The gift of desperation: The blessings hidden in adversity
“All the lessons of history in four sentences:
Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad with power.
The mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly small.
The bee fertilizes the flower it robs.
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.”
— Charles A. Beard
This morning I came across the above quote and realized its timely wisdom perfectly captures the lessons we take from current events.
The first line warns that power without accountability breeds an instability and arrogance within leaders that ultimately causes their downfall. We see how unchecked power leads to irrationality and poor judgment.
The second line, referencing a Longfellow poem, promises that while justice moves slowly, karma will eventually grind the wicked “exceedingly small.” This serves as a reassurance that goodness prevails when we surrender outcomes beyond our control to a higher power.
The third phrase highlights the interdependency and balance of nature. Even when bees take from flowers, they facilitate cross-pollination, illustrating how our actions reverberate, and how we can transform negatives into positives.
Finally, the darkest nights reveal the most brilliant stars, suggesting that our most difficult seasons often unveil our greatest sources of hope and light. By shifting perspective amidst despair, we uncover our resilient strength.
This Thanksgiving, I am embracing gratitude for both the light and the darkness. My painful trials sparked personal growth by compelling me to nourish my spirit through service, prayer, and self-reflection. Out of adversity arose camaraderie, compassion and wisdom I may not have otherwise discovered within myself and others.
When we see life’s completeness rather than just its shadows, when we change our outlook to uncover the stars in the void of night, we transform everything.
Echoes of the unspoken
In my forties, I found the courage to confront the man I had recently started seeing - tall, undeniably handsome, with an athletic build and exuding a charm that was hard to resist. He was younger than me by at least 10 years, and his smile had a way of melting my resolve.
“It’s time for a serious talk,” I said. “I can’t go on in a relationship where we don’t truly talk to each other.”
“Okay…” he replied, flashing that heart-melting smile.
“Listen, it’s not about you personally, but I can’t be with someone who isn’t open to communicating.”
I was holding back the full truth. His heavy drinking, his strong and often judgmental opinions were real problems.
"Are you seeing other women? I asked him.
“So, women don’t really change with age,” he quipped, dodging the question.
I pressed on, needing to know where I stood.
"I just need to know if you see me as someone special in your life or just as a friend.”
"I see you as a lovely and beautiful friend,” he answered, his tone cheerful yet dismissive.
And with that, I got the answer that told me everything I needed to know.
“Thank you. Now, I know where I stand,” I said, forcing a smile while my heart sank.
Another rejection. Deep down, I had sensed the truth, yet part of me had hoped for a different outcome. Why was I continuously drawn to men who were emotionally unavailable? Was it something about me that was irreparably broken?
A week later, I brought up these thoughts with my therapist.
"You might run away from a good man," she said.
“Really? Why would I do that?”
"Deep emotional intimacy might scare you. It might feel suffocating.”
"But why?"
"Because such closeness in your childhood brought you immense pain. It’s a defense mechanism."
How I learned to climb daunting stairs in Monaco
Recently, while strolling with my dog in Central Park near Bethesda Foundation, I was presented with a decision: take the gentle, meandering path up the hill, or confront the steeper staircase toward the Mall and Literary Walk. This time, I chose the latter.
As I began my ascent, zigzagging between the flights of steps, a vivid memory emerged from my childhood. I recalled my nanny’s voice, guiding my five-year-old self on how to conquer the ‘Escalier des Gaumates’—the intimidating stairs that rose to meet the Boulevard the Suisse, the street of our home. To my eyes, they seemed to stretch toward the heavens.
“Walk up in a zigzag,” Nanny had suggested.
“But I can’t,” I had protested.
“Yes, you can do it. Just try. Just walk in an angle like this," she had explained, demonstrating a diagonal stride that alternated from one side of the staircase to the other.
“It’s your turn,” she encouraged.
I imitated her technique. To my amazement and delight, it worked; the climb became less intimidating. Step by step, I ascended higher, my breath steady and my spirits buoyed by the small victory.
That day, and in many moments since, Nanny imparted lessons of value. Indeed, I was a fortunate child to have her guidance.
Charting the course to self-love: my 90-day journey of personal transformation
In August 2013, while confiding in my life coach, I expressed my ambition to embark on a 90-day journey of self-love—a self-imposed vow to refrain from contacting an ex-partner.
The spark for this idea came from a site visit to a shelter in Providence, Rhode Island, where residents commit to a 90-day contract focused on sobriety and personal accountability. I thought, if those wrestling with addiction could demonstrate such steadfastness for 90 days, couldn’t I find the same resolve for my own well-being?
Thus, on August 4, 2013, I initiated this personal challenge, set to conclude on November 20, 2013. My life coach and I curated a playlist—a collection of songs to lift me through moments of heartache and self-doubt.
Throughout the 90 days, I committed to nurturing activities: from regular workouts, karate, delving into self-help books to massages, attending 12-step meetings, and social gatherings. A standout moment was a BBQ gathering with my sailing friends, recounting adventures from our Sicilian trip and practicing the energizing 5 Tibetan Rites on my lawn.
One of my most cherished pursuits was the renewal of my bond with the piano, under the tutelage of a gifted Bulgarian instructor. Her faith in me rekindled my passion, spurring me to consistent daily practice.
However, on day 45, I confronted a significant hurdle. While vacationing with my 10-year-old son in St. Tropez, I asked him to wait for me in the hotel lobby. With him out of the room, I stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigarette—the last one from the pack. As soon as I had taken a few puffs, the room’s door opened, revealing my son, his face reflecting profound shock and dismay. This incident stirred memories of my teenage self when my cousin Daisy had discovered my secret stash and reacted with tears.
Seeing the sheer impact on my son, I made an instantaneous vow—the end of my smoking journey.
Luckily, my away-from-home setting proved conducive to quitting.
The beginning of this journey, although imperfect, was a journey of introspection, resilience, and self-love. It was more than just a commitment—it was an exploration of the potential within me. I proudly achieved my goal of not reaching out to my ex during this transformative period.