Discernment

All things must pass All things must pass away

All things must pass None of life's strings can last So, I must be on my way And face another day

-George Harrison

Religion has begun oddly creeping back into our lives lately. This morning it was on the topic of discernment, one of my favorite Ignatian teachings to guide one through making tough life decisions. Peg was on the next pillow, scud rolling past the window over a choppy bay, pondering her options as the Corning adventure has drawn to an end. To apply the Jesuit discernment process, we had to start by drilling down to a pair of distinct choices: does she go back on the road working somewhere cool and exotic for the summer, maybe coastal Maine or Rhode Island or even the rocky shores of Oregon, or work here in Florida and raise chickens and donkeys at Wyldswood?

If you're curious about how it's done, here's a summary:

https://www.ignatianspirituality.com/making-good-decisions/an-approach-to-good-choices/an-ignatian-framework-for-making-a-decision/

Having isolated the decision, we talked through the process for reaching the right outcome through a careful sensing of feelings of desolation and consolation that eventually peel away the personal biases such as avarice, the need for adulation, etc., leaving the answer in clear view. Or not. Sometimes it takes a couple rounds, and maybe a period of weeks.

But we don't have weeks, because the credentialing process in a new hospital or surgery center takes a long time. Peg's leaning into the process, and has a great attitude about it all, and perhaps this will lead her to the right place.

Last night we attended Ash Wednesday services at a church other than our former home church in Panama City. The liturgy and music were lovely, it was nice to hear the priest quote Jung from the pulpit after some of the cotton candy we've been served in church over the last couple years, but it isn't home. Maybe we'll grow into it, or maybe there's some discernment to be had here, as well.

Meanwhile, Lent has brought, among other things, the question of whether to give up something as a vehicle of keeping this divine wrestling match at the front of our consciousness. I'm giving up my cocktail after work, although a friend once reminded me that even during Lent, we get a feast day once a week when it's sacrilege to remain in sackcloth and ashes. But drinking on Sunday leads to a muddy Monday, so I came around to the notion that I'll be a Jew, for calendaring purposes, over the next thirty-nine days. Once it's sunset-ish on Friday, still light enough to see a golf ball, we're into sabbath and something brown and sharp on the rocks is okay. Then sunset Saturday we're back to mocktails, which Peg and I started trying to formulate last night with this expensive bottled concoction I ordered through the mail.

So P's doing great, grappling with where the next adventure will lead. As for me, I have 101 open files as of this morning, a hearing for which to prepare, and a sense of loss at the prospect of turning Tara into an Airbnb. It was fun while it lasted, but all things truly do pass. As I reminded P in my own colorful way over breakfast this morning, the best lives still end with a death rattle and a flood of farewell excrement to strip away any dignity that person maintained right up until the end. It was a great couple years, totally unexpected in the depth of the pandemic, but we've ended by crapping the bed, which doesn't make any of what came before less wonderful. Maybe the next couple will be every bit as great, in their own way. We'll just have to be systematic, good Ignatians, as we find our way through this part.