Angle of the Dangle
In a previous essay, I mentioned that labradorite is one of my favorite gemstones.
Turns out it's a remarkable stone.
To see its wonder, you have to view it from different angles. Labradorite can appear dull and ordinary one moment, then flash brilliant shades of blue, green, or gold the next.
The stone hasn't changed.
Only the angle has.
Come to think of it, our minds work much the same way.
If it hadn't been for a trip to Savannah with my twin daughters and one of their close friends, I might never have paid much attention to gemstones at all. The three of them pulled me along through the historic streets, stopping in shops I probably would have walked right past on my own.
Somewhere along the way, we wandered into a small mystical store filled with gemstones, incense, books, and all sorts of tools people use in their search for meaning and alignment.
Standing there, I was reminded of something I had noticed throughout my life.
Most of us have at least one person in our family who was drawn to things outside the mainstream. Maybe they talked about intuition, astrology, meditation, energy, or ideas that didn't fit neatly into everyday conversation.
Sometimes they were seen as a little different.
Sometimes they were laughed at.
Sometimes they were dismissed.
And occasionally, people became surprisingly angry at them simply for seeing the world through a different lens.
As I stood there looking at shelves filled with stones from all over the world, I found myself wondering why that happens.
How does someone become upset with another person whose primary goal seems to be finding a little more peace, meaning, or connection in life?
The more I think about it, the more I realize I have probably stood on both sides of that conversation.
At times I dismissed things I didn't understand.
At other times I defended them.
And somewhere in between, I learned how easy it is to appear as though we have everything figured out while quietly living a version of ourselves that doesn't feel entirely true.
That realization may have had less to do with gemstones than I first thought.
How long has it been since you've asked yourself one of these questions?
Why didn't I see it sooner?
Why did I stay so long?
Why did I tolerate that?
Why did I abandon myself?
Why am I still carrying this?
Maybe one of those landed.
Maybe all five did.
Or maybe I just gave you five different reasons to be angry at someone, something, or even yourself.
That's the funny thing about perspective.
The same question can feel like an accusation from one angle and an invitation from another.
I don't see those questions the same way I once did.
I did see it sooner. I simply wasn't ready to trust what I was seeing.
I stayed long enough to give someone every opportunity I felt they deserved.
I tolerated things at about the same level I was willing to tolerate them within myself.
I learned that abandonment's kryptonite isn't finding the perfect person, job, relationship, or outcome.
It's learning how to stand on your own feet and refusing to place your happiness entirely in someone else's hands.
Sometimes healing isn't discovering a new truth.
Sometimes it's finally seeing an old truth from a place where it no longer needs to hurt.
The answers didn't change because the past changed.
The answers changed because my angle changed.
Have you ever seen a grocery cart sitting miles away from the store where it belongs?
Most people see a misplaced cart.
Someone else sees a kid who borrowed it.
Someone sees a homeless person carrying their belongings.
Someone sees an employee who has another task to complete.
Someone sees a problem.
Someone sees a story.
The cart didn't change.
The angle did.
And sometimes that's all it takes to see something differently.
Much like labradorite.
The stone was carrying the color all along.
The light simply found a better angle.
This necessary angle change can sometimes bridge anger to peace of mind with a single realization:
What if part of my anger is actually directed at myself?
Not because someone else didn't hurt me.
Not because what happened was acceptable.
But because somewhere along the way, I ignored something I knew.
Maybe I didn't trust myself.
Maybe I stayed longer than I needed to.
Maybe I kept hoping someone else would change so I wouldn't have to.
That's when the angle changes.
The anger may still be there, but now we can begin to see that there are more options available to us.
Doesn't it seem that in almost every situation there are multiple angles from which we can view it?
Most of those perspectives were taught to us by family, culture, experience, or circumstance. Yet at some point we have to ask ourselves:
Which perspective serves me now?
Which one helps me grow?
Which one helps me heal?
Because if I continue looking through the same lens that created the suffering, why should I expect a different result?
