After I read the morning news and some posts from friends with different traumas or dying pets, I was ready to swim in a dark cup of despair & gloom….then I remembered a podcast with the author, Elizabeth Gilbert, who spoke of living with a “stubborn gladness.” She first heard of this telling from a Jack Gilbert poem that I’ve included below.
So, I turned off my phone and focused on the chirping birds and silliness of my goofy dog named Moose. Letting go of the blue funk and redirecting my energy towards more cheery aspects of my life, lifted my spirits.
Yes, there is great suffering around us AND we can let it get us down or we can choose to pull out our rose colored glasses and an attitude of “stubborn gladness” to move through the day.
Despite whatever is going on in our lives, it feels so much better to live this way. Take a moment to find those rose colored glasses and put them on for the rest of the day….or for at least a few minutes.
take a moment
Put those rose colored glasses on!!
A Brief for the Defense by Jack Gilbert
Sorrow everywhere. Slaughter everywhere. If babies are not starving someplace, they are starving somewhere else. With flies in their nostrils. But we enjoy our lives because that's what God wants. Otherwise the mornings before summer dawn would not be made so fine. The Bengal tiger would not be fashioned so miraculously well. The poor women at the fountain are laughing together between the suffering they have known and the awfulness in their future, smiling and laughing while somebody in the village is very sick. There is laughter every day in the terrible streets of Calcutta, and the women laugh in the cages of Bombay. If we deny our happiness, resist our satisfaction, we lessen the importance of their deprivation. We must risk delight. We can do without pleasure, but not delight. Not enjoyment. We must have the stubbornness to accept our gladness in the ruthless furnace of this world. To make injustice the only measure of our attention is to praise the Devil. If the locomotive of the Lord runs us down, we should give thanks that the end had magnitude. We must admit there will be music despite everything. We stand at the prow again of a small ship anchored late at night in the tiny port looking over to the sleeping island: the waterfront is three shuttered cafés and one naked light burning. To hear the faint sound of oars in the silence as a rowboat comes slowly out and then goes back is truly worth all the years of sorrow that are to come.