It’s a strange thing to think about whether or not we own our lives. We may own a car, a house, nice clothes, but to own our life is about something different and deeper.
There are days I feel swept up in a strong current—rushing from one thing to the next, paddling hard just to stay afloat. Life seems to own me when my schedule spins out, when I’ve got five things to do and five minutes to do them, when something important slips through the cracks, or when I fall into patterns that deplete rather than nourish.
So I keep wondering: What would it look like to own my life more fully—more vibrantly, more intentionally?
Mary Oliver’s words from When Death Comes echo through that same question:
When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.
I imagine you, like me, have tried many ways to feel more in charge of your life—books, classes, workshops, retreats, productivity hacks. Some really helped. Most faded into the background.
But then a moment slips in: a poem, a sunset, a smile, a song. Something opens. A different kind of door.
It’s a door to something larger than me. Not as an escape, but a surrender into the sacred mystery. It’s a kind of homecoming when we become present to our lives more deeply.
In these moments, the current of life slows down. Not because the world has changed, but because I have. I’m still holding five tasks, but now I see them differently. I sort them with more grace, respond with more wisdom. I own my life more, strangely, by holding it in a more trusting and loose way.
A contemplative spiritual life invites us to string more of these spacious moments together. The challenges still arise but so do our resources to deal with them.
Owning my life doesn’t mean controlling every outcome. It means cultivating an awareness that is aligned with what matters most to us. It’s an ability to steer well as we navigating the currents of life.
And owning my life doesn’t mean it’s all on me. It means remembering that I’m accompanied—by sacred, steady, sometimes surprising guides.
Do you own your life? I suspect that it’s a work very much in progress for both of us.
How about we try to string together a few more spacious moments in the days ahead? How about we work on our marriage to amazement, and see what happens?