But what if this is as good as it gets?

A slightly irreverent inquiry into responsibility, acceptance, and what comes after that


||| I’M NOT THE CHURCH LADY by ROSIE KUHN |||


For most of my life, I insisted that my serenity depended on someone else doing things my way, on my health improving, my finances increasing, or my children behaving differently. I believed I was entitled to the life I wanted, and I assumed there was a person, place, or thing that would eventually provide it.

All I had to do, I thought, was keep doing whatever seemed likely to make me worthy of “that”—that elusive state of happiness, peace, and fulfillment that always appeared to be just beyond my reach.

The truth is, I didn’t want responsibility for my own well-being. At the same time, I didn’t know I had a choice.

I believed that if I could simply become the person I was supposed to be, the life I longed for would finally be mine. My responsibility, as I understood it, was to maintain the persona I thought would earn me the promised reward.

I existed only in how other people saw me. I spent years trying to emulate those who appeared to be liked, loved, successful, admired. By becoming like them, I, too, would finally have what that dream life. And I would know myself complete! I’d arrived!

The problem was, that wasn’t me.

As I began to see this more clearly, I recognized just how vigilant I had become in making sure that the real me did not accidentally appear—which, in my mind, would have been a very terrible, horrible disaster.

One client captured this predicament perfectly when she said, “I’m always trying to be someone else, doing something else, being somewhere else.”

More recently, as she realizes the extent to which she had not truly been living as herself, she added, “I would do anything to get out of being me.” I hear some version of this all the time.

And if I’m honest, I know that longing intimately.

Many of us—perhaps most of us—were trained to ignore, distract, deny, and avoid the direct experience of who we are and what we feel, think, need, and want. As a result, we often have little idea who we truly are or what we genuinely want to express through life. We have no comprehension of what’s infinitely pleasing, and what the fulfillment of our human-spirit really is.

Instead, we return to familiar patterns, even when those patterns never truly bring joy, meaning, or fulfillmen. At the same time, we continue hoping that somehow, someday, things will be different.

This is often what brings people to life coaching or therapy. They sense there must be another way. Others seem to have found it. “Maybe I can too.”

But, once they are in coaching process and as they begin to recognize the difference between who they have been trying to be and who they actually are, they find themselves standing at a crossroad—on a precipice of choosing a different path—only in service to what they say the want. EEK!

At this moment, almost everyone says some version of the same thing: “Yes, but I don’t know how to do me if I’m not doing the same old, same old.”

And this is where the real question emerges:

What If This is As Good As It Gets?
This is one of my all-time favorite lines from the movie, As Good as It Gets. Each time I watch Jack Nicholson’s character, Melvin Udall, struggle with his life and confront the possibility that this might be as good as it gets, I recognize my own dilemma and find myself asking the same question. What if this is as good as it gets?

When my clients arrive at this very same moment, I understand how excruciatingly real it can be. There is no turning back. In this moment, they face a choice-making moment. They can continue living exactly as they have always lived. Or they can step into the unfamiliar territory that begins with the unsettling confession: “I don’t know how to do me if I’m not doing the same old, same old.”

And perhaps even more honestly, they will say: “I don’t know if I want to take responsibility for what might show up. I don’t trust I can do this.”

This Moment Is All That Matters
This moment—the experience of standing at this choice point—can be life changing. Whether
you, I, or they are ready to courageously and incrementally make one tiny shift, or whether you, I
or they declare, “Hell no, I’m not ready,” we are unlikely to forget this exquisite moment.
Because in this moment, each of us encounters a version of ourselves we may never have known
existed. I celebrate these moments for my clients! Why? Because they do not realize how daring
it is to arrive here—wherever here is!

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life
In Monty Python's movie, Life of Brian, near the end of the film, Brian is hanging on the cross, when the people being crucified beside him begin singing, “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.” It is absurd. It is hilarious. And it is profoundly wise.

The message is that, even in moments when the worst of the worst appears to be happening—even in those moments when you would do almost anything, be anyone other than yourself, somewhere else, doing something else—there is still a bright side.

You get to meet the real you.

Whether you are hanging on a cross, confronting the possibility that this is as good as it gets, or standing at the threshold of a life you do not yet know how to live, you are being invited to meet yourself, whether you want to or not.

These are the moments when we can laugh at the absurdity of being human and perhaps choose to see things differently. For better or worse, not knowing what’s going to show up, the choice belongs to each of us. And maybe that is the brightest side of it all.

Even when life seems to have reached its limit, we are still free to choose how we will meet ourselves there. Whoopee!!!

Fun! Right???

I’ll be talking more about, What if This is As Good as It Gets, today, 10am PT, Sunday May 17, with my co-host Don Yerly, on the Radio Show: I’m not the Church Lady, live on our local Eastsound station, KIXP, 102.3fm. It also streams on KIXP.org. You can also find the recordings at: notthechurchlady.podbean.com. If you’d like to ask questions or leave comments, email me at rosie@kixp.org.



 

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