WillSpirit!

Probably because of my new blog at PsychCentral, traffic here has picked up dramatically. So everything I complained about not long ago has been resolved: I have a new project and more traffic and everything is going along swimmingly. Given the amount of emotional turmoil I put myself through around developing the new site, you’d think it was going to make a big difference in my life. Lots of money; fame; the Nobel Prize; world peace; something dramatic should have been at stake to justify such concern. But of course blogging is just that: blogging. For 99.9% of bloggers, there is neither money nor fame. It is simply a way of disseminating one’s ideas to a small audience. The occasional voice catches on, but I realize that without writing more contentious material, or in some way juicing up the product, my blogging will never attract more than a trickle of readers. But right now at least, that’s working for me.

What do I get out of it? It’s a question I often ask, but usually only write about when the answer is ‘nothing’. Since at present I feel better about blogging, I might as well state what good it has done me. Since I started in May 2009, I’ve evolved greatly. My writing has gotten better, in that it’s less wordy and more focused. My ideas about mental health have clarified; nothing helps resolve confusion better than trying to explain what you think. My grief has lessened, as I’ve poured out my anguish in many posts, and received support from readers. I’ve grown spiritually; at one point I tried to rationally justify faith, and the result was that I found faith (though not through rational means.) And now I’ve made at least a little material, tangible progress, in that I’ve attained a much more visible venue.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve revealed things about myself that I should have kept private. I’ve taken the process personally, as if there is some reason why my writing should be noticed without me doing all that much to publicize it, in the context of thousands of similar blogs. In the course of various crises of purpose, I’ve allowed the process of writing to adversely affect my process of living.

But overall, I’ve gotten a great deal out of blogging. And judging from the comments I occasionally receive, a few others also benefit from what I’m saying.

So what’s my message today? It could be, ‘take the long view’ or, ‘have faith’ or, ‘trust yourself’. I already wrote recently about the long view. But faith and self-trust are worth highlighting.

What is faith? It is an emotional and cognitive conviction that the universe is more or less on track, and that I don’t need to be regretful or afraid. ‘Everything happens for a reason‘ is the way some people phrase it, but I’m not sure there are reasons behind what occurs. On the other hand, I am sure that almost every happening has both positive and negative consequences. In particular, there is no catastrophe so total that at least a particle of wisdom or growth can’t be pulled out of the wreckage.

On a deeper level, faith means letting go, and drifting effortlessly through the shifting currents of time, space, and society. Whether we like it or not we are adrift, but we are also buoyant. I’ve spent much time and energy thrashing about, trying not to sink. But what I’ve found is that if I relax, I float without effort. And I say this in the face of some truly painful losses and scary prospects. Victor Frankl survived the holocaust and wrote uplifting works about his experiences. I used to think people like him must have had solid, loving upbringings that allowed them special resilience in the face of trauma. But now that I find myself feeling actually grateful for the pain and disasters that once threatened to crush me, I see that the key is not found in the mists of childhood (where I find mostly darkness), but in the clarity of present faith.

And this is where self-trust comes in. Sometimes faith means something profound and mystical for me. Other times the conviction that the universe has a deep, beneficent spirit eludes me. But what I always can bank on is that my (and everyone’s) human spirit is almost infinitely adaptable. If I release my rational grip on events, and allow the deeper parts of my psyche work things out, I eventually find peace. When I let go, I find that what I’ve released isn’t a lifeboat, but an anchor. I float free.