"Perhaps this is OK."
Before he designed the Monk Manual, Steve Lawson felt quite burned out on the anxious codes of modern productivity. He was sick of the sucking vacuum of anxious hustle. In the vast, buzzing world of self-creative hustle, Steve Lawson and his team propose, gently, humbly, even alluringly, that perhaps there is another way to live, one that points towards a more flourishing end, and offer tools to help people live more intentionally. They offer tools that help people wrestle well.
I heard Steve interviewed on a podcast recently on this point, and he shared a thought that helped me, so I'll pass it along to you. With some editorial smoothing, since he was speaking extemporaneously, he said:
"For anyone who is trying to take the process of life seriously, oftentimes life can feel like you are really wrestling. You are in this tension. You are really working at things. You are really wrestling with things. If you choose to live a life with intention, not just sitting back but really engaging with your life, wrestling is going to be a part of it.
"But I think there's two ways you can experience that [life wrestling]. One way is in a heavy way, in a way where there's a lot of pressure and fear. A lot of pain comes from the tenseness of that approach. That other way is more like a kid at play -- even playful wrestling! I believe the difference between the two approaches is being able to be gentle with yourself and ... holding out the possibility that you are actually ok. That things are actually ok. If you are feeling anxiety or feeling that wrestling is really weighing you down, take a step back, and say: Perhaps this is OK. Perhaps I'm OK. Not that 'everything is perfect.' Not that 'I'm perfect,' or that I should stop here, stop wrestling. But perhaps this is OK. Perhaps I don't need to be so hard on myself. I think things change if you can live through that."
This is so close to the spirit of "essaying" that I wrote about in my last newsletter, which struck a chord with many of you. I was glad to hear from you on it, and I hope in whatever you trying today, that you will taste the joy of good work in it. The work of today will present real challenges. Some of them are small; some are much bigger and thornier, and well beyond capturing in a simple productivity checklist. Some challenges are deeply connected to who we are and what we're all about. And when the questions feel existential, we are prone to falling into fear. We are tempted to stop wrestling.
Life is serious; no doubt. We are given life: in time, in particular places, with particular people. Try as we might to author our own lives, we know deep down that we don't control the script. Numbering our days for wisdom's sake -- as many of us are doing now in the season of Lent -- casts the story of our lives in a different light. As long as we each draw breath, there is hope. There is time to retune. Whether you are walking a Lenten path or not, there's time to grow in wisdom, to ask "perhaps" and see your life in a new light -- from the wisdom gained by considering your life's end. Playfulness and death don't seem connected, but they are both ways that we can re-tune the way we live. Perhaps the thing that I'm carrying that feels so heavy isn't as valuable as I think it is in light of my last living breath. That might not mean that I am called to set it down, but I might need to re-evaluate how I'm carrying it. Or consider who carries it with me. Perhaps I can hold it all more lightly, and see what happens when I do.
My friend Ashley Hales, a gifted thinker, writer, and podcaster herself, released a book last year, A Spacious Life. I commend her book to you, because her work on this idea is another worthy resource to this way of living. (Check out her Lenten walking audio resource too, if you are looking for a small discipline to take up in this season.)
A precious prayer introduced to me by another dear friend is a fitting way to close, pointing us to the very source of gentleness and hope: "Eternal God, you call us to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us, and your love supporting us, through Jesus Christ our Lord."
Amen.
A critical postscript: Most of us are in circumstances where we are free to say "perhaps this is ok" but there are always, inescapably, places where things are manifestly not OK. As I know you are, I too am keenly aware of how Ukrainians are suffering under violence and craven political leadership. Let us pray together and work for an end to this war, for an outbreak of sanity and peace, praying for all those who contend and wrestle towards those ends, and especially for those who are seeking to give a taste of security, home, peace, and play to children who are caught in this senseless and brutal moment of history. And let us give to serve the vulnerable -- the poor, widows, orphans, and those seeking refuge -- near us. Here's one group I am aware of giving real help to Ukrainians, led by a Ukrainian alumnus of my school in Belgium, but there are many, many others ways to give.