It’s painted on my bedroom door.

The words of one of my favorite authors, Wendell Berry, from my favorite book by him – Hannah Coulter.

You mustn’t wish for another life.
You mustn’t want to be somebody else.
What you must do is this:
Rejoice evermore.
Pray without ceasing.
In everything give thanks.
I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions.

I see the words when I go to sleep.  And when I wake up.  Otto Fox has them memorized and quotes them often to me.

The whole bit is beautiful.  Poetry.

But the part that always pierces me begins right at the start.

You mustn’t wish for another life.
You mustn’t want to be somebody else.

Life is a minefield of mental triggers – right?

So many parts ripe for comparisons.

House, job, clothing, have your pick.  Shoot, even a hairstyle, for the love.  You can compare your kids to the well behaved neighbor’s kids.  Or to the truant neighbor’s kids.  Your car, your shoes, your marriage, your friendships, your relationship status, your checking account.  It’s all available to size up, measure against, shine the light on, place in the dark corner, you name it.

You’re giving what feels like impossible advice, Mr. Berry.

And yet.  (There’s always the “and yet”.)

I don’t actually want to compare.  I don’t enjoy the process.  I never come out on the other end a winner, whether my comparison lands up or down on the scale.

And, truly, I don’t want to be in the position to wish for another life.

I want to want this life.  The one I am square sitting in.

That takes up all my self-discipline some days though.  All my mental chatter and talking myself off the edge of cliffs.

To be satisfied.  Content.

(I’m not saying complacent.  That’s a different story.)

To be alright, even to be good, with where and how you woke up this morning.

To be satisfied with the way your life has lined up, panned out, churned around, dive bombed, settled nicely, shaken down.

To be where you are and to feel that it is enough.

(Not that you’re stuck.  Not that you’ve settled.  Not that you’re marking time.)

These are the things I wish for.

To not wish for another life.
To not wish to be someone else.

Maybe, just maybe, the secret to the first half of the quote is found in the second half.

But good grief – that feels backwards and, frankly, too cuss word hard.

Perhaps if I could

Rejoice evermore.
Pray without ceasing.
In everything give thanks.

I would find that I was no longer wishing for another life.

That I was no longer wishing to be someone I wasn’t already.

My word, Wendell Berry, why you gotta make it so hard on a person?

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