Life is Not Fair. That’s Just the Way It Is.
Jim Henson's 1986 movie, Labyrinth, starring Jennifer Connelly and David Bowie was one of those classics that I grew up with as a child. Recently, my husband and I watched it with our three kids and I was amazed at the depth of the story, which I completely missed back in the '80s. The theme: growing to accept that life isn't fair and to release the power that resentment has over your life.
The main character, Sarah (Jennifer Connelly), is a teenager whose actress mother abandoned her husband and daughter for a handsome, young co-star. Her father remarries and Sarah resents her stepmother and new baby brother, Toby. When she is babysitting the fussy boy, she wishes the Goblin King (David Bowie) would steal him away. The Goblin King does and Sarah goes on a quest through the Labyrinth to rescue her brother. Her constant refrain, "It's not fair!" is the hinge point of the main theme of the movie, which Sarah grows to accept - that life is not fair; that's just the way it is. With this, she is able to release the power that her pain has over her and live more fully and freely in the life she has, instead of feeling bound up in anger and resentment over what she doesn't.
I had my own journey of growth and acceptance a few years ago on a snowy morning when I was out for a walk in the woods that surround a remote retreat center where I was staying. Strangely enough, I happened upon a labyrinth. I wasn't sure how to "do" a labyrinth, but I knew that I was carrying a burden that I wanted to set down - anger and resentment towards my parents for the way things were when I was growing up. I picked up two pine cones and put one. foot. in front. of. the next. - eyes gazing just in front of my toes the entire way. I thought about the painful experiences that I wanted to leave at the center of the labyrinth so that I could come out free. But something shifted and I began to think about the circumstances that led my parents to those same situations that hurt me so much. I began to weep for them - for their losses, their pain, their woundedness. My resentment was transforming into compassion. I left those pinecones at the center with the understanding that something powerful had taken place. And on the way out, there was another revelation: that acceptance of my parents - as they are - is love. Not what I do. Not my help. Not my concern. Just accepting them, without trying to change them, is loving them. It's HOW to love them. Just like in the movie, this began to release the power my resentment had over me. I realized that instead of feeling the gaping hole in my heart over what I didn't get from them, I could focus on all of the things my parents DID give me. I could think of specific moments when things were really good; the ways in which they tried their best and gave more than they got; the things they shared with me that are important to the person I have become; what I appreciate, admire, and respect in them. It came to me to think of each of those specific things as a piece of fuzzy yarn and to ball them up and stuff them into the hole in my heart. I could heal. I could forgive. I could let go. I could live.
I think that what happened there in the woods is called forgiveness. It doesn't change the past or the other people. It doesn't mean that you forget or deny your pain. It doesn't happen because you think it should. It happens because you truly desire it - the freedom to reclaim your energy for healing and living and loving.
I didn't expect that - at all - that day. But I sure wanted it. I knew it was time to release my anger because it was harming my relationship to myself and with others. It took me a few decades longer than Sarah in Labyrinth (and a whole lotta struggle that I am skipping over here) but it was well worth the wait.