, intimate moments. If we exhaust ourselves with an over-sized sense of our potential influence out there, then we can find ourselves with little left over for practicing our integrity in here, in the seemingly low-stakes moments that, realistically, are the bulk of our lives.

I’ve always wanted to do great things out there, I’ll admit. I’ve spent a fair amount of my life, if I’m honest, letting my personal fixations about lasting legacy and large impact steer my life choices. Not that I’d usually admit that because that would let the reality of my enormous ego out to play where everyone could witness it.

Photo by jennifer uppendahl on Unsplash

Despite my intention to do big things, however, the reality of my impact on the world has been average human-sized. I’ve managed to positively impact my children, other people that love me, and maybe some small pockets of my community. Occasionally, I hear from folks I know less well or not at all that they’ve been moved by something I’ve written or done. This is surprising and delightful every time. Still, that doesn’t mean fame and fortune are waiting with bated breath to knock on my door. Nor have I transformed anything, other than my own life. And that’s not a bad thing.

Author David James Duncan wrote, “Great things tend to be undoable things. Whereas small things, lovingly done, are always within our reach.” Obviously, there are those remarkable few who do great (big) impactful things to change the world, some of which are life-enhancing and some of which aren’t. Most of us, however, have a sphere of influence that is much, much smaller. Yet, we are no less essential to the daily operation of the world.

There will come times when our integrity is sorely tested and the decisions we make have wider impact and implication. Still, our lives are built nearly exclusively of mundane moments. How we show up then matters just as much. Maybe, realistically, more. When the pace of the world and its horrors have vastly outpaced our evolutionarily-evolved capacities to process it all, it’s useful to remember this.

I’m not suggesting this means every moment is a moral test. That we can’t afford to relax or make mistakes. That there is no such thing as course correction or redemption. That the life (and self) we build must be plumb and level, like something out of a lifestyle magazine. God, help us, no.

What I am suggesting is it’s worth making “small things, lovingly done” our primary mantra when practicing our integrity. Did I speak honestly and kindly to people today? Consider my values when spending my money? Follow through on my commitments? Say I was sorry when I transgressed and thank you when I was assisted? Take responsibility for my emotional state? Offer myself compassion?

I’m a huge fan of weird, DIY, hand-built houses. The wonkiest of buildings can be beautiful and keep the rain out, even if it looks like a mad committee of rabid raccoons did the construction.

My life is a cobbled together, rabid raccoon-constructed, trash heap of a house. It’s not big or necessarily pretty to anyone else. But it’s built out of those repetitively considered and finitely focused questions, moment by moment, so I know it’s structurally sound. It’s a solid, wonky, meaningful life, which, when added to the imperfect, earnestly built lives of others, builds a gorgeous, improbable, rabid raccoon house of a world.

That’s the world I want to live in. How about you?