The Insecurity Of Everything

The Wake Up Call for Lawyers

Hi everyone, it’s Judi Cohen, and this is Wake Up Call 448. I’ve been talking about the three kinds of suffering: ordinary suffering like not getting what we want, or getting what we don’t want; the suffering of change, the way we can’t hold onto the things (or people) we love, and we can’t eliminate all the stressors: we can’t create a pleasant, unchanging reality for ourselves because, our bodies, other people, the world – none of it will stand still.

Insecurity is the third kind of suffering. When I say insecurity, I don’t mean the insecurity I felt as a teenager and in my early twenties, wondering if I looked ok, was acting ok, was popular enough, had good enough judgement, things like that.

I mean a general, pervasive, but also (in my experience) often illusive, insecurity: the insecurity of knowing we’re not on solid ground. Of knowing that our life, our very existence, is not guaranteed. Or I should probably say, the insecurity of knowing that not only is our existence not guaranteed, but that our demise is.

Maybe we don’t think about this too much. And then we get a diagnosis or take a fall or get into a crash, or something happens to someone we love. And then the insecurity that was floating, maybe only barely perceptible and well under the surface, rises up to the top.

And is there for us in stark relief, one of the hallmarks of being human: the knowledge that one day, we’ll die. And for us, meaning for mindfulness practitioners, one of the hallmarks of being mindful is that not only are we aware that one day we’ll die, but that we also know that we can’t ever know when that will be.

It’s all well and good if we can let go and simply accept that our existence isn’t guaranteed. Then, there may be the suffering of old age, sickness, and death, but there’s nothing extra. We’re free, and can experience each moment with ease. But what if that third kind of suffering, that subtle but persistent insecurity, is present?

Here are a few of the ways that insecurity shows up for me, in situations where it’s hard to simply let go…even though that’s the instruction.

First, I just flat out don’t want to die right now. I’m having a good time. I don’t want that to change. And while I know it will – meaning I know there will come a time when I’m not having a good time, or there will just come a moment of death – and I can accept that truth (most days) – there’s definitely a wanting that not to be the case, a wanting things to be different and for death not to be part of the equation. And because of that, there’s a low- and sometimes not-so-low-level insecurity…about when death will come, and how, and the fact that I can’t control or solve for either.

Also, it makes me insecure to think about dying because it will bum out a bunch of people. My kid. My husband. My step-kids (I think). My grands, for sure, but they’re little. My brother, now that my mom’s gone and he wouldn’t get the whole estate. Just kidding. He’d be bummed. My friends, my communities. Death is a bummer for the people who don’t die, too, unless the person who dies is very old or is in pain. So I have a desire for death to not be part of the equation because it will cause sorrow for others and I’ll feel responsible. Or I won’t feel anything, probably, but in anticipation, I’ll feel responsible. Which makes me feel insecure, because I can’t help them. (I mean, I can do that letter-writing thing but I won’t be here for anything else).

Here’s another reason I feel insecure when I remember that my existence isn’t guaranteed and my death is, and that I don’t get to know when death will come: there are people I need to call.

I’m pretty convinced I’ve got time, and I know that Mac truck could be coming for me. And I don’t want that because I haven’t picked