Genesis 32: 26 “Then he said, ‘Let me go, for the day is breaking.” But Jacob said, “I will not let you go, unless you bless me.” 27 So he said to him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Jacob.” 28 Then the man said, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.’”
Perhaps one of the greatest rewards of not having to clock in each work day is the opportunity to be available for what the day might bring. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it…,” goes the script of Mission: Impossible. Indeed, being available, which implies a degree of openness, is the assignment.
I guess I’ve paid my dues. Regardless, I did stop “clocking in” six years ago, and while I’m penalized to be sure for withdrawing funds early, both my pension and social security are helping to keep me afloat these days. My 401K had begun to show signs of severe abuse. Now, the modest good fortune of my parents, a legacy shared with my two sisters, is indeed a blessing. I am blessed to be living a somewhat ongoing vacation for the next several months in a place that has drawn me to it for 40 years.
For the past five weeks I’ve watched, sometimes waited, sometimes participated in the pageant of humanity that comes and goes at Santa Fe Baking Company, that place where I spend most early mornings. I’m always prepared with a book, which rarely holds my attention well enough to keep my head from bobbing up and down as people and sounds enter and exit the patio entrance where I usually sit.
It’s difficult for me to screen out conversations that are conducted at a volume that allows everyone on the patio to share the good news of what others think about just anything you can imagine. There’s healing, metaphysics, hucksterism, strife-laden cell phone conversations between estranged spouses, art therapy with a heavy coloring of Southern Baptist evangelism, and a good measure of bullshit, sometimes interesting but mostly not. And then, of course, there all those conversations that are conducted tete-a-tete. Those are really my favorites. If they prevailed, I’d make more progress on the book in hand.
I’ve found myself party to a few conversations, what I’m calling accepting the assignment, and repeatedly I find myself smiling inwardly at the realization that there really are no accidents when it comes to meeting people. We just have to pay attention. Indeed, we have to be willing to pay attention. It may matter only for the moment, and then it just might change how we feel about everything that is happening in our lives.
Today I met Louise. I noticed her first as she walked onto the patio carrying her paper napkin and cutlery, obviously anticipating her breakfast. Shortly, as I stepped over to a large trash container to empty my cold coffee, I noticed that Louise was having what I call the farm boy breakfast, and lots of it. I also noticed her hands, fingers very gnarled and incompletely developed. I winced with embarrassment for allowing my eyes to linger for even a second. Seated, I continued writing in the journal that I began keeping only yesterday.
Shortly, the lady of the farm boy breakfast stopped at my table and commented, “I see you’re reading THE ARTISTS’ WAY. It’s one of my favorite books.” An hour later, Louise, now seated and finally introduced by first name, we’ve made great strides in covering the waterfront…her husband, their travels, her time and their time in Texas and Houston, the death of her husband, her children, her painting, her very dysfunctional childhood, religion, reincarnation. She asked me many questions…what had brought me to Santa Fe, if I am an artist, about my antiques business. It seems that I asked a lot more questions than she did, and that my attempts to answer her questions were met with repeated interruptions. Every answer I started to give reminded her of something else she apparently needed to say. I tried to stay focused on all that she needed to say and even wrote down in my journal names and titles.
Among many other things, Louise commented on God, Christianity, great mystics, including Jesus, organized religion, spirituality, psychics, fear, sin, judgment, and forgiveness. I learned that in spite of her husband’s successful career as an engineer, following his death she has been forced to live on an amount of money that makes me shake my head in distress. And last week someone stole her car from in front of the apartment she rents here. Fortunately, the daughter who lives here in Santa Fe is able to provide Louise with a very used vintage diesel Mercedes. Her car, which was paid for, remains in absentia. She has forgiven the person who stole it.
During our conversation I had asked Louise if she had email, which led to a lengthy monologue on her husband’s death, their poor money management, his many marriages and children from each, her current meager resources, and of course, no email. I felt so thankful for my relative prosperity, in spite of indebtedness that I can manage without too much pain. Debt too is all about choices.
I told Louise about someone I had met at the baking company who is facing serious medical problems. She was led to tears. We had talked about forgiveness, letting go of judgment and anger. And though our conversation at times felt like a wrestling match, I kept reminding myself that she needed to talk on this morning in Santa Fe, New Mexico, a morning graced with 65 degrees and sunshine as we approached noon. We parted with her offer to help someone she had never met, and I was reminded that there really are no accidents when it comes to meeting people.
Accepting the Assignment
R. Harold Hollis—September 11, 2007 (Santa Fe, New Mexico)
Perhaps one of the greatest rewards of not having to clock in each work day is the opportunity to be available for what the day might bring. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it…,” goes the script of Mission: Impossible. Indeed, being available, which implies a degree of openness, is the assignment.
