The superstitions we tell ourselves
This past Friday the 13th some folks were suspended in a fog of fear just waiting for calamity to strike.
Rather than suffer through the next one, perhaps it’s time to consider letting go of beliefs that claim to bring good luck or bad, after all, such tales are not grounded in logic or science. For example, one origin story that Friday the 13th brings misfortune comes from the time of the Last Supper of Jesus Christ. Judas, the thirteenth apostle, betrayed Jesus which led to his crucifixion the next day, Friday the 13th. Over time this omen of death morphed into being seen as an unlucky day.
Other kinds of superstitious thinking involve attributing special meaning or power to certain objects, actions, or events. These stories spring from our attempts to make sense of our world, to find hope, or calm our fears. So why not free ourselves of the unlucky ones? Why not focus on personal beliefs we devise for ourselves by creating our own magical stories that aid us in facing the unknown?
I began asking myself such questions when I noticed my own magical thinking during my husband Jerry’s end-of-life journey. His diagnosis of an incurable progressive disease, multiple system atrophy, brought thoughts about the mysteries of life and death into the forefront. I began seeking ways to understand and adapt to the uncontrollable unknowns heading our way. In the process, I started to think differently about superstitions.
Not being a particularly superstitious person, it surprised me when, during the two years Jerry was in home palliative care, a pair of hummingbirds evolved into a kind of magical totem for me. At first, they simply brought us joy as we watched them come to a feeder on our deck multiple times each day. They were a flurry of motion, darting, diving, hovering, and drinking their fill. Even as Jerry was dying, only able to see them from our bed, the hummingbirds became symbolic reminders to us of the beauty of life.
Before Jerry died, it was both fortunate and bittersweet to have time to revisit events from the past. But, like little spiritual guides, the hummingbirds brought us back to the present. They reminded us to cherish the time we had now–in the moment. Those moments together when we looked at the birds then locked eyes with each other and smiled. Those moments when we would just “be” with each other, sitting wordlessly side by side out on the deck enjoying the morning air, taking in the sounds and the surrounding sights—including the hummingbirds.
After Jerry died, those hummingbirds greeted me each morning. By this time I embraced them as my totem animal, like a guardian spirit, and as such, I found new meaning in their steadfast company. I drew strength from their appearance. I felt they were at once a nod from my husband and a gentle reminder that life goes on. Now it was I who watched them from bed while feeling Jerry’s presence. When they flew away, it was a sign to get up, to try and embrace the day.
At some point, I can’t remember when it happened, the hummingbirds vanished. They were gone, just gone. Their presence had been a constant. What did it mean that they stopped coming? Having no explanation for the loss of “my” hummingbirds, I felt further adrift in the absence of my husband. I wanted to believe my hummingbirds disappeared for a reason; That I was meant to learn something from their departure. I wanted an explanation that would continue to help me manage my grief.
An opportunity to find meaning came at a birthday party, when during a game, people took timed turns unwrapping a ball of cellophane tape that contained small prizes. As the ball was unraveled, hidden things were revealed like coins, pieces of candy, dollar bills and different charms. I was taken aback when I won a hummingbird charm.
Here is the lesson I gleaned: While the live hummingbirds had been a symbolic reminder to me to pay attention to the beauty of life, now in changed form, the hummingbird charm felt like a reminder that life is all about accepting change. I rubbed the charm between my finger and thumb as if it imbued me with the ability to accept rather than fight against life’s impermanence.
Eventually I fashioned my own superstitious ritual by rubbing the charm as I sat down to write, feeling it empowered me, just like an Olympic sprinter might kiss her lucky ring before the blast of the starting whistle.
It’s understandable, our human tendency to grasp for supernatural explanations for the courage or comfort they might bring. During my time of bereavement, when my world was on tilt, I sought to find support and understanding wherever I could. My little charm helped. I found references that hummingbirds are meant to teach us to find delight in the simplest moments, to glide through life’s challenges, and to embrace the winds of change.
Even though my beliefs had been wonderfully validated, I found myself reaching less often for my hummingbird charm as I internalized those lessons. As I gradually faced life’s uncertainties on my own, I thought more about how some superstitions attributed magical power to external things. For me to find a temporary means of coping through hummingbirds was more helpful than harmful. Still, it did not seem to be the most effective or sustainable way to deal with the ups and downs in life.
Many superstitions are illusions of power. They offer ways to reduce our feelings of helplessness or fear of the unknown. In the story, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Dorothy and friends all felt they lacked something–hope, smarts, heart, courage. Oz provided trinkets that gave them the qualities/powers they needed: a diploma for Scarecrow’s brain, a ticking watch for the Tinman’s heart, and a medal for the Lion’s courage. And there was Dorothy with the magical ruby slippers. But as they traveled the strange world and faced all kinds of adversity they found the power needed to deal with their challenges was within them all along.
In the end-of-life journey with my husband, I have come to believe the sooner we give up any illusion of control, the better off we will be. Through my mindfulness practice, I have come to understand we cannot dictate the mysteries of life and death. Whereas some superstitious thinking fosters belief in control–for good luck or bad, my meditations have centered on letting go and accepting what is.
Life = change. I have come to believe there is no stopping or controlling the changes that come with time.
Like Dorothy, I realize the power is within me. That while I cannot control what happens, I do have control over how I choose to respond to the changes I face. I practice allowing myself to “be”, to take mindful moments, just like my husband and hummingbirds taught me. Meditation continues to help me find the beauty in life as it is. Even in the midst of my grief, seeds of insight had taken root. With time they blossomed.
I learned that feelings of despair were not permanent, that no charm controlled sadness or joy, good times or hard times. That loss was just part of life. It was the acceptance of my sorrow, not a magical talisman, that enabled me to let disabling emotions go. As I meditated, I asked new questions, like, “Why am I here?” And I learned of my spacious heart where there was room to hold love and longing for my husband while simultaneously opening to the light to find new meaning in my remaining precious life. I have long since placed my hummingbird charm on a shelf alongside other objects of affection. I don’t need it anymore.
Hopefully we can all claim the power to follow or dismiss culturally based superstitions depending upon if they are helpful or not. Or better yet, choose to create stories like I did that will work good magic. Or alternatively, change a story as needed.
For example, if you are one that is worried about bad luck on Friday the 13th, next time try thinking instead of Glenda the good witch of Oz and this amended version of her advice to Dorothy: close your eyes, click your heels together three times, and repeat, “Let go and go with the flow.” No ruby slippers required.