Trust the timing of your life. Keep focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, be kind, and follow your heart. Doors will open effortlessly, but first you have to be ready to walk through.
- Brittany Burgunder
On my third deployment to Afghanistan, our first mission was to capture a suspected Taliban fighter in the middle of Kandahar City. In the hours before the mission, we rehearsed the plan, discussed what could happen. During our last run through, one soldier asked what to do if we were ambushed by a machine gun nest set up in an alley.
Now without context, that might seem like a good question. At the time though, it was an unheard-of tactic. It was possible, sure, but extremely unlikely and I remember saying we’d just have to react to enemy contact because we couldn’t prepare for every situation.
To a degree, that attitude is out of step with much of my military training, which has conditioned me to seek control. My Patrol Pathfinder course was all about rehearsals, like enemy contact from the front, left, right, and rear, how to set up drop zones, landing zones and beach heads, preparing for every contingency so they could be done while half asleep, while cold, while hungry and in the dark. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this approach. It’s important, in fact, because the alternative is some sort of fatalistic approach to what life throws at us.
The problem though, is that we can’t control everything. At some point, we have to let go and trust that what we’re doing is right. So too, with our service to others.
This theme of letting go pops up in Steven Pressfield’s musings about the Bhagavad Gita, which he often writes about. The Bhagavad Gita is the story of Prince Arjuna, and it takes place on the verge of a great war over the claim of Arjuna’s brother to the throne of the Kurus1. Now, although Arjuna’s brother is the rightful heir to the throne, he and Arjuna are opposed by an uncle, who happens to be the current ruler, as well as their cousins, childhood friends, and even teachers and mentors who guided the two brothers when they were young.
Arjuna, as you might expect, is not thrilled at the prospect of killing friends and family. Torn with indecision, he asks his charioteer to drive him between the two opposing factions formed up on the battlefield. Known to Arjuna, but no one else, is that his charioteer is Sri Krishna, the avatar of the god Vishnu.
In despair, Arjuna asks Krishna for advice and at one point early on in his response, Krishna tells Arjuna that he has, “…the right to work, but never to the fruit of work2.” This confuses Arjuna, and he tells Krishna that the advice, which both urges him to go to war while imploring him to not worry about the results, is inconsistent.
Arjuna’s confusion is understandable. He is, after all, a prince and a warrior and a leader. He has prioritized a cause greater than himself, which is to regain the throne for his brother. He’s seen the world for what it is, he’s prepared for contingencies, and he’s now acting. How could he not be concerned with the results of his actions? For that matter, how can any of us not be concerned with the results of our actions when what we’re pursuing is to help our communities be resilient, whether in the face of a climate crisis or something else?
The key, which Krishna goes on to explain, is selfless action. “The ignorant work for their own profit, Arjuna; the wise work for the welfare of the world3.” In other words, our goals can become anchors, causing us to become attached to the outcome and selfishly fixed on what we think will achieve satisfaction. In turn, this fixation can undermine the intent of our actions, sabotaging what we were working for in the first place.
In the end, we don’t know what results will come from our actions. We can’t guarantee that our communities will become more resilient through our service to others. The world is a complex place, and it will always find a way to knock us out of balance. The only thing we control, the only tool we can always be sure of, is our own actions, and what Krishna is saying is that if we try to second-guess the results of those actions too much, there’s a chance we’ll only sabotage our bigger purpose.
The irony, of course, is that focusing on our own actions is enough to achieve meaningfulness in our lives. Because the process is the reward, just as it’s the journey that’s important, not the destination. Our service to others is our own personal reward and yet for this to be achieved, we first have to let go. We have to let go of convincing people to join us in a life of service, to let go of facing climate change and of saving the world, because while we might influence those things, we can’t control them.
If we succeed, however, if we commit to making the world a better place through our service to others while at the same time letting go of the ‘fruits’ of our service, then we can set the conditions to achieve our full potential. We can decide what is important, determine what we can or cannot control and how to adapt, and then get on with it, without being slaves to the results. What’s more, in doing so, we will inevitably improve our communities regardless.
It may not be perfection, I get that.
But perfection was never in the cards.
I spent years writing this book, and after all that, it’s possible nobody will read it. And that’s okay. The process was the important thing, because it has improved me as a writer. It has made me more committed and able to serve others than at any other point in my life. So while it might have seemed like I wrote this book for you, in the end, I guess I wrote it for me.
The Bhagavad Gita, trans. Eknath Eswaran, Tomales, Nilgiri Press: 2007.
Ibid.
Ibid.