730 things — Day 90 of 365

 Moving on to a completely different topic — I've been thinking about my 'inner editor'. That's Tony's phrase, and a very useful one.

The medical term for it is impulse control. Apparently babies don't have it, little children begin to develop it, teenagers still haven't properly got it down, and it's not properly in place until the age of twenty-five, which is why you can't get car insurance until that age in the US, so Sten Ekberg says in this very interesting video (I love his videos, really clear and informative). He says in the video what bit of the brain governs it — the amygdala I think, but I can't remember now. I like the word "amygdala", I think because it reminds me of "mandala"; it sounds as if it would be something beautiful and probably from India, like a wonderful pattern.

Anyway, the inner editor is all in place once you're twenty-five, and restrains you from doing or saying inadvisable things. However, as we grow old and the brain ages, our inner editors do start to doze off, and we regress to a tendency of doing what we feel like and saying what we think, even when that is inappropriate or inadvisable.

This morning I was thinking about a woman I know who really, seriously annoys me. Everything about her annoys me. I don't even like looking at her. She irritates the hell out of me and I can't stand her. I mean, in truth she's a perfectly nice woman, morally good and upright, a person of faith and intelligence, creative and kind — I just don't like her. I don't like her husband either. 

And it occurred to me that the impermanent companionship of the inner editor is why it's a really good idea to follow the instructions of Jesus and learn to love my neighbour. Because over time, as my inner editor nods off, the truth will out, won't it? At the moment, on the occasions when my path crosses that of this individual (who very plainly dislikes me as much as I dislike her), I am courteous and pleasant towards her. But what about in fifteen years time, if I'm still taking up space on this good Earth? I might not be as nice to her then, might I? I might just spit on the ground when I see her. And gradually (or even quite quickly) an ugly situation will develop that contributes nothing to peace on Earth. The seeds of war are here.

It seems to me that the only way out of this is to learn to actually love her — and then when my inner editor slides into oblivion, there will be no nasty impulse to control anyway so it won't matter. If when I look at her I love her, there will be nothing I need to restrain.

I do believe in the law of karma too, and that we are here to learn customised life lessons which keep coming round until we get the hang of them, and I think the only way to get someone fully and completely out of your hair is to honestly love them. Otherwise the universe keeps bringing them back and putting them under your nose and saying, "Ready yet?"

Because learning to love, and all the art and skill of it, is the thing above all we came here to do. Loving one's neighbour and loving oneself. That's what it's all about.

A tiny contribution towards loving our neighbour we make in our household, is giving away things we could quite easily sell.

So item one of my two things to dispose of today is this freezer. I can't remember if I paid for it personally or it came out of our shared kitty, but it was my initiative to give it away so I'm counting it in to my 730 things. 

It went on Freegle, to a man who had moved with this wife into a caravan. A couple of years ago they had been living in what in the UK we call a 'tied cottage' — accommodation that comes with their occupation, like a manse for a minister. The man's wife's job had a house with it, and that's where they lived, and she did her job just fine and everything was going well. He, meanwhile, had suffered a decline in health and could no longer do his own work so he retired early, but the wife's work was enough to sustain them both. Then a great employment opportunity came up for her which would allow far more influential and creative use of her skills — a chance to spread her wings; and the wife took this new job and resigned from her current one, and they were excited about the new prospect and just staying where they were to work out her notice before making the move. And then along came Covid.

The new project evaporated as the months went by, but having stopped her old job she was ineligible for furlough payments. Her employer kindly allowed them to stay on in their tied cottage for the longest time possible before ceding it to the incoming employee.

And then there they were: no job (either of them), no income, no furlough payments, no new job to go to. He was too ill to work, and her (rather specialist) occupation was one of those made impossible by a pandemic.

The only star left shining in their firmament was that not long before it all happened they had bought a caravan for holidays. And that was now the only place left for them to live in.

For people in such situations, Freegle is like the eagle that lifts you up on its pinions. That man was so grateful to be given a freezer. He'd measured to make absolutely sure he could get it in. Summer is coming. There'll be blackberries and herbs in the hedgerows and people with marrows and apples put out for the taking. If he's shrewd he can get a lot of free food put by for the winter. 

This is the grace economy, and I love it.

The second thing I have to give away is also Covid-related — an unopened pack of mask filters for people who like to be extra careful.