Goofball land, where the only certainty is the anguish of unfulfilled desires, is created by those of us who link our happiness to things we cannot control. Stuff like a mosquito bite, or that our daughter’s sweetheart is female, or the election of “their” moron rather than “our” champion of righteousness. Actually, I have a sneaking suspicion that the banner titled “Things We Cannot Control” covers every single option imaginable except one: where we choose to place our attention––love or fear.
This sounds loopy, I admit, but I’d say that among the most unfortunate ways we treat ourselves is holding the belief that our opinion is worthy of being taken seriously...by us.
And we hold this questionable belief because, for some strange reason, we’re asleep to just how young we are, how little we know, in the scheme of human evolution. Not necessarily babies, but close. Which is why we think it’s only common sense that we consider so many other people to be less than ourselves: dumb, wrong, bad, whathaveyou. We’ve yet to get that we’re spiritual beings evolving toward ever-greater compassion. Ten thousand years from now we’ll look back on how we behave today and howl with laughter at our silliness––while we weep at the pain it has caused. That’s my story, anyway.
Elections are a colorful example of our goofiness, or mental illness as it’s more commonly known. After one election we’re jumping for joy that the world is once again heading in the direction we’re convinced it should. A few years later we’re in the pits of despair because all that’s holy is going to hell. And so it roller-coasters for years, lifetimes even: the world’s longest-running soap opera.
Who knows why, but someday we begin to get an inkling that both of these reactions are driven by fear we refuse to let go of.
From there it eventually dawns on us: to be truly happy, unconditionally happy, it matters who we vote for, but not who wins. It matters that we invest ourselves with enthusiasm in the call of our heart. But attaching our happiness to any particular return on that investment (which, of course, is beyond our control) is a key to the most populated community on earth: goofball land, where the only certainty is the anguish of unfulfilled desires.