I have never encountered a bear in the woods. I have encountered a lot of “what to do if you encounter a bear in the woods” signs. I like to read them. You know, just in case.
So, last week, at a trailhead in Bluemont, Virginia, I stopped to read the bear sign.
It had the usual: Don’t hike alone. Don’t be a jerk to bear cubs. Get big and make noise. Pick up your trash.
It also had some helpful bear facts: Bears can smell you 20 miles away. (How do you even know that?) Bear cubs are never alone. (Duh—Bears 101.) Black bears like to watch you from high above in the trees. (What a bunch of creepers.)
There was another set of bear facts that seemed a little out of place: Black bears can live up to thirty years and pass on learned behaviors to their children.
Like, that’s interesting stuff, right? But how does it help me stay alive?
I guess, if you’re a jerk to a bear—or if you are too nice to a bear—you could set it and its offspring up for disaster for generations. So, that’s not great.
Here’s the thing about encountering bears in the woods—at least, as far as I can tell: You really don’t have a ton of control over what the bear is going to do. And all the bear signs in the world boil down to just a few core concepts:
Don’t be a jerk. Don’t give in to fear. Show respect and reverence.
Respect and reverence, I think, are virtues worth passing on to future bear generations. Why? Because, in this case, they let us go our separate ways in peace.
I’m stuck on that bonus bear fact. The potential for a long life means the potential for regrettable behaviors to be learned, passed down, crystalized.
“That sounds like intergenerational trauma to me,” my wife said. She’s a trauma therapist.
And now I wonder: When we encounter the proverbial bears in the forests of our inner lives, how do we respond? Do we run in fear from those things in ourselves that cause us shame, regret, hurt or hardship? Do we respond in jest, never taking our own woundedness seriously?
Or, do we look at ourselves—full of pain and sorrow, joy and hope, the whole thing—with respect and reverence? Do we give our mistakes and missteps the time and attention they deserve, but then go our separate ways in peace?
Because if we don’t, if we allow those big, furry, teeth-laden challenges in our lives to reign supreme—to force us to flee or to pretend that nothing is wrong—then we teach ourselves, we teach that part of ourselves, bad behavior. We form habits that prevent us from ever truly addressing the pain, the shame, the hurt, the failure. Our necessary woundedness.
And we pass those habits on—even if unintentionally—to our children, to those entrusted to our care.
Rather than go our separate ways, rather than leave us in peace, those bears haunt us. And they live a long time.
And another thing…
If you ever wanted to know how Ignatian spirituality might pertain to the challenges of your everyday life, then you’ll definitely want to check out this webinar I was part of last week.
Speaking of Ignatian spirituality, check out my reflections on “re-humanizing relationships” and “spiritual lessons from a phish.”