Yes, Sir

I just got back from my workout (walking for a mile).  Sir went with me despite the fact that he already did his run earlier this morning.

I have been working up to walking this far ever since the pneumonia and the asthma (which followed the pneumonia just to be sure I could NEVER breathe again…).  It’s been discouraging and disheartening.  I’ve had times when I wanted to give up and let myself become progressively more out of shape, become a 600 pound woman and exist only to eat.  I’ve been embarrassed (walking 100 feet and panting out of breath) feeling that the rest of the world was looking at me and thinking “Well, she’s just fat and REALLY out of shape,” though I’m pretty sure that is my Dad’s voice in my head and that may not actually be reality…

But it’s been a struggle.

This morning we were walking a route I haven’t walked since I got sick.  In fact, it used to be my running route, so walking it today, which should have felt like an accomplishment, was bittersweet because, of course, I don’t know how to celebrate my accomplishments, I always dilute them with, “Well, I used to be able to RUN this…”

We got about 3/4 of the way to the park I always went to and Sir stopped us.  He said that this was far enough, we were going to cut across and loop back toward home (here instead of at the park which was another half mile farther.)

I protested that I was doing okay and I could totally make it all the way to the park.  He pointed out that I was doing better than I’ve done since the pneumonia, but the small hills are still making me struggle and the final approach to the park involves a very steep hill, which then descends into the park requiring hiking another steep hill to get back out on the other side.  Two steep climbs were more than he was willing to put to my lungs today.

I argued.  He said, “No.”

I continued to argue, he said, “This is not up for debate.”

And that is my signal that, well, it is not up for debate.  We turned where he demanded we turn and walked for a few steps on the level street before I finally said, “Yes, Sir,” scowling.

He said nothing for a couple more steps then said, “Sometimes you say those words but I swear it sounds just like ‘Fuck you.'”

I could feel my jaw clenched tight and I focused on my shoes as I said, again, “Yes, Sir.”

He looked at me and gave me a smile.  Thank goodness Sir has a sense of humor…

But as we walked, my resentment fell away quickly.  I didn’t really think that he was right (or that he was wrong) I simply adapted to my new reality and was at peace. And I reflected on those words (as I have before), Yes, Sir.

Relationships aren’t easy.  Some people say D/s is easier/better/more pure/other bullshit than other forms of relationships, but it’s not.  That’s stupid.  It’s only better for people who are designed for it, and only because they are wearing the coat that fits them, just like everyone does better in a coat that fits them.  But it isn’t easy.  I run up against Sir’s rules or dictates often.  Most of the time I can shift smoothly to his will and make it my own without conflict.  Sometimes things aren’t that smooth.

Sometimes I hate what he chooses and it makes me irritated and angry and I want to resist.  But I say, “Yes, Sir,” because sometimes that’s all there is to say.  Not, “I agree with you,” because that would be a lie.  Not, “I am happy with your decision,” that would also be a lie.  “Yes, Sir” means only, “I accept your authority in making this choice.”  And I have come to realize that in that, there is actually freedom.

There is a Christian prayer… the Serenity Prayer… The first line is God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

That is one of the core tenets of Buddhism as well.  Suffering comes from resisting what is inevitable and trying to change what simply is and will be.

Sir is a practice, in some ways, in acceptance…in not resisting the inevitable.  Every time I say, “Yes, Sir” I let go of my own false power to control my world.  The false power that makes me so unhappy.  The false power that makes me feel so outraged and helpless against humanity’s ills, because in some way I feel that they can and should be “fixed” and so I struggle against them instead of accepting them as “What is.”

That is the core of my religious and spiritual belief system, yet I find it so hard to abide in day to day life.

I find it hard to accept that my lungs aren’t as strong as they once were.  I find it hard to accept that where I used to run, I can now only walk – and only part of the way.  I find it hard to accept that I have allergies that mean I can’t simply go to McDonald’s and eat a cheeseburger.  I find so many things hard to accept.  Yet… they are what is.  I benefit not at all from resisting their existence…  In fact, I suffer more greatly for not accepting what is.  When I accept, I am at peace.

And interestingly, though my logical, agitated mind tells me that being at peace means apathy, it doesn’t ever end up that way.  When I am at peace, I am productive in ways that actually… produce…  When I am at peace with my allergies, I can experiment (and mostly fail but occasionally succeed) with recipes without getting discouraged and giving up.  When I am at peace I can be loving and kind even to those I might otherwise consider least deserving of loving kindness.

And in fact, when those people I might consider least deserving are given my kindness without condition, they actually soften and become kinder themselves.  But it doesn’t work with an agenda.  It doesn’t work without surrender.  It doesn’t work when I secretly struggle and scheme to get my own way.

I don’t always like what life offers.  That is life.  I don’t have to like what life offers, but I do have to accept it (or suffer).  I don’t have to like Sir’s decisions, but I do have to accept them (or suffer).  It is an allegory, a microcosm.

“Yes, Sir.”

And in my surrender, I am truly free.

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