I was harvesting my strawberries yesterday. In order to outwit the birds, my husband Ron had built an ingenious “box” composed of a wooden frame with bird netting that I tip over for harvesting and then carefully lower (not to crush any strawberries) back when I’m done. As I lowered the box, I noticed that in the midst of the patch was a poppy, in full bloom, bent and curled from being crushed in the netting, its pink glory invisible to any except the slugs bent on beating me to the fruit. I watched it start to uncurl and found myself conflicted – save the strawberries or honor this determined poppy.

I thought of the dictionary definitions of resilience: 

1. the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.
2. the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

I am often bemused by how fragile we seem sometimes. I was having a struggle with tech support for my new mobile phone account recently and found myself somewhere between tears and fury when, after an hour of struggle with the “expert” he said, “I’m so sorry, I have to connect you with a higher level expert. Today is my first day, and I actually don’t know how to solve this.” Steam started to come out of my ears, and I could feel my voice raising an octave. 

And yet, when there is real adversity, humans prove to be incredibly resilient, whether it’s on the frontlines, or after a natural disaster. Could I be a hero if there was really trouble? Or would I melt down into a puddle of self pity and incompetence? It seems that daily life’s “difficulties” test a different aspect of resilience than the big event. In a moment of disaster, the nervous system provides adrenaline, endorphins and other chemicals to address the adversity, unlike the drip, drip, drip of daily irritations and insults. Can I rise to the occasion/opportunity or get crushed by the tiny daily “insults to form” as Stanley Keleman called our daily traumas? 

When I feel compressed, or even flattened by circumstance, I return to the floor and do a lesson. (In fact, I often sink to the floor.) It almost doesn’t matter what lesson it is, taking the time to return to my bones, my breath, calms my mind and softens that sense of being crushed by things I can’t control. I can feel my own personal “box” lifting as I find my true shape.

In the spirit of random relief, visit my newsletter for a free lesson! 

And yes, I put the box back down, because I figured this poppy knows exactly how to handle difficulties. 

See you on the floor, 

Lavinia