In Season 14 of Grey’s Anatomy, April Kepner is having a crisis of faith. At one point she said:

“I mean, the Bible, the Qur’an, the Baghavad Gita, they’re all the same book, aren’t they? They all just generally say how not to be a jerk. Well, I don’t know those other books, but I know the New Testament. And the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus gets up there and he says how to behave and how not to behave.

People flagrantly disregard His teachings and receive absolutely no consequences, while other people who spend their lives trying to emulate Him and honor Him are brutally mistreated.

God’s off making a bet with the devil while good people eat crap sandwiches, and we’re supposed to eat those sandwiches with a smile on our face?! We’re supposed to rejoice??”

Her agony and confusion were palpable, and in that moment, I saw something with absolute clarity:

You aren’t doing it for ‘Him’.

I’m not religious, though I do consider myself spiritual. I don’t believe in heaven or hell; I have no concrete idea if there’s an afterlife that would resemble anything like the life I know now. Maybe we are all merely energy that will change forms and vibrate at some different level, merging with the universe in ways that are both mysterious and beautiful. I don’t think spiritual texts, including the Bible, are definitive rules I have to follow to win God’s favor, as much as they are encoded sources of wisdom and insight about how to navigate the complexities of our present existence. Ultimately, it’s about finding meaning and purpose, and the ability to have peace and joy — here, in this moment.

Negativity, narcissism, and neuroticism are rampant. They spread faster than the coronavirus and do more damage than cancer. It’s easy to be swept up in that current and to look at life through those eyes. When I do… Every day becomes an exercise in drudgery. Every email sounds sharper than it probably is — a hint of judgment I can’t help but hear. All those unmet, unspoken expectations of friends or family feel like proof that they don’t really love me. There’s a saying in a community I’m in: “One’s too many and a thousand never enough.” As soon as I give in to that first ONE, whatever it is, there will never be enough to satisfy me. And that’s also true with complaining, gossiping, rumination, harsh self-talk — things that might make me feel… well, different… for a moment, but snowball into a lifestyle that’s hard to escape.

It’s even harder to quit than sugar.

I’m not referring to feelings here — I’m talking about behaviors. I am going to have some feelings; we all do! I keep reminding myself that a feeling only lasts 30 seconds. I mean the science says no longer than 90 seconds – but when I first learned it, I learned 30. At any rate – it’s short-lived and certainly does not last days.

Apparently feelings are a chemical reaction; just energy moving through the body. When I allow myself to fully feel them — without judgment, suppression, or mental storytelling — they typically move through me in seconds, without taking control of the bus.

In the moment that I have a feeling, I also have a choice. Do I succumb to the feeling? Accept the invitation into self-obsession? Do I feed the virus so it will grow stronger? Throw another log on the fire? Latch on to that feeling so I can justify all sorts of behavior?

Or, do I choose to let the feeling run its course? Do I remember that in the grand scheme of things this doesn’t really matter and make the decision to practice patience, generosity of spirit, grace…. Do I lean on faith, trust, and hope?

The instructions to turn the other cheek or to rejoice aren’t there so we can “please God” — unless, like me, you believe that we are one and the same— or to earn a place in heaven. We’re meant to do it because it brings us joy now, because it allows us to experience heaven right here on earth.

I once asked a spiritual mentor and teacher – how do you tell the difference between what’s real and what isn’t? Her response was, “you don’t, you pick the story you like best and live it like it’s real.” She was telling me that we create our own reality.

So, when the line is long at the store and I’m going to be late for — whatever — I remember that patience is a principle that I can allow to guide my behavior. When I get word about someone I love who is not doing well, I remind myself that faith and trust are choices I can make, rather than giving in to worry or pity. I carefully choose the words I use to describe what’s going on — the story — and I tell it in a way that works for me instead of against me.

Perspective is everything. When I change the way I look at things, the things I look at change.