SWEET SURRENDER

The word 'surrender' has been rolling around in my head all week. It emerges like one of the sayings in the Fifties' toy--the magic eight ball. My intuition is weird. It also sings songs to give me messages! I always walked into work with a song in my head (and often out of my mouth) that seemed to fit the occasion. Not always good either--Whistle While You Work, Get a Job, Smile and the Whole World Smiles With You, You're Late, You're Late for a Very Important Date. That way.

So, 'surrender'?  Not me. Never. Onward. Do or die. Never give up.
Persistence has been good to me and for me. I like being diligent.
Say 'no' to me and I'm all in.
Bat away that word, surrender. 

Then the phrase 'sweet surrender' popped up.  Of course.
This is what I want. Not giving up, but giving in.
My stomach feels the difference immediately.

Some of my 'sweet surrenders' are:

—I'm never going to learn to parallel park. I surrender to looking longer for a parking place.

—I'm always going to read or write before I pick up my mess--which usually is books. I surrender to my clutter.

—I will never have all my grandkids living nearby.  I surrender that loss and double enjoy those I have near

—I will never not be a little naughty and nuts. I surrender my dignity

—I will never be thin. I surrender to being voluptuous!

—I will never be an important author.  I surrender to writing anyway

—I will never get holiday cards out on time.  I surrender to using Valentines' Day for cards--or the 4th of July!

—I will never be young again. I surrender to being mortal.

Whoa. I thought this would be mostly funny. Not so much. Not so much.  But this kind of surrender IS sweet. Try it. Write down your surrenders. You'll experience peace and softness in your stomach when you mean what you say.  Sweet surrender is the ultimate humility of giving in, proof of being very very human.

WHO'DA THUNK!!!

To keep Truth Burps 'true' to its premise, I never know what I'm going to write about and I never write ahead of my deadline. (Probably wouldn't anyway, but you know what I mean.)
However ideas do come and go during the week.  

Here's my funny story for this week and then a thought about a new product that is emerging and will become big. Thus speaketh Joyce.


Story first. I have had easy good health for most of my life. Not now. One does pay the piper, darn it. I am the inflammation poster woman. I have always been interested in emerging health stuff because I have seen many things go from ridicule to mainstream like acupunture, vegetarian diet, omnipresent Yoga for Pete's sake. So I decide to go to a functional doctor.  (The Institute for Functional Medicine teaches practitioners how to uncover the underlying causes of your health problems through careful history taking, physical examination, and laboratory testing)


I make the appointment from Mexico. I go two days ago. Th e office is hard to find and poorly signed. I wonder. Nice enough inside. Hour long form to fill out. Could use it as a structure for a memoir. Nice education room. Lots on agriculture and plants. I meet with the doctor who is lovely--organized, tender, listens deeply, seems well versed in my issues AND ends up certifying me for medical marijuana use!!! She gives me a list of possible 'products' and where the dispensary is. I laugh my head off and so does she. I am so proud of my little card and can't wait to tell my kids. This was the best medical exam I've ever had. She will do much more traditional testing and treatment. 

I just like to see how things emerge and morph and manifest. Marijuana has gone from evil to boringly practical and highly refined!! And I am very curious.

OK, I hate writers and workshop leaders who don't do what they say they will. So new product? Solitude and silence. It's starting now. People are paying to disconnect and to avoid being overstimulated. We are drowning in stuff and connectivity and are willing to pay for 
stepping away from it. Let's watch how that emerges. More on this----maybe. 

NOTES FROM 'THE MUSER'

Who knows how things work?  I do know that one day, maybe three years ago, I bumped into an ancient email (and I use GMail) from a college friend. We were inseparable our Freshman year. Life happened and we lost touch. (I like that phrase--lost touch) We lost touch, not spirit.
And so we correspond. Often--laughing, telling our truth, sighing, hurting when the other hurt, telling our stories and musing. My friend is a muser. She muses. Beautifully. I share this musing with her permission. She recently ended an email with it.

acts of compassion, acts of random kindness, consideration--these are the human gestures i find uplifting. righteous conviction, blatant self-interest, hatred and prejudice in all their guises, intentional deception--these are the human behaviors that make me discouraged and sad. i choose to and must believe that most people desire and strive to be "good" and that what is considered "news" are, in fact, aberrations and acts of ignorance.

choice.

always choice. 

BLESS OUR NOVELISTS

I just read two books back to back--A Constellation of Vital Phenomena by Anthony Marr and The Year Before the War by Helen Simonson. The first is about the impact of somewhat recent wars on Chechnya and the second about World War I.  They were both compelling in  different ways--tone, 

hope, cultural context, individual heroism and lousy-ism.

I admire both for the work the authors did on historical accuracy and the plot turns that in any work that did not include war could be labeled contrived. Marr's book had such sharp edged particular people. Simonson's were more the usual British prototypes but not false nor flat regardless. I think it was the specificity, the details in both that gagged me, more in the Chechnya book because the horror was always there. There was no one lived outside the atrocities.  Both allow that war 'is' and will be.

In both, there was the petty  cruelty of cultural class war and the ever presentcruelty of individual hate and pain. 
I am sober after reading them, not that I haven't been many times before after reading about our ability to hate and kill. This time I am sober because I am aware that we are at the cusp of deciding if war just 'is' or whether we can turn back from the edge of allowing competing differences turn into unalterable damage. Do we live at the brink and won't know it?  Or are we in just one more cosmic burp of violence and hate that just 'is'?  Do we need the life and death drama in order to have respite after the destruction?  Nature or nurture?  What can we change?  What will we change?  And what will we accept?  What do we accept in our daily lives where, instead, we could sow tolerance and compassion and don't?  

You see, this is what novels are for--showing us dramatic choices.  Bless the authors.