The Kindness of a Bad Day

Siddhartha was having a bad day. A prolonged period of asceticism had left him by the river bank. His body ached from the exertion of living without shelter or proper nourishment. His mind reeled with disappointment. After all this agony, the sickness, suffering, and death he longed to conquer were still everywhere. He leaned against the tree exhausted and disillusioned.

Flies buzzed him and villagers gossiped. His fellow ascetics stared at him with their sagging skin-and-bones bodies and hollow eyes. To make matters worse, the one thing he had managed to understand in this wretched existence was that his determination to find liberation through denial was just another ego attachment.

A young woman named Sujata was having a better time. She made some Kheer, a milk-rice pudding, to take to the sacred trees by the river as an offering of gratitude. There she encountered the emaciated, downcast Siddhartha and offered him the bowl of Kheer.

Being a good spiritual leader, he said, “No, thank you. I’m fine, give it to the others.” She went away happily and the whole village was inspired by his generosity as he went on starving and then he died.

No. Wait. That’s not right.

He gratefully took the bowl of rice and ate it with wild abandon, slurping up every last grain. There had never been a more delicious meal in the whole wide world. It gave him strength and purpose. When his fellow ascetics saw this, they proclaimed him a spiritual failure and stumbled back into the forest without him. He let them go. He let the plan go. He let the suffering go. The Middle Way stretched before him, paving the path of kindness we walk on today, after he became the Buddha.

All because he was willing to accept help and admit he was having a bad day.

You know what, y’all? Tensions are high, bombs are falling, food costs too much, the tenets of democracy are leaking from America’s drippy faucet, and it’s like 1,000 degrees out there. Even the sun hates us. We are having a bad day - nationally, locally, personally.

Why is it so hard to admit that? What could we bring to the world if we did?

Part of the problem is that our practice of spirituality, the thing that is supposed to protect us, lift us, and encourage us is also an armor that can bind us. Christian, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Spiritual-but-not-religious - all these faiths have a tendency to reward overcoming and shade vulnerability. This causes spiritual masking.

“I’m blessed.”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s a bad day but I know it will get better.”
“I just need some chocolate.”

We’re afraid that if we show the cracks, the light won’t come through, only judgment. When we say these things, we think we are being faithful and positive. What we aren’t being is kind. By perpetuating the “too holy to feel hopeless” or “too blessed to be depressed” narrative we rob ourselves and others of the gift of being real.

Sujata’s offering of a bowl of rice to Siddhartha gave him more than just sustenance. It gave him the permission to admit he was starving and accept his pious denial wasn’t working and he was pretty much at the end of his rope, and his life. His acceptance, and admissions, allow him to move forward. Watching that gives us all permission to be real too.

This Thursday I was having a bad day. It wasn’t one thing. It was everything.

* I watched the Supreme Court give more power to a man who cares only about enriching his ego no matter the cost. Human beings are being pulled from their family and sent to countries that aren’t their own. Healthcare is about to be ripped away from the most vulnerable people.

* I’m going through something called Post-Publication Depression. It’s a thing. After six years of working toward a traditionally published novel, it happened. It was everything I’d imagined. And… it is done. I’m experiencing a natural drop in adrenaline and the inevitable “now what?” of a goal achieved. I’m deep into writing another book and it’s not the “end” of anything - but I feel the drop. Everything that goes up, comes down.

* It was 101 degrees with 60 percent humidity and my car had been in the shop for 4 days because the air conditioning wasn’t working. After an entire week of having my wife drive me to work (way earlier than I would like to be alive), ubering back and forth to the garage, and $2,500 dollars - I picked up my car, drove back to my office, and…it still wasn’t fixed. I had to return it and say “You promised me an ice box, and what I got was a barbeque grill.”

* My dog ended up needing a vet call because of a passing intestinal issue (she’s fine now) which of course left me both worried (my baby!) and inconvenienced.

I sat down Thursday afternoon to write, got about three sentences done and the first tear, hot and stinging, began to fall. Then another. And another. And…I cried for 40 days and 40 nights. Well, not that much but there was a flood of sobs. All the frustration, anger, fear, disappointment, self-pity, hiccuped loudly from my body. Y’all, it was one ugly cry.

Needed. Helpful. Real.

When my wife came home she asked me how my day was. I said, “blah blah car, blah blah vet, blah blah deadlines.” Then, out of nowhere, I blurted out, “I sat down today and cried for an hour.”

“Aw,” she said, patting my shoulder. And that was it. She didn’t investigate. She didn’t fix. She didn’t offer suggestions. She just gave me permission to have a bad day. It was the bowl of rice I really, really, needed.

So that’s what I want to offer you today. The permission to have a bad day. I don’t wish a bad day on you - but if you are having one - I want you to take the rice, cry until the rivers rise, and know there is a future, and a kindness, in it all.