The Thing Is
Everyone is doing their best; can we give grace to the rest?
I just had a fight with Joe. It was a metastatic occurrence of the fight we’ve been having for years; about the Thing that currently holds the top spot on our particular list of Things.
All partnerships have Things. If yours doesn’t, I’d argue that is your Thing.
And if it weren’t this Thing—if this Thing were to poof! into nonexistence, whether by miracle or by dedicated practice—it would be replaced by another Thing. A Thing that doesn’t seem like such a big Thing right now because the other Thing is so prominent, but absent the other Thing would suddenly balloon (in mere perception?) and demand attention.
Funny how that works.
I went for a walk with a friend on Thursday; she brought along her six-week-old infant, Peanut.1 We were walking along, and my friend mentioned the numerous tests, evaluations, and other appointments they’ve been to in Peanut’s short time out in the open.
These tests either didn’t exist or weren’t on the table when I was born. Nowadays, it seems they can test newborns for virtually anything; look at their genes like a crystal helix and tell you what their future holds. Maybe. If A, B, C, through Z all line up at the right time. Or maybe they’ll be fine.
My friend mentioned that Peanut has tight hips because of how she was positioned in utero during the time in fetal development when the hips get the most attention. See? Nothing my friend could’ve done to prevent it, and yet here she is facing a fork in the road.
A Thing. At six weeks.
My friend and her husband have to decide whether to put their baby in a splint or brace or take other interventions for her sticky hips, or see if the problem works itself out. This is just one Thing of hundreds, thousands, millions of Things—decisions they will make for Peanut until Peanut is big enough to take the reins and pile of Things into her own hands.
You know what? I had a rogue hip joint when I was born. I came into the world with my left hip joint angled inward, to the point where even now, I can easily 90-degree pigeon-toe that side by merely turning my body to the left while keeping my left foot planted.
My parents faced a similar decision as the one my friend faces now. My parents decided to forego the splints and braces. And I can’t help but wonder: was that decision 43 years ago the starting point of a series of countless decisions, occurrences, and moments that led me to grapple with hip and back pain to this day?
My parents wanted to spare me the acute pain and trauma of the brace—a brace that my tiny baby brain wouldn’t have perceived as anything but inexplicable discomfort—but was it worth the chronic pain and trauma it led to?
Oh, for the love of Pete. Who the fuck knows?
I am not going to sit here and disparage my parents for making what they believed at the time to be the Right Decision. Their Thing at that moment was deciding what to do about my hip. It was a big Thing—perhaps one of the biggest at the time—and they made a call. They were doing their best. I know that in my soul. Perhaps, in the long run, it is the root of my current state.
But so what?
When all is said and done, figuring out the root cause is helpful information—yes, absolutely—but I think that’s where it ends. Perhaps you pinpoint the “why” or the “how.” Bully for you! But what do you do with that information? What actions do you take from that moment forward?
That’s what’s important. Because that information, the tracing of that trail however far back you wish to go, equips you to do your next Right Thing. Your next Best Doing.
It’s all we can ask of ourselves—and of others—because it’s literally the only option. You take what you know, you compile the information you’ve gathered, and (perhaps most importantly) you check in with your soul, and you do the next right thing.2
That’s what my friend is going to do. That’s what my parents did. That’s what your parents did. That’s what Joe and I will do when this fight settles and all the good Things feel big again. That’s what we have the absolute gift of doing as adults. Our next right things.
And when we’re able to come from this space—from a space of accepting that so fucking much is out of our control, and that we are all just trying to do what we think is right—a hell of a lot of grace can come into play, if you let it.
Because when you accept that we’re all doing our best, it’s easier to infuse the rest with grace. Toss some grace at the moments when what we thought was best turned out not to be. Douse with grace the times when someone else’s decision hurt us. Inundate with grace when we let the Thing once again eclipse the rest, when we know in our hearts it’s not the Whole Thing.
Grace is not easy. Sitting in the discomfort of not knowing whether your decision will work out isn’t a picnic, either. But it’s the only way. Sitting in it. Accepting your role in it. Looking it in the eye. Waiting to see how it turns out. Making another decision.
All the while, cushioning the spiky, twisty, messy unknown with a fuck-ton of grace.
Not her real name, don’t worry. :)
Thanks, Frozen II, for putting this song in my head any time I hear those words.
Beautifully written! And so true.