Confession: I’ve been binge-ish-watching a TV series the last couple of weeks, which I’ve obviously become addicted to, with full knowledge! I’ve watched two seasons – the 22-episode kind. I do this, sometimes, with good things.
Stories are especially dangerous; they provide such a complete world, with well-drawn characters you can come to love and identify with, challenges you want them to overcome, and a story that catches you up and pulls you along. Which makes the separation at the end of a book, TV series, or movie so hard, even heartbreaking (if it’s a really good story). One of the hardest things for me is being given a glimpse of characters who demonstrate qualities I want to have; not just individual ones, but a package of all the good ones – kindness, courage, boldness, wisdom, intelligence, humour, etc. When I come away, I feel a deep sense of loss because I don’t have those things yet. I’m so much less and I feel it. It’s like the gap between the celestial version of myself and who I am right now.
Except these are portrayals of people living right now, not the eventually-perfected kind – which means easier-to-make comparisons. The obvious thing being that they’re of course not real, but characters created by a group of insightful, skilled people and brought to life in the same way. Many people go into their creation and portrayal – even the way the actors stand, how they should seem emotionally, whether to be low-key or affected, what to wear and how, what they should have in their homes, etc. It’s all created – while we live our lives as they come, with uncontrollable circumstances, immediate reactions, and general messiness. No manual, script, director, time to consider a scene, re-runs (wouldn’t you love re-runs?) until it’s just right, set designers, or editors. So I should be able to forgive myself for not being all that. But I feel the yawning gap still, because whatever your frontal-lobe brain knows, the emotional part doesn’t care. It goes on stubbornly feeling its poignant things and wallowing in its misery or enjoyment; at least until the effect fades away and there are no improbably-perfect visions to compare yourself and your world to.
So I’ve been feeling deeply and frustratingly sad, for no direct reason except my knowledge of how I react to these things; and I’ve been trying to get back to an even keel, but can’t just yet. Tonight, I was reading President Nelson’s article in the Ensign about the 4 gifts our Saviour offers us. Number 3 is repentance, and he mentions that this experience changes how we breathe – with gratitude to God for the gift of having breath each moment. I tried that out; treating even every breath as a gift; which led to seeing life that way – the marvellous wonder of being alive, even of suffering. Just the fact of existing, of having agency – meaning the power to act, to do things – is staggering. If I can feel like that in each moment – in love with the ordinariness of life, because it exists – I think I’ll be okay.
Gratitude really changes how you see things; we know that, because we’ve heard it a lot; but it’s basically true. Such a simple thing, in a sense; but hard because it seems too simple and at the same time impossible, when you’re feeling distinctly un-grateful. It’s like a switch you need to flip in your perception, and when you do, everything looks different, even though everything’s still the same. Feeling such gratitude for the miracle of life and agency brings up the fundamental contradiction that you can avoid pain, sorrow, confusion, and heartache; but not without foregoing love, wonder, hope, joy, laughter, beauty and all the other truly good things. One precludes the other. You want the good, you have to open yourself to the bad. Including the weakness that’s in you and the distance you are from your ideal self.
So, I’m going to keep enjoying this series (because, as I said, I’m addicted now). Difficult things are going to happen for the characters, which is going to be sad, but there’ll be some joy too. And I’m going to remind myself of the miracle of just being alive with power to act, even when that means feeling sadness, frustration or heartache. I’m going to try to remember the profound gift of life itself.
Peaceable Treasures 