Brendan McDermid/Reuters
Our Borders sat next to a beautiful public garden. On a day when I was well enough to out, my husband and I liked to get a drink at Border's espresso bar and sit in the garden. I insisted on buying the drinks since he does all our other shopping. So, he'd take the dog to the garden and I would go into the store.
Invariably, my first thought upon entering was, "They don't carry my book" (as if I didn't know this already!). I'd place our drink order and sit down to wait.
Then my list of grievances would begin:
"There are tens of thousands of books here. Why not mine?"
"What an incompetent bunch of buyers to have passed on my book. No wonder they might go out of business." (Note the self-centered delusion in that statement: Borders was in financial trouble because they failed to carry my book!)
"What about the woman who wrote to me, saying she bought the book because the title jumped out at her in a Barnes & Noble? What if she'd been in a Borders? This is so unfair!"
"Maybe I should talk to the manager. He could call corporate headquarters and tell them they've made a terrible mistake!"
It was my own exquisite little scene of torture and I embarked on it every time I went into the store. The good news is that, over time, I got less far down my list before I stopped and reflected that I could keep on going and be miserable, or I could let it go.
Calmly letting go of circumstances beyond our control is the essence of equanimity, one of the four "sublime emotions" in Buddhist practice. I was gradually able to catch myself earlier in my recitation of grievances because of a discourse given by the Thai Buddhist monk, Ajahn Jumnian, when he was California many years ago.
As he began to talk about how he lived each day, I grabbed my purse and fished around for pen and paper. As Jack Kornfield translated, here's what I jotted down:
When people say, "Ajahn, let's go for a beautiful walk," fine I'll go. If they don't ask, that's fine too. I don't expect a walk to be any more satisfying than sitting alone. It could be hot or windy out there. If people bring me delicious food, great. If they don't, great. I need to diet anyway. If I'm feeling good, that's okay. If I'm sick, that's okay too. It's a great excuse to lie down.
I have this little discourse memorized, but it took many trips to Borders before I remembered to call it up. I realized immediately that Ajahn Jumnian's words could free me from my self-induced suffering.
And so, when I'd catch myself listing my grievances, I'd stop and say, "If Borders carried my book, fine. Since it's not here, fine. It gives me the opportunity to practice letting go." Then I'd smile and consciously turn my attention to what was going on around me.
And what a beautiful sight it was: people wandering down the rows, pulling books off the shelves to browse through; someone excitedly motioning for a friend to come over so she could share some treasure she'd found; a young girl, sitting on the floor, completely absorbed in the pages of an art book.
I miss Borders...even though they didn't carry my book!
© 2011 Toni Bernhard. All rights reserved.
I'm the author of the How to Be Sick: A Buddhist-Inspired Guide for the Chronically Ill and their Caregivers, winner of the 2011 Gold Nautilus Book Award in Self-Help/Psychology and named one of the best books of 2010 by Spirituality and Practice.
I can be found online at www.howtobesick.com
Toni Bernhard, J.D., is a former law professor at University of California at Davis. She is the author of How to Be Sick.
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