As Oscar Wilde wrote in The Importance of Being Earnest:
“The suspense is terrible.
I hope it will last.”
Unfortunately, it won’t.
In just a few hours from now on this very Sunday, July 18th, I’ll finally have my answer.
That is, I’ll know if 6 people can finish a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle in four hours.
It’s how I’m celebrating the birthday party I canceled two weeks ago.
Sitting alone at my table, I’ve already completed the frame and about 25% inward from the border.
Therefore there’s probably about 800 pieces that have to be assembled.
That means that each guest will have to assemble 33.33 pieces per hour.
In theory, that seems doable if everyone is focused.
(I’ve considered a “No Talking Except About Puzzle Pieces” Rule, but I’m both elated and dismayed to report that this is a VERY chatty group.)
The puzzle we’ll be doing is a rendering of Katsushika Hokusai’s Great Wave of Kanagawa (1830-32).
It’s from a woodblock print and so there are many of them in the world, including one at the Met.
It’s actually from a series “Thirty-six view of Mount Fiji,” the most sacred mountain in Japan.
Even though the subject is ostensibly the small mountain in the background, not the storm (and the 3 boats of frightened fishermen) that dominate the foreground, this one––The Great Wave––is by far the most famous.
Initially, I intended to have this small gathering be a living metaphor, a true embodiment of support.
An Amish barn raising if you will, whereby what one person can do alone is dwarfed by what a like-minded collective can accomplish together.
I thought what I needed most was to remember and re-experience that phenomenon.
Having had to cancel and postpone the gathering re: some surprising personal plot twists, I’m now noticing new things in the image (and myself).
I’m particularly struck by the contrast of the calm of the mountain in the background of the stormy sea.
Just FYI, Mt. Fuji is actually an active volcano, but one that last erupted in 1707-1708.
There was no lava.
Just some earthquakes and volcanic ash.
It’s been quiet ever since.
Yet obviously, rather than the stately mountain, it’s the stormy sea that’s the star of this image.
And in my own life lately, it’s been the metaphoric storm that’s been what’s in the foreground for me as well…perhaps you can relate?
There are many versions of this quote, ranging from Old English to African proverbs, but the truth remains the same in all of them:
“A smooth sea never made a skillful sailor.”
Across multiple cultures and many generations, it’s become clear that easy experiences don’t allow us enough challenges for growth, that some rough waves are necessary if we’re really going to know how to navigate in the world.
Rather than soaking (even drowning) in resentment,perhaps we can consider ourselves on the path towards becoming amazing sailors.
And truly, if you were invited onboard any ship, wouldn’t you prefer that your captain had that level of experience, that she or he could take you through the roughest waters safely?
We tend to think that the best possible scenario for our lives would be if everything were as easy as possible.
Indeed, all of us sometimes wish that we were born into the perfect loving family, given every opportunity and advantage we could ever imagine, and that our path ahead was smooth and clear and easy and without any struggle whatsoever, and that ultimately, everything we ever tried to achieve met with tremendous, and preferably immediate, success.
And yet…has that truly ever happened for anyone?
Most often when we probe into stories of “instant success” we discover there was a lot of preparation and hard work along the way.
Beyond this, all of us know stories either firsthand or through the media, of seemingly blessed individuals whose lives were deeply troubled.
Or those who reached astonishing levels of success and then either lost everything, or were faced with greater challenges with relationships or health issues or in other arenas along the way.
Even so, the fantasy of the easy path looms large in our imagination, and yet it leads us in the wrong direction.
We need / I need to start asking different questions.
Imagine how powerful the shift would be if we moved from asking “How quickly can I get out of this situation?” to “What am I able to learn here?”
What if, rather than viewing our lives akin to achieving a perfect score on an exam or a final tally of our accumulated wealth and achievements, we viewed our life path as something designed to enhance our soul’s journey?
What if, for example, rather than looking at our bank balances to determine our success, instead we looked at how much we’d grown?
It’s a cliche––but also annoyingly true––that viewing our challenging experiences as opportunities for growth, allows that growth.
Viewing them as burdens or punishments not only removes the expansive value they might offer, it also traps us in a state of victimhood.
SIDEBAR: I do have some words of caution, however, since there’s definitely a danger in taking this idea too far.
What I mean is, if we suddenly decide that every challenge must have a secret, deeper meaning that we’re meant to uncover, or that our obstacles are somehow all designed as lessons (if not punishments!) for us to refine ourselves, we can travel down a very confusing path indeed.
(In other words, please don’t torture yourself by trying to find some cosmic message in every setback. Sometimes a parking ticket is just a parking ticket, not a telegram from the Divine.)
Nonetheless, by asking the question “What’s here for me to learn in this storm?” you become open and aware, receptive to messages from both the Universe in the most vibe-y, cosmic way, but also through good, old-fashioned common sense.
Rather than labeling yourself a “Success” or a “Failure” based on your own (or society’s) arbitrary criterion, you’ve created a new, much more powerful identity for yourself: you’re a “Learner.”
And as a learner, you’re not only freed from judgments about the past, you’re also open to vastly greater adventures and possibilities ahead.
Today’s adventure and possibilities will include this puzzle.
We may finish it.
We may not.
It’s possible no one will show up and I’ll be back to putting the pieces together by myself.
It doesn’t matter.
Whatever happens, I’m going to learn from it.
Namaste for Now,
P.S. I’ll let you know next week, but what do you think will happen…?
Note: I’m definitely not above taking friendly wagers.
P.P.S. Some of this writing was inspired by my DailyOm Courses. Feel free to check my favorites out HERE.
