But I was so sure…

This morning I drove myself absolutely crazy looking for the little spiral notebook in which I keep some of my daily to-do’s (those I need for quick visual access) and other notes I make during the day. I tend to get pretty behind on transcribing those notes, which makes the pad more valuable for me, so I don’t lose all those bits of information.

I had a very clear memory, this morning, of putting that little notebook (3 inches by 5 inches) into my left front pocket (where I like to carry it), as I prepared to leave work last night (in the gift shop of the big downtown hotel). I kind of remembered, this morning, stopping somewhere along my 10 minute walk home, to make some kind of note about something that crossed my mind as I was walking. My little spiral notekeeper could possibly have fallen out of my pocket then – but that was not feasible, because I absolutely remembered putting at the end of my bed when I got home last night. That’s where I like to put it, in case I want to add a note to it or record a note from it – typically into my computer database.

I had a very clear image of tossing it on that end of the bed last night. I could not, however, remember putting it either on my dresser or the on the filing cabinet, the two places I tend to put it when I’m going to bed. So it might have gotten caught up in my blanket or bedspread – or fallen under or behind the bed.

I checked all those places thoroughly – three times. I checked the dresser probably four times – likewise the top of the filing cabinet. Both of these surfaces had lots of other clutter, but not really enough to conceal the notebook – especially the third or fourth time I moved everything around. Then I looked in places where it should not have been, where I never put it – some of those twice. I checked the wastebasket – sometimes I have found missing objects there.

The more I looked, the more frustrated and angry I got. I hate it when I lose these notebooks, and this would not be the first one I had lost – probably the third in the last year. And each time pisses me off no end. Why do even bother taking all these little notes – books or movies I want to remember, addresses, phone numbers, future to-do’s, etc. – if I’m going to just lose them?

I told myself a couple of times to just let go of it and to trust that it would eventually turn up. I knew that was good advice, but I couldn’t take it. I grew more and more intense and my language more and more obscene.

A couple of times I thought to call work, but that made really no sense, as I knew I had had it at home last night. I was working again tonight and could look for it then, but was sure that I would not find it there. Finally, when I could not shake my frustration and upset, I kind of gave up and called the gift shop. I knew that would not help, but I could no longer think of anyplace else to look – and still could not take my advice of letting it go.

Andrew, my boss, was working the a.m. shift. He said, brightly, “Yes, sir, I’ve got it right here. I put it in the drawer with the work shift calendar.”

But how? How could it possibly be there when I had such clear memories of putting it into my pocket before leaving and then of taking it out of my pocket at home? This made no sense.

Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese Zen master, likes to ask people (sometimes in very large groups, at one of his public talks), “Are you sure?” After time for people to think about this question, he likes, then, to ask, “Which way is up?” He then will point towards the sky and say, “Probably most of you said this way. But are you sure?” (Long, dramatic pause…) “Our friends in China would not agree with you.”

Oops. When we say, “He doesn’t know which end is up”, this is such a classic put-down. And here it is true of most all of us in this crowd of hundreds – or thousands.

Well, if I don’t know which way is up, then just what am I sure of? I could say that this is a rock I am holding, and be pretty confident of that one. But I will probably also assume that what I am holding is “solid as a rock”. But atomic physicists tell us that this rock is mostly space – with its electrons moving around so fast that it seems solid. Hmmm.

I was sooo sure about that notebook this morning, but I was wrong. How many other times that I think I am sure, is this also the case?

But, aside from maybe being wrong a lot of the time, what’s so wrong about feeling sure about things? Going around questioning everything does not seem such a useful state.

When I tell myself that I know something for sure, I tighten. I build a rigid wall around that piece of knowing, which resists any information to the contrary. So I may become more and more out of touch with reality. I am responding to my own internal belief, rather than the concrete details of what is actually in front of me in the here and now.

When I was looking for my notebook, the evidence of my senses said that it was not in my room. But I would not believe this – I couldn’t believe it. Why was I so sure of things – putting it in my pocket at work, taking it out of my pocket at home – which had not happened?

Us humans like structure. We live actually in a world where there is so much we don’t know – what that person in front of us is thinking or is about to do, what is around that next corner, what’s going to happen tomorrow. Buddhists like to remind us that we don’t know even if we are going to make it to tomorrow. “The only thing we know for sure is that we are going to die – and we don’t know when. How then shall we live?”

Oh, man, we don’t like that one. If there is one thing we want to be ble to count on, it is that we have at least a little more time. If we didn’t know that, then what would we do? Quit our jobs? Spend our money? Have an affair? Have it out with a friend? It looks like chaos, just ready to break out. I want to know that I have tomorrow, that I will go to work tomorrow, that my partner will come home tomorrow, etc., etc., etc.

The truth, though, is that each of these items is unpredictable. When I make myself sure of them, I build a brick wall where right now there is open space.

What actually could happen, were I to release my clinging to these things, is that I could experience life as flow, not solidity. I could experience myself as fluid, rather than rigid. I could stay open and receptive to how this person in front of me is going to turn up – or how I am going to turn up. I might learn to relax more and to trust the process of my life, rather than trusting in things. Another Thich Nhat Hanh quote: “Science is now showing that the whole of the cosmos is reflected in this speck of dust – and we think we know the person in the passenger seat of our car.”

In some ways, this kind of humility about the life around us might seem more challenging. But, actually, building up and holding on to these rigid structures is very hard work – it uses up most of our energy. To stay open, maybe confused sometimes, available to surprise, is actually lots less work – and way more fun.