A life-changing aspect of my father’s death was recognizing how I resist being taken care of.

I saw a caterpillar on the grass, eating, resting, and doing what it needed to do before transforming into a butterfly.

It’s hard to surrender to the truth that I don’t have control. It’s hard to admit that life can be impossible, unfixable, painful. That too often, I can’t do a thing about it.

It’s a Saturday morning and I am grumpy. I am impatient with my partner. I am angry at an offer of help. I cling to unhappiness. I am better able to notice when I am out of balance than I used to be, thanks to wise teachers and healing practices.

And I still fall. Hard.

What an amazing French pastry, unlike any I had enjoyed before. Soft layers with complex flavours atop a crisp, buttery base. I bit into it on the street, the cream oozing out, my fingers sticky, my smile enormous.

Allowing for the possibility of not knowing what will happen, or even what should happen, is not a demand. It’s also not a promise. It’s a welcoming of life, with no specifics.

Maybe sometimes we don’t need to grasp at comfort within difficulty; maybe sometimes we are just uncomfortable.

We are not here to take care of every task, make everyone happy, be perfect. We are here to remember who we are.

I learned as a child that in order to be loved I needed to be quiet, independent, well-behaved, disciplined, and attentive to the needs of others. What did you learn?