She pushed herself awkwardly up from the grass and toddled towards me, grinning. She opened her little arms out wide.
This small girl had been sitting in the park with her young parents as I approached with my two little dogs. It was the dogs she was welcoming - delightedly, expansively - her heart wide and her excitement fizzing. She couldn’t wait for them to be closer.
The reality, when we reached her, was more complicated. Aiko loves children so much that she sometimes tries to jump up at them - even a small dog on her hind legs is a bit much for a very small person. Ralph’s excitement lies snug alongside his fear, which is vast and trembling, and he predictably started barking to try and stay on the right side of the line.
I tried to sooth Ralph and restrain Aiko at the same time as having a complex social interaction with the parents and keeping my eye on the child. How was it for her? When would her wariness overwhelm her desire to be close to them?
I would love to say: open your arms to life. Let everything in, and your life will definitely get better. I like to have simple rules to follow. I am fond of absolutes and impassioned clarity. I like the neatness of happy endings.
One of my intentions with this new series of writing is to, instead, allow for the lavish complexity of life. To veer away from easy homilies, however tempted I am by them. As Rilke said, I want to ‘live the questions’. As Keats said, I want to linger in the mystery, ‘without any irritable reaching after fact and reason’.
What does it mean to live in this space? To inhabit it fully? To feel comfortable in the chilly depths of uncertainty?
I’ve had a lot of opportunity to try it out this last year, as we tried to buy our dream house over seven long months. During large swathes of this time, the deal teetered on the edge of collapse. We needed to sell in order to buy, and the person buying our house was elusive, obfuscating, immune to my (usually extremely effective) influencing skills. I spent hours, days and weeks in my very least favourite place - in desperate desire, with practically no control over whether it would be met.
I did a thoroughly terrible job of staying with uncertainly. I started mis-using Tarot cards, asking them the same questions over and over, desperate to hear some good news about the move. I spent far too much time agonising over every word of my emails to our buyer, thinking that the exact right combination might entice him into action. I leaned all of my weight into hopes of progress by particular dates, and wept bitterly when they passed.
I could not stay with the questions. I hated the questions. What if this isn’t actually our dream house? What if, in my dependence on this stranger for something I’m desperate for, I’m being shown something really important about my conditioning as a woman? What if there’s absolutely nothing I can do?
What if I just surrendered? Stayed where I was?
If our little girl had stayed where she was, and if I had released the dog leads from my tight grip, the dogs would have surrounded her - barking - overwhelming her. It would have ended in tears.
And yet. And yet.
There is something about that shining moment in the park. That tiny girl’s arms, as if they were welcoming the whole world into a hug. The joy in her eyes. I keep returning to the image. It is a gem.
What I want to do is this:
I want to acknowledge the complexity. To not oversimplify things as a way of hiding from the truth.
I want to not flinch away from the extent of my own wounding, or the wounding in the world. From my work as a psychotherapist, I know all too well that this wounding leads to spiky self-protection - razor-sharp criticism, shaming, violence - aimed both inwards and outwards. I want to keep getting to know this self-protection, in myself and others.
I want to honour this self-protection - to see its necessity, and to accept that sometimes my arms will be wrapped around myself as if my life depends on it.
I want to practice saying ‘no’ when I need to. No! No to jumping-up dogs, to obfuscating house buyers, to people-pleasing, to the myriad multiplying oughts.
I want to be realistic about what I can do right now, and what is beyond me. Here I am. Human. Vulnerable. In (messy) process.
And. (What a beautiful, important word.) And - I want to find my way back to that place of open arms. Over and over again. Despite everything.
To be deliciously infected by the spirit of that little girl, and to carry it with me.
Love, Satya <3
Tell me: How is it for you when you open your arms? In what areas of your life is that easier in? Where is it more difficult? What kind of relationship do you have with your spiky self-protection? What would you like to open your arms to more?
Do you know about Nick Cave yet? Not the musician and writer, who is also magnificent, but the one who makes sound suits? Enjoy this video, and then maybe get up and have a little boogie to this one.
Andrea Gibson has been living with cancer since 2021 and has written here from the centre of their pain. Their writing helps me to come alive and I am grateful that they exist. As a commenter on this piece says: “even when the truth isn’t hopeful, the telling of it is.”
I’ll leave you with the last lines of possibly my favourite poem ever (The Blessing by James Wright).
Suddenly I realise
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
Next week: My Twenty Five Year Regret (paid only)
Satya Robyn is a writer, psychotherapist & Buddhist teacher. She co-led the Bright Earth temple for a decade, has written ten books, and has taken part in eco-activist projects. She thrives on a good mix of hard work, cosy mystery novels, time outside, stretching her brain & expensive vegan chocolate. She lives happily in Malvern in the UK with her spouse Kaspa & two little dogs.
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Fabulous.
Thank you. I am in a similar process while working on bringing a new puppy into our lives after 3 years. This illuminates that wait. To remember the openness despite the possibilities of what seem like hold ups and missteps.