Because I have decided that I must move mountains, I spent three hours today going back through hundreds of blog posts and doing the hard and long-procrastinated work of categorizing, adding keywords, and printing, printing, printing. I have to say, shamelessly and gratefully, that there’s some good stuff in there! But that’s not my point. Let me get to where I’m going…
I came across a post from October 2007, in which I reviewed a book called Chasing Sophia by Lillian Calles Barger. And in it was this quote:
Wisdom seeking is difficult because, as Martha Nussbaum has written, “Knowing can be violent, given the truths that are there to be known.” What this means for us is that in order to live on wisdom’s path, we will have to give up the illusion of safety. If we try to secure our safety, we will continually be doomed to dwell in fields of hesitation, stalled in neutral, forever wavering in the wind.
How often do we cling to the illusion of safety? How often do we not take risks because we think we are being wise? And how often do we not tell the truth because we can anticipate the “violence of knowing” before a single word is spoken?
I get it.Without divulging more information than anyone wants, my now-former marriage embodied this illusion. No, not all of it. We were married 15 years and there was far more beauty than pain. I know far more gratitude than anything else – then and now. That said, I held fast to the illusion of safety. The idea of not being married (and all that went along with that) scared the hell out of me. The idea of not raising my daughters with their dad seemed impossible and way too painful for them to handle. The idea of risking in order to tell the truth in that relationship, particularly toward its end was fraught with the “violence of knowing.” I knew what would happen if I told the truth…and so I stayed quiet…for a while (until I couldn’t anymore). It seemed safer. It was an illusion. Not wise.
Illusion: understanding wisdom and safety to be synonymous.
In that relationship, or at least in my psyche, wisdom and safety became intertwined, enmeshed, entangled. They were not, are not, the same. I know that now.
I don’t say any of this to encourage guileless risk-taking. But I do encourage, advocate, and scream about truth-telling – especially when you can already hear the “violence of knowing’s” whisper in your heart. It is not safer – or wiser – to “dwell in the fields of hesitation, stalled in neutral, forever wavering in the wind.” Admittedly, the alternative – wisdom’s path – is downright terrifying and amazing; a rich, full life.
More truth telling? Despite the work I’ve done in the past three years (and many previous) to leave behind the illusion of safety for wisdom, to take risks, to tell the truth, I still fall prey to its seduction, its lure, its ease. Sometimes even “fields of hesitation” sound preferable to having to keep on moving mountains.
It’s a process and a long, long journey: this growth, risk, becoming-amazing thing. “Ouch!”
Still, I far prefer the pain of living – out loud, bold, full of passion and desire to the numbness of safety’s illusion.
‘Glad I came across that post today.
If you’re up for some provocative conversation about this, here’s what I’d be asking…maybe not at the dinner table, but perhaps with a journal, a blog, or a good friend and a big glass of wine:
- What do you think about the illusion of understanding safety and wisdom as synonymous? How has that shown up in your life?
- Why is it so damn hard to tell the truth?
- What is the “violence of knowing’s” whisper?
I care. And I know you’re wise…even if not safe.
Parenthetically, just as I was ready to hit “publish” I went to my email and saw Chris Guillebeau’s latest post: Beware of Life (which, by the way is FANTASTIC!). He ends it with these words:
Life is dangerous. It’s risky. It’s worth it.
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
I don’t think you can know how these words resonate with me right now. Yes, yes, and yes. But wow it is scary.
Thank you for your bold, beautiful, and brilliant example.
I don’t know your specifics, Lindsey, but I certainly am familiar with their ramifications. Even as I wrote, I remembered…and I ached…and I practically got down on my knees and gave thanks for movement, change, life! For the wisdom inherent in risk…and time. Thanks, Lindsey. So much.
This is a powerful post Ronna. For me the connection is the silence and hesitation I held onto for a long time about someone in my extended family with a serious eating disorder. You would think it would be obvious to everyone-so I kept telling myself. But it wasn’t. Saying something was going to generate so much anger and fear and denial. And increase my own responsibility. Was I ready for that? I have dealt wtih this is my own nuclear family. I knew how bad it could get. So I waited for so long. When I did speak the truth, somehow the denial and the culture of silence was so strong that sadly (maddeningly!!!) after a brief flurry it is as though the truth were never spoken. It starts to feel like I am living in an alternate universe where only I see the danger. Thanks for this!
The “alternate universe” metaphor is totally accurate. I know that well. And I have started to feel like I am the crazy one. Now I have learned that when I feel that way, when I start thinking I am crazy, that I’m probably not…rather; that there is something going on around me that needs to be named so that I can hold on to myself and stay sane. Easier said than done, but so, so important…for ourselves and ultimately, I believe, even for those who don’t want to hear that truth. Thanks so much for sharing!
Ronna – I thank you and am so glad I come back here day after day. Your words today come as I am having a discussion with another online blogger/friend regarding telling the whole, 100% truth. I didn’t do it. I left out some details in a discussion and it cost me dearly BUT, had I taken the time to look in my heart, I saw the “violence of knowing” and should have let it all go well before I did.
.-= Nicki´s last blog ..The Flour Baby Project =-.
I’m so glad you come back day after day, as well! And I hope you will extend yourself grace in the “leaving out details” discussion. We learn by doing (or not doing, in this case) and then are even more aware of our own truth, of our choices between safety and wisdom, our own places of flight, our own fears – all of which move us closer and closer to places of strength and courage and yes…truth-telling! I appreciate you sharing so openly. Thank you.
Thank you, Ronna. I am trying to extend myself grace. It will take some doing but I will get there.
.-= Nicki´s last blog ..Winter Is Here =-.