Scarcity versus Abundance: the Lesson of the Sushi Boat

I know this will probably gross out my vegan friends, but I occasionally partake of sushi, being on the West Coast where fish is deliciously and abundantly had. I've not been in a while, mostly because sushi is expensive and I have been rather penniless lately. It's something that is definitely best left as a treat and not something to do all the time.

However, one aspect of sushi couture I absolutely CANNOT get behind is the concept of The Sushi Boat. Whoever thought of this was either high at the time (and not a good high), or had nothing but greedy aspirations. Note in the photo: the sushi is spinning around the dining area on little boats in water. You can see by this photo the boats are not doing the slow tour around the sushi bar, but rather the speed demon pace that instills panic in people like me.

When sushi travels in this way, rather than leisurely as you order it, your (my, actually) propensity is to grab as much as possible before you've even taken the first bite. Whereas sushi in a normal restaurant is meant to be savored slowly [I had a sushi chef reprimand me a few years ago because I ordered too much at once, screaming "SUSHI NOT FAST FOOD!], this experience is built on the idea (for me) that if you don't pick this dish up NOW, there will never be another one.

I was trying to explain to my therapist today an analogy for what I was experiencing in terms of scarcity and abundance lately, and the sushi boat metaphor came to mind. When I am convinced that certain things in life are actually very scarce -- like love, or in this case, sushi -- I make choices based on this belief, and they aren't necessarily healthy choices. I've chosen partners based on the idea that "this is the best I can do," and I have ordered too much food because I was afraid there would not be enough. In both cases, I was completely focused on satisfying an immediate need, fearing that unless I did so, there wouldn't be enough for me.

Lately I've been experiencing the freedom that a perspective of abundance affords me. Now, it's important first to say that there are many things in life that are not objectively abundant, such as money. I'm broke. Totally. I maxed out two credit cards this week. If there ever was a more perfect illustration of "scarcity," I would be shocked.

Scarcity also shows up in my life through my beloved dog Taz. She's 16+ years old, and is pooping out. Although she receives the best care, the best food, and the most love, she's dying. Let's be honest. She had a seizure over the weekend, and I was so fortunate to be with two of my closest friends at the time, because without them I might have fallen apart. My wonderful home-visiting acupuncture vet dropped everything Sunday night to care for my old girl. While she is better, she will not be here for long. So time with Taz is very, VERY scarce.

And yet....despite these obvious instances of scarcity, I have been feeling a level of abundance lately that can't be denied. It's an odd thing, because while certain things are definitely constricting my life, I don't feel constricted.

In the past couple of weeks or so, I started seeing that everything happening in life is just that -- life. Between the reality of my dog dying sooner than I want and the fact I am turning 50 [OMG] in less than two weeks; the possibility that I need a hysterectomy to the realities of my finances -- all of these things have shown up not as tragedies to lament but life to be lived. I'm not sure how I can explain it, other than to go back to the sushi boat metaphor.

Think of it this way: the sushi boat is everything in life we want and aspire to: a good job, a loving family, a relationship that lasts, etc. But these things are moving constantly, because life is all about change. When I sit in my chair of scarcity at the sushi boat restaurant, I panic and feel I have to grab everything and hold on tight. I may never get that piece of sushi I want again, so I better act now. NOW. NOW!!!!!

If I am sitting in the chair of abundance, however, I can delight in the way the sushi is constantly changing. Maybe there is a surprise for me, just around the corner. Maybe the piece I really wanted will come around again in a new and exciting format. The point is, I know in the depths of my life that there will always be more sushi and I don't have to act now to get it. It will come to me.

That's the abundance I feel. I am sad that Taz is dying, but thrilled I still have her. She has much yet to tell me, and I will make sure I listen. After all, SHE comes from abundance.

From a place of scarcity, I find it hard to take in the kindness of strangers (or friends for that matter). If I am always on guard to ensure I am not left out of the scarcity wheel, I can't really focus on -- or accept -- the love and richness that already is there for me. But from the world of abundance, the view is incredible. Lately, I've had such an embarrassment of riches: from my friend Martha giving me her heart-felt concerns about how I do my blog, to Sandy's comforting of Taz right after her seizure, to Anne's remarkable tour of duty through all the fun that Chicago has to offer. What is there to lament?

Life has not changed for me; *I* have changed. The only thing that I have done is consciously chosen to improve my life condition. I personally do this through my Buddhist chanting, which affords me the opportunity to elevate my state of life to something higher than, well, animality (the state in which I am always reacting to my environment, a place I have often lived for long stretches). Others will find their own ways to elevate their life condition.

In any event, there is still the same difficulty that life often dishes out. I feel sadness at the immanent death of Taz, but I don't despair. I'm just being present with that reality, in the same way I am present with whatever other reality shows up on my doorstep. I am choosing to see it all differently, from a place that it's all a gift. I am showing up at the sushi bar with hope and joy.