Living in the country, some of the best life lessons come before I even have a chance to step off my porch. And sometimes I have to learn those lessons more than once. Thankfully, life is a patient teacher.
I learned one of these important lessons a few days ago when I was preparing to feed my chickens. It had been unseasonably warm for about a week, to the point that on a few occasions I was down to jeans and a t-shirt. And when I looked out my bedroom window after waking up that day, it looked like we would have more of the same.
There were a few clouds in the sky—the white, fluffy kind with plenty of bright blue sky in between them. The sun was bright and the tree branches were swaying with the breeze.
It looked like it was going to be a warm day, so I walked right past my heavy winter coat and my knit hat as I headed toward the back door. Even if it was a little chilly outside, it wouldn’t take long to take care of the animals, and it would feel good to not wear three layers of clothes while I did my chores.
My mindset changed as soon as I opened the door.
I hadn’t noticed it from my upstairs window, but now that I was closer to ground level I could see it clearly: frost. The grass was sparkling with a thin layer of frost from the cold snap that had rolled in during the night. Then an icey wind blew, and I felt goose bumps forming on my bare arms.
If I was lucky, things would warm up as the sun ascended in the sky. But at this moment, the world was a cold and frosty place. And I needed to make a decision.
If I went out to do chores in what I was wearing, I would feel fine at first, as the remnants of warm air from the house formed a bubble around me. Then the wind would blow and there would be a skin-prickling cold. Doing chores would transform from a pleasant way to start the day to an endurance trial.
I could do it. I could make it work. But what was the point of that when I could just put on a layer of warmer clothing and make life a little bit easier.
So I turned around, opened the door again, and stepped back inside.
It was a small act, nothing to write home about, but the impact was immense. I grabbed my heavy work boots and put on my winter coat. I reflected on the course of my decision-making.
Why had I hesitated to do something so simple and rely on common sense? Was there some small part of me that did not want to admit that I had made a mistake? Did pride make me not want to admit that the cold bothered me.
There was no one in the house but me, and I certainly didn’t need to impress the animals. They just wanted to be fed and I doubt they cared how I was dressed.
As I walked outside again to do chores, now dressed appropriately for the weather, these thoughts raced through my head. And I came to some conclusions.
First, I didn’t like that the weather wasn’t meeting my expectations. This late in the year, part of me felt annoyed with the never-ending cold. It’s one thing to bundle up around Christmas, but we had just celebrated Easter, for goodness’ sake!
Grabbing my winter coat felt like a surrender. I wanted it to be warm, but it was not. I had to wear my coat, but I didn’t want to. Life was not meeting my expectations, and that didn’t feel good.
Second, I didn’t want to admit that I needed to wear a coat because I’m a Buddhist teacher who has been trained in how to suffer and endure! Normal people need to wear warm clothes when there is frost on the ground, and I don’t want to be normal.
But I am normal. I am ordinary. Many years of sitting on the cushion and staring at walls has shown me time and time again that I can’t escape my normal, ordinary existence.
I need to eat when I’m hungry. I need to sleep when I’m tired. And I need to wear a coat when it’s cold.
I think it’s the neediness that most gets to me. To have needs is to be vulnerable—to realize that sometimes those needs won’t be met. There may come a day when I’m hungry and there’s no food. There may be a time when I’m tired and I can’t rest. And there will be a moment when I’m cold and there are no warm coats to be found.
That’s a scary thought.
But things don’t stop being true just because they are scary. And I can’t stop being human just because it’s hard.
When I reflect on the story of the Buddha and how he attained enlightenment beneath the Bodhi tree, one of the things that strikes is how humble and unassuming the tale really is. Even if one reads the story in the Lalitavistara Sutra, which includes detailed accounts of the Buddha living in heaven realms and throwing elephants at his wedding, the underlying story is fairly humdrum.
He suffers. He tries to stop suffering and fails. So instead he learns to find peace amid suffering. The Buddha was a human at the start of his hero’s journey and he was still human at the end. The only thing that changed was his perspective.
As I continue to practice Buddhism, my perspective changes on a daily basis. It was shocking to realize how much of my suffering was self-inflicted, and how I made life harder for myself out of a sense of pride or stubbornness.
To be sure, there are times in life when we must grit our teeth and endure. There are times when suffering is a requirement and not a choice. But I’ve learned that we don’t need to invent those moments for ourselves, and there is nothing wrong with grabbing a jacket when we are cold.
Namu Amida Butsu
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