Uncertainty, My Father, and the Book
When I was a beginning teacher at SF State University, I had the temerity to tell a student that I didn’t know the answer to his question. I don’t remember the question now, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that he was flabbergasted.
This is what I said: “I don’t know the answer to that but I’m happy to help you find the answer.” I thought that was a reasonable way to deal with my situation of not knowing. I think I’ve always been comfortable saying, “I don’t know.” It feels quite natural to me.
When I came to Buddhism later in life I discovered that “not knowing” is one of the core principles of practice and the happy righteous life. What is true is that we don’t know because life is filled with uncertainty, and we have little control over the thoughts and actions of those around us.
Our practice then becomes a process of meeting the dramas and events of our lives with an open mind and a letting go of attachment to outcomes.
This subject of uncertainty occupies me now because I inhabit a body that is showing its age in some challenging ways, and I am slowly learning to meet what arises not with angst or obsession to control, but with both curiosity and kindness that helps me navigate the journey.
My father was a man with a heart condition who took beautiful care of himself. He lived his life as though he were a vital young fellow: he jogged, played tennis, fell in love in his mid-60s, and ate like a horse without ever getting fat. While vacationing with family members, he died at 68 playing tennis, departing quickly doing something he loved.
How we all would wish that for ourselves...
Though we were not that close in life, I hold my father in my heart now. Why? Because I think he understood uncertainty and chose to live his life with fullness and appreciation, even bravery. I wish I could have told him what that meant to me.
On the lighter side, I’ve learned that uncertainty visits us in many joyful ways, like when you write a reflection about tomatoes and discover that you have a book inside you that needs to come out. Or when you discover the outpouring of compassion from a surprising person after you’ve broken your leg ... or when one of your daughters, the least expressive, randomly tells you she loves you ... or you go to your favorite coffee joint and discover a brand new item on the menu (the turmeric caramel bomb).
I bet you could come up with any number of occasions of uncertainty: you adopt a homely needy dog at the pound, and he turns out to be a being who changes your life. OR... you go into the voting booth and cast your ballot assuming your guy will win ... and then?
You just never know, do you?
We can move forward, making the best plans possible, plans that are helpful, smart, and kind, knowing that those plans may not bring us what we desire. Having this spaciousness of mind is refreshing and expansive, I think. It allows more in. We become more of a part of the larger world around us.
I wish that for everyone.
So, I am going to finish my food book without knowing what exactly will happen to it ... no certainty about publication, or how widely read by numbers of people, or how and when and with whom it's talked about and appreciated.
Will it fly in the media or because people keep talking about it? Or both? Or neither? I just don’t know. Uncertain.
But I will keep writing.
And I will finish this book.
With gratitude for food and to you for reading my words and taking my books home!
Mag
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Photo by Catherine Kay Greenup on Unsplash