Standing in the Light

I think I have this correct. It is the nature of at least some of us to withdraw into ourselves when we feel vulnerable. The rest of us go on the attack. Some of us vacillate between the two. I’ve seen a lot of aggressive behavior over the years, and to my disappointment, far too much of it has come from somewhere out of me. In spite of reminders everywhere, sometimes I let my pride take over. The part of me that needs to be right grabs the reins, and the kind and sweet part of me is forced to ride shotgun while the arrogant trail boss ineptly has his way. When we get to the destination, we’re both whipped.

On this cold, sunny and powerful New Mexico day, as I listen to an old CD of Gregorian chants recorded by a group of Benedictine monks, and having just cancelled my AAA membership after 22 years, the anger and frustration I felt leading up to and through the phone conversation with AAA seems like such a waste. I tried oh, so hard to explain calmly to the customer service representative my helplessness when I discovered Saturday evening, my truck stranded on the incline of an island of ice in a friend’s driveway, that my needs didn’t fall within AAA guidelines. If memory serves me, I haven’t called AAA for help in over 10 years. Rules and guidelines prevail, as I was reminded by the friend in whose driveway my truck burned rubber as we both tried to move it up the ice in temperatures maxed out in the 20s as the sun made its way down in the west.

I’m really no better off, my AAA membership now history. “Are you sure you want to cancel after 22 years?” asked the customer service representative. I’m puzzled over what difference the years make, given that I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called for service in all those years. “I need to refer you to roadside assistance for them to explain why you couldn’t be helped (free of charge),” insisted the representative. My option for receiving assistance was to pay $100-200. So she transferred me to that department, where I was told that in winter conditions services are available to people who “really” need help—gasoline, towing, tire changes, battery jumps. I’m reminded of the old story of the person who had both theft and fire insurance on his house, which ultimately proved to be of no value. The catch—the house had to be robbed while it was burning, or equally insane, the reverse. How well the victims of Hurricane Katrina learned the value of their insurance. Was it wind, or rain? Whichever it was, it needed to be the other.

No, I’m no better off, really, my roadside assistance now the product offered by AARP. The rules and guidelines are the same, but I am saving $20 a year on the premium. And in the course of things, I spent precious energy at the risk of being unkind to two customer service representatives who were just doing their job. I managed to cut myself short at disdain, but I didn’t feel any better, or worse, than if I had let loose with both barrels.

I spent a long morning over coffee with my priest and friend, recounting the meaning of light on our spiritual journey. Especially during Advent and Christmas, the light takes on particular meaning. Once again, today I had the choice of shining a light, perhaps standing in the light to look at myself, and learning more about patience, humility, acceptance, and kindness. I chose to make a point, but hopefully not so much as to cut off my nose to spite my face. In a nod to fairness, in a world that asks, and sometimes requires, us to learn every day, where we can choose or not to own our decisions, I stand looking at my choices. I sigh—not willing to give in—and I sigh again, in the hope of letting go—letting go.

Standing in the Light—Santa Fe, New Mexico (December 29, 2008)
R. Harold Hollis