Two Pockets

At the pet store yesterday, I had a surprisingly sweet connection with the cashier, the kind of encounter I missed when we were in complete quarantine. Her tattoos caught my eye as I hoisted the dog bed and crate pad onto the counter to check out.

"Is that Hebrew?" I asked, fairly certain of the answer but not wanting to assume since the ink was on the faint side and the lettering quite small. She confirmed that it was, then asked if I knew the "two pockets" teaching. "I love that!" I exclaimed, though I know it as "two slips."

The teaching is that we all carry two pockets, or two slips of paper in our pockets, in this lifetime. One reads, "I am but dust and ashes." The other, “The world was created for me."

In a 2016 Yom Kippur sermon, Rabbi Joel Nickerson described it this way: "We are supposed to have both slips of paper in our pockets because there are times when we must remember and celebrate our uniqueness, but there are also times when we must recognize our small place in a much bigger world. It’s about recognizing that we should neither be too high on ourselves nor too low – that we must constantly re-evaluate ourselves and adjust accordingly."

My encounter with this young woman, who I learned is an undergrad at UMass majoring in microbiology but studying Judaism after growing up in a secular, interfaith home, returned me to that most welcome reminder that each of us carries so many stories. These shape us into who we think we are -- our beliefs, our pain points, our struggles, our strengths. But they are not the whole story.

There is nothing wrong with thinking of ourselves and our innermost circles -- our family units and innermost circles. Who would we be if we didn't? And, to reach for another famous Jewish saying, this one from first-century rabbi Hillel, "If I am only for myself, what am I?"

In an age when the global inequities are impossible to overlook, when we are more polarized than ever on every issue from guns to Covid to climate change to teaching critical race theory in school, when one-third of American teens are suffering from some type of anxiety disorder, and yet the pace and pressure to keep up is unrelenting, how is a person supposed to stay attuned to the needs of their community, not to mention the world, without constant over-saturation?

Almost everyone I know has trouble sleeping these days and struggles to find anything resembling balance between our inner and outer worlds.

It is easy to check out. So easy. And sometimes, necessary. Checking out might look different for each of us, and there is no shame in taking time to unplug and recharge. In fact, without this as an intentional practice, we cannot expect ourselves to be focused on what's in front of us, much less what can feel insurmountable. It's important to really pay attention to one's own energetic messages.

Allowing for this change is a way of making sure that what I am bringing to the world is coming from a place that is authentic and, just as importantly, well resourced. Along these same lines, I've once again deleted social media apps from my phone, recognizing that I am the only one who can make that call and reclaim the time and energy I spend scrolling but without any real connection or purpose -- time I'd rather spend reading or writing or baking or calling a friend or taking a walk, things that actually nourish me.

We are filled with judgment. I should rephrase -- I am filled with judgment. Scrolling on social media, reading the news, reacting to every last thing, hopping from topic to topic to topic, fuels this. It's chaotic energy with no outlet that unsettles me and causes me to lose my own sense of center. I don't like the way it feels. I'd go so far as to say it reminds me of having a negative interaction with a drug -- the body doesn't lie.

I heard a piece of writing a few days ago that shook my inner floorboards. It painted such a humane, warm, compassionate portrait of an individual whose beliefs -- on paper, anyway -- are in complete opposition to my own. A person whose bumper stickers would make me groan and whose choice of political candidates would enrage me. And yet, the author of this piece of writing went deeper than these. They showed the person's heart. And, like it or not, I had no choice but to remember: He, too, has two pockets. We all do.

Which pocket am I reaching into today? Which pocket am I reaching into when I greet the stranger without knowing where she stands on a particular issue? Which pocket am I reaching into when I note my discomfort with a conversation that feels overly self-centered? Which pocket am I reaching into when I'm not making room for myself to sort through complicated, even contradictory emotions and responses, sometimes to people close to me, sometimes even to myself?

I want to grow ever more capable of holding these tensions without succumbing to anxiety or overwhelm. I want to be open to unexpected encounters. I want to hold fast to my own values. I want to be rooted and flexible, like some gorgeous old tree that has been through its fair share of weather and isn't so easily phased by each storm. I want to write those words, if not in ink on my skin, then on paper I can fold into small talismans: "The world was created for me alone. I am but dust and ashes."

I want to get quiet enough to trust that my own path is right here where I'm sitting, never further away than the next breath. And that if I am going to make any kind of positive contribution to the world, it has to come from this place​ where I value the contents of both pockets.