I guess I’ve paid my dues. Regardless, I did stop “clocking in” six years ago, and while I’m penalized to be sure for withdrawing funds early, both my pension and social security are helping to keep me afloat these days. My 401K had begun to show signs of severe abuse. Now, the modest good fortune of my parents, a legacy shared with my two sisters, is indeed a blessing. I am blessed to be living a somewhat ongoing vacation for the next several months in a place that has drawn me to it for 40 years.
For the past five weeks I’ve watched, sometimes waited, sometimes participated in the pageant of humanity that comes and goes at Santa Fe Baking Company, that place where I spend most early mornings. I’m always prepared with a book, which rarely holds my attention well enough to keep my head from bobbing up and down as people and sounds enter and exit the patio entrance where I usually sit.
It’s difficult for me to screen out conversations that are conducted at a volume that allows everyone on the patio to share the good news of what others think about just anything you can imagine. There’s healing, metaphysics, hucksterism, strife-laden cell phone conversations between estranged spouses, art therapy with a heavy coloring of Southern Baptist evangelism, and a good measure of bullshit, sometimes interesting but mostly not. And then, of course, there all those conversations that are conducted tete-a-tete. Those are really my favorites. If they prevailed, I’d make more progress on the book in hand.
I’ve found myself party to a few conversations, what I’m calling accepting the assignment, and repeatedly I find myself smiling inwardly at the realization that there really are no accidents when it comes to meeting people. We just have to pay attention. Indeed, we have to be willing to pay attention. It may matter only for the moment, and then it just might change how we feel about everything that is happening in our lives.
Today I met Louise. I noticed her first as she walked onto the patio carrying her paper napkin and cutlery, obviously anticipating her breakfast. Shortly, as I stepped over to a large trash container to empty my cold coffee, I noticed that Louise was having what I call the farm boy breakfast, and lots of it. I also noticed her hands, fingers very gnarled and incompletely developed. I winced with embarrassment for allowing my eyes to linger for even a second. Seated, I continued writing in the journal that I began keeping only yesterday.
Shortly, the lady of the farm boy breakfast stopped at my table and commented, “I see you’re reading THE ARTISTS’ WAY. It’s one of my favorite books.” An hour later, Louise, now seated and finally introduced by first name, we’ve made great strides in covering the waterfront…her husband, their travels, her time and their time in Texas and Houston, the death of her husband, her children, her painting, her very dysfunctional childhood, religion, reincarnation. She asked me many questions…what had brought me to Santa Fe, if I am an artist, about my antiques business. It seems that I asked a lot more questions than she did, and that my attempts to answer her questions were met with repeated interruptions. Every answer I started to give reminded her of something else she apparently needed to say. I tried to stay focused on all that she needed to say and even wrote down in my journal names and titles.
Among many other things, Louise commented on God, Christianity, great mystics, including Jesus, organized religion, spirituality, psychics, fear, sin, judgment, and forgiveness. I learned that in spite of her husband’s successful career as an engineer, following his death she has been forced to live on an amount of money that makes me shake my head in distress. And last week someone stole her car from in front of the apartment she rents here. Fortunately, the daughter who lives here in Santa Fe is able to provide Louise with a very used vintage diesel Mercedes. Her car, which was paid for, remains in absentia. She has forgiven the person who stole it.
During our conversation I had asked Louise if she had email, which led to a lengthy monologue on her husband’s death, their poor money management, his many marriages and children from each, her current meager resources, and of course, no email. I felt so thankful for my relative prosperity, in spite of indebtedness that I can manage without too much pain. Debt too is all about choices.
I told Louise about someone I had met at the baking company who is facing serious medical problems. She was led to tears. We had talked about forgiveness, letting go of judgment and anger. And though our conversation at times felt like a wrestling match, I kept reminding myself that she needed to talk on this morning in Santa Fe, New Mexico, a morning graced with 65 degrees and sunshine as we approached noon. We parted with her offer to help someone she had never met, and I was reminded that there really are no accidents when it comes to meeting people.
Accepting the Assignment
R. Harold Hollis—September 11, 2007 (Santa Fe, New Mexico)
1 comment:
i understand completely, accepting the assignment, but i never had a name for it.
after many years as an occupational therapist, i am now a stay at home "omie", and therefore, my schedule and choices are my own. you notice i did not say, my life is my own, cause i came to a realization about that years ago.
it doesnt mean i accepted it graciously, but most times i do.
i try desperately to keep on my own course, but most times i veer off into the land of "ineed help with this or that", and sometimes i get a little angry edge, and then i realize i am one of the lucky ones, cause i do think as much as possible, i own my life, even if i dont always have the control i want....okay, i am leasing my life with an option to buy.
anywho, i am so greatful that i met you when i was at roundtop, and that my coffe mornings can start with you and my visits to sante fe.
i am back at the farm after avisit to houston way to see my only sister off the kuwait and a visit with my neice and her beautiful family in clear lake.
we had a great time, saw the "ocean" of mexico as my hubby calls it and also found another shop that wants to buy some of my wares. that is always a good thing.
hope you have a wonderful day, and hope to see ya soon in texas.
love,
fran
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