verb (used with object)
1.
to exercise restraint or direction over; dominate; command.curb,
So, I have been thinking about control for a long time now. It's an odd word that, to me, denotes power. Don't you think of power when you hear the word control? Especially in a free, western country where we have the right to do so many things that other countries wouldn't, couldn't even think of. I mean we are a wealthy country to be sure! I know there are exceptions, so I'll talk about my background, which is very middle class. I was born into a middle class home, had middle class friends, went to middle class schools, live in middle class neighborhoods and have a middle class job. Is it clear that I'm going to keep this about the middle class? Good.
From the time most of us were born, we become absorbed in the search for security. We begin our journey out of our dark, warm, comfy home inside our mother's uterus, through no choice of our own, and we are forced through this ridiculously small passageway, squeezing, pushing, and being pushed, as our bodies slide against the walls of our exit path.
We feel something on our heads pulling now, instead of a push, and then suddenly, BAM....!!! Our whole being feels like something drastically horrible is about to happen. Fear grips our soul as the blinding light mercilessly pierces through our tiny eyelids, and suddenly that wonderful warmth that we were so completely wrapped in is gone...dissipated...vanished...and all we feel is something quite the opposite... vulnerable, unguarded, unprotected, naked, and well...COLD. That's it ...it's just cold!
Our arms are flailing, our heads feel shaky and heavy, and bothersome, and of course, our little legs and feet are flailing as well.
Suddenly we are very aware of this thing we later learn is our body. It feels so heavy and cumbersome. We can't really process what is happening, and we can't verbalize it either, but we feel like we are going to spiral endlessly through some sort of strange, scary universe into a frigid state of consciousness that exposes us to our worst fear; falling. And all we can do, for the first time ever, is open our tiny little lips, fill our virgin lungs with oxygen, take a deep inhale and force all of the emotions, feelings, fears, into one monumental scream.
What do we want? Why?
The people on the outside of our warm, consolatory environment that we called home for about nine months, know what we want. They know because we are then taken, by some kind soul, and are wiped off so that the once warm aqueous liquid which surrounded our form, now doesn't cause us to freeze to death. That kind soul also knows that we sense all of our limbs might fly right off of our being because they are no longer bound and held snugly by the walls of our mothers body. So what do these kind creatures, these angels of mercy do? Thank God! They wrap us up tightly with some sort of material that warms us, and hopefully keeps our limbs in tact. The material feels nothing like
that beautiful, silky feeling the liquid inside our mother's belly gave us, but still, things begin to calm down a bit.
And thus begins our search for the security we lost the day we took our first anguished mouthful of air. That sense of well being is now a thing of the past, but oh, we remember it, as we will remember it all our lives, but we won't realize we remember. And we want it back, and we will always want it back. What a traumatic experience birth is!. Dave Matthews is right, whether we are middle class, upper class, poverty stricken; whether we are powerful in body mind and spirit or totally helpless, we all come weeping out of someones vagina.
There you have it; the quest for security, for homeostasis. So, what do we middle class-ers do? Well, we save money, lots of money if we listen to our elders who are much wiser than us. We save for college, we save for homes, cars, children, furniture, and of course, insurance. We will even pay people to tell us what the best thing is to do with our money so that we won't be left in the proverbial "dark". We want security, order and most of all, even above monetary things, we want to KNOW what's going to happen. A little. We want to know where we will live, what school we will go to, what job we will have and we want to know where our next meal is coming from.
We also want the security of the love we felt before we were able to even process the words or feelings related to love. We look for it everywhere. On the internet, in churches, bars, grocery stores, and the list goes on. Once we find it, we want to keep it and never lose it. So we plan. We make promises (a lot of which we can't keep) and we tell ourselves that because we are adults, we can deal with the desires that came with us the day we were squeezed and pushed into this imperfect world.
But then something happens out of our control.
A death. A tragedy. A betrayal. A disappointment. If we are honest and don't use things like God, drugs, people, ideas, food, alcohol, religion, and a plethora of so many things, to help us feel "safe", or keep us from fully feeling that horrible pain that perhaps we felt in a different time and a different place (Why does this feel so familiar? we innocently ask ourselves, but deep down we know!)
If we are truly honest, we realize we have no control. We realize that it can all be gone in a blink of an eye, in a puff of smoke.
Sometimes when I think that life is orderly, controlled and has this sort of solid continuity to it, I think of the people in the World Trade Center after the explosion when they were trying to get out of the chaos of a crumbling, burning building. They couldn't even tell which way they were going. Some even thought they were going down stairs when then were actually going up. In a matter of moments an orderly, regular day became another world, a strange conglomerate reality that put them in a moment and than another and another. But they were moments. And then they were over, and nothing was ever the same for anyone after that.
I think what I'm trying to say is that yes, there are moments when we feel the warmth of security and love. And yes, there are times when our plans work out so wonderfully well and all seems right with the world. But I think, for me anyway, I must remember that I have very little control of matters. Perhaps I have control now of my body; that's why I work out, that's why I watch what I eat. That's why I take my blood pressure medication. But at sixty one, I realize that, perchance, someday, I may not have that sort of control over my own form, my own body. Yes, it's a little disconcerting.
My journey has not been yours, and of course, yours has not been mine. But one thing we do have in common is that we really aren't in control. The answer for my dilemma is my faith in my God, and my faith in myself; knowing I am created in the image of this powerful God I have chosen to believe.. Choosing to believe in someone or something bigger than me is something I have control over. Choosing to believe that someone or something is loving; as a matter of fact is love itself, is something I have control over. In my very darkest hour, my God hung on to ME, I did not necessarily hang onto him. (I chose to use him simply because I believe Jesus is God and Jesus is a man.)
My lesson in this lack of control thing? Well, hey, there are many lessons I've learned. But the most important lesson is to just let go of control.
To know that I have very little control. To know that when I'm scared, it's okay, that when I doubt so much, that too is okay. Because of this lesson, I have learned that I can choose to love others, even if they are a pain in the ass.
I have also learned to appreciate who I am and who I have always been.
Another huge lesson that I have learned is to live in the moment. To look around me and actually see, as if for the first time, a beautiful world. To actually see love in everything. And these are my choices, the ones I actually do have control over.
I wonder what yours are.
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