Sitting still

T.S. Eliot's poem "Ash Wednesday" is one of my very favorites because it captures the two sides of the reality coin that Lent reminds us of so well. There are so many excellent lines in the poem, which stretches for 34 stanzas of modern, dream-sequency word rush, all of which seem to capture the feeling of standing on the brink of something not fun but possibly life-changing and true. (It is happily in the public domain and can be found here, among other places: http://www.msgr.ca/msgr-7/ash_wednesday_t_s_eliot.htm)

Despite many favorites, the lines I keep coming back to is one of the absolute best lines of poetry ever written, in my opinion. It is simply this: "Teach us to care and not to care/Teach us to sit still." Some days, I look at it as a recipe for how to live, with an emphasis on the zen implications of just chilling out. Other times I latch onto the paradox of caring and not caring--and someone having to teach us to do both. Those of us in helping professions struggle with this dichotomy all the time. I think the key is the sitting still part. If Eliot had been a life coach instead of a literary genius, he may have written: Teach us to care, sit still, not to care, sit still. Repeat as many times as necessary to stay sane. But thank God he was a poet instead, so we can read "Ash Wednesday" along with his other work and feel what he's talking about until we can figure out a way to do it ourselves.

This life-alteration-through-poetry (or DIY figuring-out) might take longer than a life coach, but it's also a lot more interesting. Whenever I think never in a million years am I ever going to get there, I have a week like this one, where every day has involved at least one conversation about life in all its complexity. It helps to have wonderful, crazy-smart, thinking friends, and a week off from school to go visit them.

On Monday, my mom and I discussed What to Do When Family Members Are Acting Worrisome. On Tuesday afternoon, dear former colleagues from my nonprofit days talked about Dealing with the Sickness of a Close Relative and Putting Minor Annoyances into Perspective. Later that day, my best friend from college and I discussed Buying A House With Panache, Becoming a Member of a Congregation (ditto panache) and Pretty Much Everything About Long-Term Plans, Jobs and Relationships (avec panache). On Wednesday morning, my mom and a friend of ours of some prominence in academia discussed How to Effectively Evaluate Teachers, The Importance of Public Investment in Education and Why the Current Political Climate Bites. It was in this conversation that I called Milton Friedman "the Satan of the 20th century" then had to apologize to our friend, who knew the man.

On Wednesday evening, MW, another friend and I discussed Beliefs about Death and the Afterlife in Religion in General and Judaism and Buddhism in Particular (among other things). On Thursday at lunch, a friend of my mom's and I talked about The Value of Data and the Role of Research in Education. This was followed by some precious time with my goddaughter's mom (a college professor) and another rousing discussion of The Importance of Public Education, the K-16 edition, and What Those of Us Who Care Are Going to Do About It In the Current Sucky Political Climate (reprise).

Did we solve the problems of the world? Only in our own minds. Did it help to talk and talk and talk with incredible, intelligent people? Tremendously. Will I fly back to Austin with a little weight off the metaphorical shoulders, a little more connected at the deep level that keeps us from feeling alone on the hardest days? Why yes, I will.

It is a blessing that "amid these rocks" (as Eliot would say) there are so many fellow travelers learning to care and not to care--and willing to take a moment to sit still and try to figure it out.