Not So Sweet Surrender
OK, I admit it...I'm a control freak. I like to say that I'm a "recovering control freak," but hey, this control thing really is worthy of a twelve-step program. Maybe someone has already invented that, but I didn't find out about it in time to avoid my latest control freak drama.
Ten days ago, I was packing for a two-night business trip to Scottsdale. In my mind, as I packed, I was also thinking about what I was going to pack for this week's five-day business trip to Houston and Dallas. When I returned from Arizona Friday, I was planning to spend half the day at the office and then have a relaxing weekend at home with Gary before taking off on the road again. Then Gary dropped the bombshell that he had been invited to attend a 10-day series of National Association of Home Builders' classes on "Green Build," in order to become an instructor himself. That sounded great until he told me that he would be "leaving for Orlando at 7 AM on Saturday." My heart started to race and I felt a wave of nausea.
"What about the pets?" I asked. "Get a pet-sitter," he responded.
"How will I get to the airport on Monday?" I screeched. "Find someone to give you a ride or take a cab," he said calmly.
"What's this trip to the East going to cost you?" I squealed. "Nothing except for the plane ticket and some meals," he said even more calmly.
"What about all your other work projects?" I said, voice now cracking. "It will be fine, Shannon. I have everything handled."
As I started to cry, I wondered why I couldn't comfort myself with those same words, "It will be fine, Shannon. I have everything handled." The answer came to me mid-sob. I'm not in control here. This trip he's taking was not part of my plan. "I have to be flexible, but I'm feeling stiff as a board," I thought. My heart ached. Tears poured out. I collapsed into a huddle on the edge of the bed, slumping next to my open carry-on suitcase. "I don't want you to go now!" I said repeatedly between sobs.
Gary sat down next to me, put his arm around my shoulder and said, " Look, Shan, it's going to be ok," trying to comfort me with his enthusiasm for what this trip would mean for us in the "big picture." I was having too hard a time with the stressful "little picture" to break into the big one. Eventually I fell asleep with a clump of tear-soaked tissues clasped tightly in my hand.
I woke up at 2:35 am, with that woeful feeling that something was wrong. My eyes were practically glued shut with salty tear residue and I could feel their painful puffiness. Gary was sound asleep. I thought about what was happening. The word that suddenly popped into my mind was "surrender." This word always floats into my consciousness when I am in a massive control melt-down. I'm beginning to think it's a recurring theme in my life. But there in the darkness, I laid on my back and took a few deep breaths, which I knew were the first steps on my journey to the big picture Gary had been talking about earlier that night.
I realized that what I wanted in the little picture was downright silly compared with what Gary was seeking in the big one. So I started doing what I always do: Plan. I began thinking about what I could do that day to get to that gentle place of acceptance of Gary's trip. I could find a pet-sitter. I could arrange my airport transportation. I could take Gary to the airport at 4:30 AM on Saturday, then go home and go back to bed. I could still have a relaxing weekend with the pets. And in the middle of all that mind-planning, the "I" became "We." Because when Gary came home from his classes on the East coast, WE would most likely be looking at a much brighter future.
Today I sit in Dallas after a splendid, productive and rewarding work week. Gary has been enjoying his classes in Orlando. We have been talking and texting at least once a day about our experiences. It's the longest time we've been apart since we were married in 1999. Our house-sitter has been texting me with photos of the pets. She has also taken care of a cable TV problem and all we had to do was approve her to deal with it. We are both feeling great, and our future is looking really bright for the first time in several years.
Sometimes, in my experience, surrender does not feel sweet. It certainly doesn't feel good for a "recovering control freak" like me. Yet most of the time, when I do surrender to faith in face of the unknown and to my belief that LOVE is greater than fear, I find the divine safety net that's been there all the time. That not-so-sweet surrender is part of recovery from the need to control. Surrender ultimately brings me the peace of mind that makes everything worthwhile.
Ten days ago, I was packing for a two-night business trip to Scottsdale. In my mind, as I packed, I was also thinking about what I was going to pack for this week's five-day business trip to Houston and Dallas. When I returned from Arizona Friday, I was planning to spend half the day at the office and then have a relaxing weekend at home with Gary before taking off on the road again. Then Gary dropped the bombshell that he had been invited to attend a 10-day series of National Association of Home Builders' classes on "Green Build," in order to become an instructor himself. That sounded great until he told me that he would be "leaving for Orlando at 7 AM on Saturday." My heart started to race and I felt a wave of nausea.
"What about the pets?" I asked. "Get a pet-sitter," he responded.
"How will I get to the airport on Monday?" I screeched. "Find someone to give you a ride or take a cab," he said calmly.
"What's this trip to the East going to cost you?" I squealed. "Nothing except for the plane ticket and some meals," he said even more calmly.
"What about all your other work projects?" I said, voice now cracking. "It will be fine, Shannon. I have everything handled."
As I started to cry, I wondered why I couldn't comfort myself with those same words, "It will be fine, Shannon. I have everything handled." The answer came to me mid-sob. I'm not in control here. This trip he's taking was not part of my plan. "I have to be flexible, but I'm feeling stiff as a board," I thought. My heart ached. Tears poured out. I collapsed into a huddle on the edge of the bed, slumping next to my open carry-on suitcase. "I don't want you to go now!" I said repeatedly between sobs.
Gary sat down next to me, put his arm around my shoulder and said, " Look, Shan, it's going to be ok," trying to comfort me with his enthusiasm for what this trip would mean for us in the "big picture." I was having too hard a time with the stressful "little picture" to break into the big one. Eventually I fell asleep with a clump of tear-soaked tissues clasped tightly in my hand.
I woke up at 2:35 am, with that woeful feeling that something was wrong. My eyes were practically glued shut with salty tear residue and I could feel their painful puffiness. Gary was sound asleep. I thought about what was happening. The word that suddenly popped into my mind was "surrender." This word always floats into my consciousness when I am in a massive control melt-down. I'm beginning to think it's a recurring theme in my life. But there in the darkness, I laid on my back and took a few deep breaths, which I knew were the first steps on my journey to the big picture Gary had been talking about earlier that night.
I realized that what I wanted in the little picture was downright silly compared with what Gary was seeking in the big one. So I started doing what I always do: Plan. I began thinking about what I could do that day to get to that gentle place of acceptance of Gary's trip. I could find a pet-sitter. I could arrange my airport transportation. I could take Gary to the airport at 4:30 AM on Saturday, then go home and go back to bed. I could still have a relaxing weekend with the pets. And in the middle of all that mind-planning, the "I" became "We." Because when Gary came home from his classes on the East coast, WE would most likely be looking at a much brighter future.
Today I sit in Dallas after a splendid, productive and rewarding work week. Gary has been enjoying his classes in Orlando. We have been talking and texting at least once a day about our experiences. It's the longest time we've been apart since we were married in 1999. Our house-sitter has been texting me with photos of the pets. She has also taken care of a cable TV problem and all we had to do was approve her to deal with it. We are both feeling great, and our future is looking really bright for the first time in several years.
Sometimes, in my experience, surrender does not feel sweet. It certainly doesn't feel good for a "recovering control freak" like me. Yet most of the time, when I do surrender to faith in face of the unknown and to my belief that LOVE is greater than fear, I find the divine safety net that's been there all the time. That not-so-sweet surrender is part of recovery from the need to control. Surrender ultimately brings me the peace of mind that makes everything worthwhile.
posted by Shannon Ingram | 8:16 AM
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