Driving to work this morning I was struck by the simple beauty of the sunrise. I never seem able to capture the beauty, either in pictures or in words and for that I feel simultaneously sad and and all odds by what nature can provide. For some reason, that inability cause me to think about the nature of responsibility.

What exactly is it, and what does it mean to be a responsible person?

The theme for this week in both my personal and professional life seems to be that of accepting responsibility. One of the things I’ve discovered is that responsibility and fault are not the same.

I’ve been reading a book- while driving of course who has time to do that any other way these days? – Which I’ve heard many things about.

Although I was initially put off by the language,(the book is called the subtle art of not giving a F, for those who are curious) I persevered and now am almost 2/3 of the way through.

I am glad I did. I had initially thought maybe this book wasn’t for me, given what at times seem to be spurious F bombs, after the first chapter I noticed a sudden sharp drop off and wondered if perhaps that was the author’s way of getting people’s attention off the hop.

A good technique, especially given anyone that already picked the book off the shelf would likely be expecting a few profanities from time to time.

But the further in I got, the more common sense his musings became and the less profane.

Sprinkled with excerpts from the lives of others who had both astounding and horrifying circumstances, I began to note the common thread.

Just because your life is hard, does not mean you will be unhappy.

Conversely, just because your life is easy does not imply success.

He used examples that I’d heard of in the past but never seen in quite the light he placed them.

I didn’t realize the father of psychology in the USA, William James, had contemplated suicide because of the failure of his own life. But before he went ahead, he made himself except responsibility for everything in his life for a period of one year.

Upon that time, he would kill himself if he still wanted to. But somehow, that simple act of accepting responsibility for every crappy thing that happened to him changed him. In the midst of his despair he found a purpose.

He’d a rough life. Eternally sick, with a brother and sister who both overshadowed him, (kind of a big deal but he 1800s), and he failed or quit everything he’d ever tried. But when he accepted responsibility he wasn’t saying he deserved the bad things that happened, and he wasn’t accepting fault that they had.

After all, it wasn’t his fault that he came down with smallpox at that time. It sucked, and up to 90% of people could die during an outbreak, but it was hardly his fault, as there was no vaccinations at that time and no way to prevent transmission other than being a hermit somewhere.

For him, accepting responsibility meant something other than fault, which is something I think we get wrong far too often in this world of social media and knee-jerk reactions to everything.

Accepting responsibility mean accepting the fact that sometimes life sucks. Sometimes bad things are going to happen, even though you did nothing to deserve them. Accepting responsibility means excepting the world for the way it is.

It means accepting that this has happened to you and it made you feel a certain way, then choosing what you’re going to do with that information.

We all make choices when it comes to life, but the problem is when we don’t realize that we are.

How many times have I said “oh, I’m so busy”, and felt helpless to change it?

It’s true; I am busy. I have several children, a full-time job that often makes demands upon the time I should be sleeping, and a hobby that I spend every bit of free time I have fulfilling it.

For the most part, I feel like I’m a pretty happy person, but just like everyone else, I know that I’m prone to self-pity and self-doubt, feelings of jealousy or hurt.

But those are all choices I’m making. I could choose any single minute to just not go to work. I could choose not to parent anymore, to run away from my life.

But these things also give me joy, and I am actively choosing to do them even through times they make me feel bitter and resentful, or tired and stressed.

But since I’m reading about how to accept my reality, I’m going to try to accept how I feel.

I’m not accepting responsibility for what other people do, but I am listening to my own internal monologue and choosing how to direct it.

Maybe someday I’ll be able to allow those disturbances to pass through, like water over a rock. I’m not doing that great with them at the moment, but something feels just a little easier, as though I bought a new pair of shoes that are a little bit bigger. Although they aren’t broken in yet, I feel like there’s a little bit more room to breathe.

So along with decluttering and simplifying, perhaps accepting responsibility is one way to live a life that is happier and more fulfilled.

It doesn’t mean never being sad, or never having anything bad darken your door. But it does mean that I will never be powerless again because the one thing I am always in control of are my thoughts and my actions. Choosing and not choosing are always within my control, an interesting nugget of knowledge to keep with me,

as I allow myself to take insignificant photos of a gorgeous natural event.