Living With Limits

I hit the wall last night. I guess we all have limits.

We had some technical difficulties setting up the Temple’s daily Zoom meditation session. I had spent a long day talking to people in the thick of dealing with the challenges, anxieties and fears of these days—their own and that of others. And I just kind of fell into the darkness myself.

I suppose it’s dangerous to meet people where they are; to welcome and trust whatever is present. I feel so blessed to have a vocation, both as Zen teacher and as life coach where I get to play in these fields of authentic human experience and connection. Through my work and through my life, I have unrelenting faith in the underlying grace and ungraspable coherence that always appears when we stay long enough right where we are. But sometimes, it is just too much.

I never used to know I had limits. I knew I sometimes got tired and grouchy and withdrawn, but I never realized that these are signals for me that I can’t do any more. The problem is that I usually can do more and often try to do more—and this is where I get in trouble. When I go beyond what my heart can hold, I can still be present, doing almost the same thing, but there is a personal cost to me. Like a muscle that will overwork one day and then be sore and not able to function the next.

When I’m over my limit, I’ve found that it is surprisingly helpful just to realize that I’m over my limit. Even when I need to keep going in whatever I am doing, realizing that I’m overextending myself allows me to function more skillfully. When I don’t have a lot of energy or clarity, I can only trust the low energy and lack of clarity. Trying to pretend I am some place else is just more exhausting and not a very effective strategy.

Hitting the wall is the place where I begin I feel the exhaustion. I loose my natural feeling of connection and possibility. I get quiet and feel I just have to go on alone. It’s not a pleasant place, but when I recognize it and call it by its name, it’s not terrible either. And the gift of naming it – of knowing I am in a dark place and can no longer rely on my own skillfulness and energy – is that then I can do my best to practice what I encourage others to do.

So I do my best to let myself be where I am. I recall the question my Zen teacher gave me when I was in a dark place decades ago. ‘What is there here you have never noticed before?’ I look around and get curious the dark geography of this particular place. I allow myself to go slower. I give my self up. I remember once again that I am not the ruler of the universe (always a disappointment). I text a friend and set up a date for a six-foot walk. I go out and work in the garden.

I meet my life once again. Ah….just this.