The temporary permanence of sukkot--and life

Recently I read an article about Sukkot that discussed the rich symbolism of the holiday. During Sukkot, Hashem commands us to build a sukkah—a temporary dwelling place—and use it as if it were our primary place of residence: eating, drinking, perhaps even sleeping in it. It’s interesting that within the sukkah we are supposed to engage in some of life’s most concrete, grounding activities; and yet, the entire structure of the sukkah is temporary. When we’re in it, we’re in it in a significant way…but it isn’t meant to last forever.

This “sukkah paradox” reminds me of how I handle the emotional ups and downs of recovery, and of life in general. One of my most critical tasks of early recovery was to allow myself to be in the moment and not run from my emotions. I didn’t want to be grounded in the present—I wanted to be anywhere but where I was; I had no use for feelings; I paid no heed to my bodily signals. Given my perpetually distracted, preoccupied brain, it’s fair to say that I didn’t fully dwell anywhere while I was in the height of my eating disorder. That would have required being fully present in the moment, a task that seemed far too overwhelming to take on.

Recovery, however, demands that I fully inhabit my life. On any given day, my task is to be present in each moment to the best of my ability. On some days, my life is overall enjoyable, and being present is a pleasure. On other days, however, life might not be so pleasant—maybe I have to do a task that I dislike, or have an uncomfortable conversation, or tolerate feeling angry or lonely or frustrated—but my challenge is to allow myself to be “in it” while understanding that the situation is temporary.

A few days ago, I was explaining to a friend of mine why I probably wouldn’t sleep in a sukkah this year (I can’t really imagine facing a class of wiggly eight-year-olds the morning after after spending all night trying to sleep in a hut!) He told me that one year, he and a friend of his were sleeping in his sukkah, when it began to rain. Instead of heading for the dry shelter of the house, the two of them simply crawled under the table for cover and stayed there until the rain stopped. I honestly can’t think of a more fitting parallel to weathering the storms of everyday life in recovery—when rain comes (and it will), instead of running away, find a safe place to hunker down and wait for the storm to pass. When we’re overwhelmed by a negative emotion, our task is to find a source of comfort and hang on, with an understanding that although we’re “in it” temporarily, the feeling will pass. On this Sukkot, I wish for all of us to allow ourselves to dwell fully in our experiences, and to trust that no discomfort we endure will last forever.