Living Beautifully with Uncertainty and Change by Pema Chödrön Page B

race. So we shed the light of mindfulness on our shenpa to what we have or want and our equally strong shenpa to what we don’t have or might lose. For instance, the money we have and the money we don’t have preoccupy both the rich and the poor—and just about everyone in between—in countries all over the world.
    Recently I met a woman who had unexpectedly inherited five hundred thousand dollars. She was understandably ecstatic. She invested it and gleefully watched it grow, until the stock market crashed and she lost it all as suddenly as she had gained it. After two months of deep depression (she said she was almost catatonic and couldn’t eat or sleep), she had a revelation. It dawned on her that financially, she had been reasonably comfortable all along. She was fine before she hit the jackpot, and she was equally fine now that her newfound fortune was lost. It was her discovery of fundamental all-rightness, untouched by gain and loss, that she was overjoyed to report.
    Gain and loss can also relate to the possessions we have or don’t have and the drive to acquire things (shoppingtherapy, as some call it), as well as to the position in life we have or don’t have. Competition—often cutthroat competition—is painfully visible in our society today. We see it in politics, in sports, in business, even in friendships. We also see its painful consequences.
    At Gampo Abbey, we try a different approach. Every July 1—Canada’s national day—we have a baseball game with the local Pleasant Bay Fire Department. We train for months ahead, and everybody plays with their whole heart—the firemen with their beers, us with our robes—but neither side really cares whether they win or lose. We all just have a great time without the suffering that’s inevitable when we’re entangled in loss and gain.
    Fame and disgrace definitely snare us. Not many people are in a position to become famous, but this pairing can translate as wanting a good reputation—wanting people to think well of us—and not wanting a bad reputation. For most of us, this feeling runs very deep. For some of us, everything we do and say is to ensure that we’ll be well thought of, that we’ll be admired and won’t be scorned.
    Shantideva says that reputation is about as flimsy as a child’s sand castle. We build it up, decorate it beautifully, and take great pride in it, but at the turn of the tide it all gets swept away. It’s like the good reputation of politicians or spiritual teachers that is lost overnight because of sexual misconduct.
    And even when fame is achieved, does it bring the happiness that people anticipate? Consider how common it is to have wealth and fame but be miserable, like Michael Jackson, Marilyn Monroe, and Elvis. What if, by contrast, we trained in staying in the middle—in that nongrasping open space between seeking what’s comfortable and avoiding what’s not?
    Finally, let’s consider our attachment to praise and blame. We want to be complimented and we don’t want to be criticized. Some people blossom when they receive kudos for a job well done but go to pieces when they receive criticism, even if it’s constructive. Young children, teenagers, and yes, even the most mature of adults can have their spirits lifted up by compliments and cast down by criticism. We are so easily blown about by the winds of praise and blame.
     
This has been going on through the ages. They criticize the silent ones. They criticize the talkative ones. They criticize the moderate ones. There is no one in the world that escapes criticism. There never was and never will be, nor is there now, the wholly criticized or the wholly approved.
     
    Shakyamuni Buddha said that more than twenty-five hundred years ago, but it seems that some things never change.
    In one way or another, we’re all hooked by our attachment to the eight worldly concerns. Dzigar Kongtrül once said it’s as if we have a split personality: we can think we’re