Two Words That Helped Set Me Free this Passover

The following is true and accurate. In fact, I couldn’t have made it up if I’d tried. 

Last month, I ordered an elegant set of martini glasses for my brother-in-law, who was celebrating his birthday. In the same Amazon order, I also purchased a book for myself by one of my favorite authors, rabbi and psychiatrist Abraham Twerski, z”l, who passed away in January. Somehow, Dr. Twerski always had a way of bringing comfort through clarity. 

There was no time to wrap my brother-in-law’s present, so I grabbed the Amazon box as I ran out the door, hoping to explain that it had just been delivered by our mail carrier. 

As a dozen-and-a-half family members sat around the dining room table to celebrate his birthday, my brother-in-law opened the Amazon box and delighted in the martini glasses. Then he pulled out a small book. I was pleasantly surprised that the product had also included a cocktail recipe guide. And then, my brother-in-law innocently held up a book I had purchased for myself and, in confusion, read the name aloud. Incidentally, the name of that book was “It’s Not as Tough as You Think.”

Yes, I hadn’t realized the book was in the Amazon box. And yes, I grabbed it out of his hands, but not before the whole room burst into laughter. I laughed, too. What can I say? It’s been a tough few years. 

I still wince if someone sneezes near me because I imagine 20 more variants of COVID to come; I still haven’t found a work-life balance that ensures my kids eat a healthy dinner and I meet work deadlines; I still haven’t shed those few extra pounds I gained after having kids, then lost, then regained (plus a few more) during the height of the pandemic, when I took to eating a box of processed macaroni and cheese four times a week. And I’m still not a published author, despite the fact that my comedic memoirs have been edited, re-edited, and, to the best of my capabilities, perfected. I can’t even find a literary agent who believes he or she could sell a cohesive manuscript of mortifying stories that describe what it was like to have grown up as a Jewish girl from a Zionist family in post-revolutionary Iran and then, as a lower-class, unassimilated refugee in 1990s Beverly Hills who only wanted one thing: a pair of MC Hammer parachute pants.  

I’m very hard on myself. But recently, I found two words that have given me permission to be self-compassionate while continuing to pursue my ravenously ambitious goals: “Not yet.”

No one is successful overnight and many of us haven’t achieved what we want. Not yet. 

I first stumbled upon them while reading books to my young children about the lives of brilliant historical figures, from Albert Einstein and Abraham Lincoln to Leonardo da Vinci and Lucille Ball. The books, which are told in the first person, focus much more on a legendary individual’s struggles than his or her successes. They’re written by Brad Meltzer and comprise a series called “Ordinary People Change the World.” Each book has the same message: No one is successful overnight and many of us haven’t achieved what we want. Not yet. 

Few people need to hear this message more than children. When our four-year-old yells in frustration that he can’t tie his shoes, I’ve learned to remind him that he hasn’t learned how to tie shoes yet. But I always add that he’s trying to learn. There’s a big difference between believing you’ll never achieve something, and working very hard toward your goal, with the understanding that you haven’t achieved it yet.  

As an adult, I’ve found myself clinging to this message, particularly in the days leading up to Passover. No, I haven’t shed that mac and cheese weight. Not yet. But I’m trying. And no, I’m not a published author. Not yet. But on that matter, I’ll never stop trying. 

It should be noted that the power of “not yet” doesn’t free us from taking responsibility for our own choices. No one wants to be married to an abusive man who exonerates himself by repeating, “I’m not a good husband. Not yet.” And no one who berates their children incessantly should tell themselves, “I’m not kind to my children. Not yet.” Such behaviors need to be addressed now. 

But if you’re actively working on making certain aspects of your life better, there’s a lot of power in “not yet,” if you commit to the right attitude. I recently heard someone ask a young woman if she was married. “Not yet,” she responded solemnly. The following week, I heard someone ask another young woman if she was married. She smiled positively and said, “Not yet!” as if she hoped to meet a wonderful man this year. For some reason, both of these incidents occurred in the produce section of a local kosher Persian market, where I love to eavesdrop on conversations about matchmaking while squeezing eggplants for ripeness.

This Passover, I’ve been trying to re-think my burdens. I want to lighten them, but I also want to be left alone to sit on the couch.

This Passover, I’ve been trying to re-think my burdens. I want to lighten them, but I also want to be left alone to sit on the couch. In fact, I’m impressively adept at trying to escape my burdens by sitting on the couch and scrolling my phone. If that’s the case, I can’t apply the comforting motivation of “not yet” to my endeavors. If I’m not doing anything to propel my goals forward, it’s akin to wanting to go on a road trip, but sitting in an immobile car on the side of the road and declaring you’re not there yet. 

As for that book by Rabbi Twerski, I read a few chapters of it every night. Whether inhaling fumes from oven cleaners while mercilessly scrubbing my kitchen for Passover cleaning or feeling sorry for myself that I couldn’t sit on the couch in peace during my children’s break from school, the book title became a sort of mantra: Perhaps, just perhaps, it’s not as tough as you think.

Tabby Refael is a Los Angeles-based writer, speaker, and civic action activist. Follow her on Twitter @RefaelTabby