It's Always Possible

Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.
—Mark Twain

The best portion of a good man’s life: His little, nameless unremembered acts of kindness and love.

—William Wordsworth

Kindness is more important than wisdom, and the recognition of this is the beginning of wisdom.

—Theodore Rubin

Always be a little kinder than necessary.

—J. M. Barrie

Since my retirement several months ago, I have been getting up quite early in the morning. I know some people get up earlier, but at present, if I'm not up and dressed and sipping coffee by 6 AM, I'm having a late start to my day. 

I love the early mornings. I wish I could say it's the cool crisp air that delights me, or sweet sound of robins and nightingales. But the humidity reading of 87% stops the air from being cool and crisp, and rather than songbirds, there are usually literal cat fights in my yard at that early hour. Nevertheless, I sit outside most mornings, watching the sun come up, sipping coffee, and contemplating the day ahead of me. 

For the last week or two or three (but hey! who's counting?), those thoughts usually lead to what I need to buy/clean/fix/rearrange before the upcoming High Holy days. 

Unused rooms need to be cleaned out for overnight guests. I think I need a couple of new pillows for those guests. Also, more honey. And tehina. My shirt is missing a button (or two) and the bread maker just died a premature death (not from overuse). And probably, but here I'm just assuming, the back of the fridge might need to be fumigated....

But because I'm retired and have more leisure time (heck, ALL my time is leisure), none of this worries me. It'll get done. No little kids running under my feet, no work pressures, no shortage of carrots or chickens. It's as easy as pie. And I'll probably need to make two. 

Therefore, I have more time, in these weeks leading up the Rosh HaShana, to think, more time to consider, more time to visualize what I want my life to look like, what I want to be when I grow up. (Spoiler - not a ballerina.)

For most of my life, I had been told or taught (perhaps indoctrinated) with the belief that in the month before Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur, one is required to look back on the past year, understand and accept the things that one did wrong, and resolve to right those wrongs and sin no more. In addition, one is required to ask for forgiveness from people one might have wronged —which, it turns out, is just about everyone. 

This teaching (indoctrination?) was the mother of all guilt trips, which, added to the ongoing concern of whether or not there would be enough shnitzel or tehina (that is built into my DNA [the concern, not the tehina]) would leave me highly stressed and deeply unhappy. It was an appalling way to enter the High Holiday season, which is meant to be uplifting, awe-inspiring, and beautiful. 

For various reasons beyond the scope of this record, in the past few years, I have dreaded, more than ever, the coming of the High Holidays. 

However, this year, as I sip my coffee in the morning quiet (apart from the garbage trucks drag racing down the street), I have come to realize and accept two conclusive truths:

1. I can't change the past.
2. I can't be anyone else. 

Now, one might say "well duh" to these truths, but other truths are that:

1. An amazingly large number of people – educated, experienced, intelligent, well-meaning people – do, in fact, work very hard at trying to change their past; either trying to undo mistakes they have made or attempting to achieve something that was not achieved (and can no longer be achieved).
    And
2. An amazingly large number of people – educated, experienced, intelligent, well-meaning people – also try to be something they are not, whether it is being more organized, or less distracted, or learning to love broccoli more than chocolate milkshakes. 

Therefore, instead of concentrating on my negative traits, on actions I cannot undo, or trying to analyze how I can make broccoli tastier than a chocolate milkshake, my early morning meditations have focused on what I can do, what I can be. It doesn't have to be along list. 

But whatever is on the list, I can work to do more of. 

More love.
More laughter.
More hugs.
More kindness.
Even, more cookies.  

Our sages teach us that we are to act always as if the world is teetering between good and evil – that the number of sins committed is the same as the number of mitzvot – and it is up to the individual to bring the balance to good by doing just one more good deed. We never know exactly where the world stands, and it might be precisely that kind word you said to the shopkeeper, or the seat you gave up on the bus that saved humanity. 

Going into the Holidays, this year I am going to concentrate on what I can do, not what I can't. And I can be kind whenever possible.
It's always possible.