Life 401, k?

I had what might be considered a traumatic childhood - in some ways. At least there are times when I have considered it so.  From there, I advanced into a traumatic early adulthood.

I think we all look at our own lives, our own situations and bemoan the tragedy, the inequity. But we do not look enough at the lives of those around us. In fact, I am certain that doing just that - considering others - is the key to serenity and contentment. As long as it is the "me" story, nothing is enough, nothing is fair, nothing is as it should be. But once we look outside ourselves and begin giving, helping, sharing, joy abounds.

One thing I think I got out of living in so many different families as a child (11, depending on how long is living with someone and how long is staying with someone. Where do you draw that line?) is the ability to see things from different viewpoints. To be less certain that my way is the only way, that there is only one path to success, to God, to righteousness...

Now to argue the other side..

Coming out of this strange childhood and early adulthood, I think I clung to certain rituals I had learned in my life as "the only way" to do certain tasks. In the kitchen, particularly, I had some pretty hard lines drawn about procedures. For instance, sorting beans must be done by a painstaking and tedious method of laying a small pile out, then hand sorting each one with no more than, say three at a time in your hand and after careful and thorough examination, these are dropped into the pot.

As a young mother, I found myself living in a very large hippie commune, The Farm, and living and working in one of it's larger households.  

 One woman I lived and worked with, Patricia, was desperately trying to have a baby. At first I could not stand her. She completely rubbed me the wrong way. She was bedridden trying not to miscarry for the third or fourth time. Part of the reason I could not stand her was I was her personal servant . Dumping her chamber pot, fetching tea.  She had a shrill, whiny voice - to me she was quite demanding and acted entitled.

After her seemingly inevitable miscarriage, Patricia and I worked together in the kitchen.  I was horrified and dismayed by the cavalier attitudes of my co-workers.   I was certain that my way was the only correct way to do these food preparations and surely we would all perish if, for instance, we did not sort the beans properly.  One woman, Kathleen, whilst summarily dumping beans directly into the pot, rocks and all, basically told me that my ways were slow and ineffective and that we had a lot of people to feed and had to do it their way so shut up and just do it.   I carried on, envisioning broken teeth and feeling oppressed and misunderstood.

But Patricia was kind. She explained to me that we all have our ways that are like our family history and that we cling to certain rituals for comfort and security. But that the thing to focus on here was that we were really so blessed to have each other to be bumping butts with in the kitchen. This changed everything for me - the kitchen experience, my attitude toward Patricia. To this day, I see everything differently.

 In today's mad America - with good people taking hard stances on various sides (yes, there are more than two sides) of the Affordable Care Act issue, I am reminded of these things I am writing about here. Of the basic human need to cling to that which is familiar. To distrust change. And also, I am reminded that we must be grateful to have each other to muck through the quagmire with. To sort out what is best for America, for our people. Ah, if we could just work together in harmony and joy and peace.

 Patricia? I believe you are needed here.