There is an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. "We'll see," the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful!" the neighbors exclaimed. "We'll see," replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "We'll see," answered the farmer. The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. "We'll see," said the farmer.

I've been thinking about this story a lot since my injury. I notice the stream of thoughts that show me what a "bad" thing this is- it hurts, I can't do the things I want to do, I can't play with my girls outside, it's impacted my work, I had to stop aikido, I have to ask for a lot more help, I may become a "knee injury" person, and the list goes on. Then I have moments where I think that maybe this is a blessing: my schedule has more spaciousness (my intention for this year-- see the winter issue on New Year's goals), I'm more grounded and aware of my body, I feel rested, my body is getting stronger with all of the PT exercises I'm doing, I'm losing weight as I took this time to cut out sugar, I have an increased awareness of disabilities, I'm learning to ask more for help, and the list goes on.

This is the trap. Either way, the judgment gets my head spinning and it pulls me from being present. It's not to say I can't have compassion for myself in the pain and frustration I feel in having to spend a few weeks relearning to walk on my leg, nor do I ignore the lessons I am gaining from this experience, but I need to refrain from categorically judging this incident as good or bad. It's hard to catch myself sometimes, but I find that when I can let there be room for not knowing, I feel lighter and I can respond more appropriately to what is given to me in the moment.

This timeless book is one I go to when I feel like I've been hit like with a steamroller. Chödrön is a beautiful writer who is able to guide the reader through the big, hard questions of life. She shares her compassionate heart for the suffering we experience and invites the reader to stay with the pain and discomfort as a path to awakening. It's when we're awake that we have access to respond more skillfully to what life gives us.   She writes, "We think that the point is to pass the test or overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy."