Silence Is Golden
Silent, Directed Creative Retreat
April 4-6 in College Grove, TN
When I become aware of myself recycling old scripts, both within myself, and in my important relationships, that is an outer expression of my inner need for excavation. That kind of inner soul work requires silent observation and reflection.
My first reaction to the awareness that I’m running on a script and need to dip into the silence to reconnect with myself is resistance. Energy follows attention, so I can place my attention on other things in my life to keep the invitation for rest at bay. That is how I resist; I distract myself. There are many different flavors of resistance. When we can catch ourselves at it, it opens up a spaciousness to let the resistance relax and receptivity to come. In this way, our resistance is necessary and beautiful. This is the kind of space that a retreat such as this allows.
Read this poem slowly and be with it in a quiet space. Allow it to speak to you. Journal your thoughts. Ask yourself some questions. Where am I resistant to look inward? What does a few good minutes in the sun look like? What is a default script I play in my head often? Is it true? If it is false, what is the antithetical truth? How can I receive this?
The Rungs
by Benjamin Gucciardi
“Only the person with the green dice
should be talking,
I remind the boys, holding up the
oversized foam cubes.
And the others should be?
Listening, K. says,
and how should we listen?
Con el corazon, M. replies,
thumping his chest with his closed fist.
That’s right, I say, with the heart.
Who wants to start?
The dice are passed around the circle
and the boys gloss over the check-in question.
When they reach B., who walked here,
unaccompanied,
from Honduras three months ago,
he holds them like boulders.
We straighten when his lip begins to quiver.
It’s not my place to tell you what he shared that day.
But I can tell you how M. put his hand
on B.’s back and said, maje, desahogate,
which translates roughly to
un-drown yourself
though no English phrase so willingly accepts
that everyone has drowned, and that
we can reverse that gasping,
expel the fluids from our lungs.
I sit quietly as the boys make, with
their bodies, the rungs of a ladder,
and B. climbs up from the current,
sits in the sun
for a few good minutes
before he jumps back in.
The dice finish the round and we are well over time.
I resist the urge to speak about rafts,
what it means to float.
Good, I tell them , let’s go back to class.
After handshakes and side hugs,
I’m left alone in a small room
with a box of unopened tissues,
two starburst wrappers on the ground.”
Join us for a weekend of creative inspiration and contemplative silence as we create space to connect with self, God and nature. We will begin our retreat Friday evening and conclude on Sunday before lunch time. We will be doing creative projects and the grounds are open and available to explore, so please dress accordingly. You will meet with myself or another Spiritual Director twice during the weekend. Please note: We need the names, street addresses and email addresses of 3 people who champion you creatively and will commit to praying for you while you are on retreat. I will contact them listing specific ways they can pray. Please ask them first before filling the registration form out. Please have their information in front of you when you register. $200 is due at registration and the balance can be paid at the retreat. Total cost for the retreat is $435. This includes lodging, 4 meals, art supplies, and Spiritual Direction care. Click https://www.flyforwardstudio.com/retreats to find out more and to register..
Emotional Intelligence
I heard it said a couple weeks ago on a podcast I was listening to, “Happiness is not a point, it’s a range.” I began to churn that thought around in my head. So often, I fixate on a particularly intense emotion that I might be aware of feeling. (I’m a 4 on the Enneagram; if you know us heart-led types, you know emotional fixation can be a thing!). Some of my inner work has been to check in with myself often around my emotional experience. In the phrase above, he uses happiness, but one could exchange happiness for any emotion, even what we consider volatile emotions. I have learned that my emotions are not me and I am not my emotions. I have also learned that feelings are an intregal part of the human experience. They are here to inform, teach, express, warn and to help us heal.
For me, to view any emotion I might be feeling as a range rather than a fixed point, gives me remarkable freedom to host it with generosity and kindness. It’s very much like somatic intelligence. If we can care for our emotional health in the same way we care for our physical health, we might see its level of importance grow. To illustrate, I recently went in for my yearly physical, where they did the typical bloodwork and checked for all the regular things, such as lipids, sugar, cholesterol…. etc. When the results came back, all the categories had a range. There was a green range, a yellow range and a red range. Science tells us that the green range means that the body is functioning as it is meant to. Yellow means one might need to tweak out a few things, such as diet and exercise to return to the green range. One of my cholesterol readings had hopped into the yellow zone. I have become hyper aware of what I’m putting in my body since that result. I am slowly working toward moving back into the green range. This scale is incredibly helpful and has given me concrete action I can take to assume the range that I desire.
These two ideas converged in my life, and I began to realize that curating my emotions could look a lot like curating the care of my body. If I find myself fixated on anger, for instance, perhaps I can locate it in my body, give it space to tell me what it needs to communicate, let it run its course through my body and then the anger, that might be in the yellow zone can move back into green, into safety. What if a feeling such as happiness or gratitude begins to take up more space? I notice when I curate certain emotions that may be more difficult to manage than others, such as loneliness or frustration, confusion or anger, when I have found that they settle into the green range, other emotions that are more helpful and healing, have more space to spread out in my body, making my emotional range more symbiotic with my mental and somatic well-being. And, as we know, these three intelligence centers work together for our wholeness.
Whenever there’s pressure to get to a certain point, whether it’s physical health, mental health or emotional health, think about reframing that point into a range. It’s hard to hit a fixed point all the time. We don’t hit the bullseye every day. But, we can keep in a healthy range for today. Part of that is the check-in - with yourself. The practice of being present with yourself in real time is a gift to the world. This space of check-in is what Viktor Frankl characterizes when he says, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.”
Tethered and Grounded
Barbara Brown Taylor defines holiness as feeling the earth beneath one’s feet, literally. This idea of the sacred really resonates with me. It gives dignity and shape to the experience of being an embodied human being. I can’t remember the last time I took my shoes off and felt the earth between my toes. So, I went to Cheekwood last week with a friend and we both stood barefoot in the flowing creek, letting tulip tree petals float swiftly over our ankles. I felt grounded, anchored to the earth, and nothing felt urgent. There were no bullies pushing me toward the next thing. I was present to place and moment.
Just the week before that, I had made a huge, bold decision. As many of you know, I have worked at an Irish pub in downtown Franklin for almost 9 years. That job sustained many life transitions, beginning with my divorce almost that long ago. Over the years, it has been a largely steady place: a supplementary income, a family of co-workers, regulars and community connections that I’ve grown to value. As with many co-workers that have come and gone over the years, unless one owns the place, it is a stop on the way to somewhere else. My stop there has been longer than most. As the environment became more and more toxic, I began to see that it had become a crutch for me. I had never intended to stay there that long, but every time I tried to leave, I just found myself back there.
I began to see that I was afraid. Fear was keeping me in a place I had grown out of, a place that helped me pay the bills, but was not my vocation, not my calling. My long-term desire has been to do art full-time: teach art, support art, make art, midwife art for others. This felt too lofty of a goal for many years. Imposter syndrome would creep in and my response was to cling to what I knew would work, not what I really wanted.
Something shifted in me recently. And I think it is this idea of feeling the earth, of being tethered. There is a poignant scene in the movie, Gravity, with Sandra Bullock and George Clooney. They are astronauts in space suits repairing something on their space station when an event sends huge pieces of debris their way. Sandra Bullock’s character gets swiped by a piece of flying debris that sends her spinning off into space. We see her in terror and panic, reaching and grasping the air for something, anything to grab hold of, but there is nothing, absolutely nothing. There is nothing she can do to stop herself from spinning into oblivion. Then, out of nowhere, there is a violent yank, and we see that George Clooney’s character has tethered himself to her, bringing her spinning to an abrupt stop. She has time to collect herself as the slack narrows and as she is being brought back to safety, through no effort of her own.
Running, for me, is usually a time of reflection and checking in with myself. Recently, I had posed this question to myself during a run: where are the places that I feel the most loved and loving? It became pretty clear as I thought about my whole adult life, I feel the most essentially myself when I’m creating. Each of the 4 times I’ve birthed a child, there was something that exuded from my being. I almost felt angelic: at complete and total peace with others and myself, and also, like I could do anything. I was fully connected to the source of love, and fully myself. I felt loved and loving. And it dawned on me that I feel that to varying degrees when I am making.
The creative process makes me aware that I am tethered, that I am connected to the source of love, that love is narrowing the slack. So, the huge, bold decision came. I gave notice at the Pub. Shortly after that, a dear friend shared with me a phrase that she had been observing in her life: “go into the woods and make a clearing for prayer.” Leaving the Pub feels exactly like “going into the woods and making a clearing for prayer.” This is my clearing out the clutter. This is my sloughing off the extraneous things that distract and deter and throw off course. This is my opportunity to make room to respond in a thoughtful way.
As we become aware of our grounding, or, holiness of being tethered to the earth, we respond to who we are at a core level. These thoughts from Richard Rohr have helped me to release things that I might be good at, but aren’t central to my essence. “As we come to know our soul gift more clearly, we almost always have to let go of some other ‘gifts’ so we can do our one or two things with integrity. Such letting go frees us from always being driven by what has been called the ‘tyranny of the urgent.’ Soon, urgency is a way of life, and things are not done peacefully from within. What if we choose to simply do one or two things wholeheartedly in our lives? Too much good work becomes a violence to ourselves and, finally, to those around us.”
I’ve had moments of panic since letting go of my old job, but mostly, I have a new felt sense of groundedness and purpose. I’d love to hear how you’ve experienced “going into the woods and making a clearing for prayer”, feeling the earth beneath you, how you feel the most loved and loving. Leave a comment/story below. Celebrating and responding with you!
Why Silence??
Silent, Directed Creative Retreat
April 4-6 in College Grove, TN
When I become aware of myself recycling old scripts, both within myself, and in my important relationships, that is an outer expression of my inner need for excavation. That kind of inner soul work requires silent observation and reflection.
My first reaction to the awareness that I’m running on a script and need to dip into the silence to reconnect with myself is resistance. Energy follows attention, so I can place my attention on other things in my life to keep the invitation for rest at bay. That is how I resist; I distract myself. There are many different flavors of resistance. When we can catch ourselves at it, it opens up a spaciousness to let the resistance relax and receptivity to come. In this way, our resistance is necessary and beautiful. This is the kind of space that a retreat such as this allows.
Read this poem slowly and be with it in a quiet space. Allow it to speak to you. Journal your thoughts. Ask yourself some questions. Where am I resistant to look inward? What does a few good minutes in the sun look like? What is a default script I play in my head often? Is it true? If it is false, what is the antithetical truth? How can I receive this?
The Rungs
by Benjamin Gucciardi
“Only the person with the green dice
should be talking,
I remind the boys, holding up the
oversized foam cubes.
And the others should be?
Listening, K. says,
and how should we listen?
Con el corazon, M. replies,
thumping his chest with his closed fist.
That’s right, I say, with the heart.
Who wants to start?
The dice are passed around the circle
and the boys gloss over the check-in question.
When they reach B., who walked here,
unaccompanied,
from Honduras three months ago,
he holds them like boulders.
We straighten when his lip begins to quiver.
It’s not my place to tell you what he shared that day.
But I can tell you how M. put his hand
on B.’s back and said, maje, desahogate,
which translates roughly to
un-drown yourself
though no English phrase so willingly accepts
that everyone has drowned, and that
we can reverse that gasping,
expel the fluids from our lungs.
I sit quietly as the boys make, with
their bodies, the rungs of a ladder,
and B. climbs up from the current,
sits in the sun
for a few good minutes
before he jumps back in.
The dice finish the round and we are well over time.
I resist the urge to speak about rafts,
what it means to float.
Good, I tell them , let’s go back to class.
After handshakes and side hugs,
I’m left alone in a small room
with a box of unopened tissues,
two starburst wrappers on the ground.”
Join us for a weekend of creative inspiration and contemplative silence as we create space to connect with self, God and nature. We will begin our retreat Friday evening and conclude on Sunday before lunch time. We will be doing creative projects and the grounds are open and available to explore, so please dress accordingly. You will meet with myself or another Spiritual Director twice during the weekend. Please note: We need the names, street addresses and email addresses of 3 people who champion you creatively and will commit to praying for you while you are on retreat. I will contact them listing specific ways they can pray. Please ask them first before filling the registration form out. Please have their information in front of you when you register. $200 is due at registration and the balance can be paid at the retreat. Total cost for the retreat is $435. This includes lodging, 4 meals, art supplies, and Spiritual Direction care. Click https://www.flyforwardstudio.com/retreats to find out more and to register..
There’s a New Season Coming….
Maggie, Ellie and Rachel with Annie (maybe a year here)
This is how I know: I’ve been experiencing a deep and profound sense of loss these past few months and it’s had multiple incarnations.
Waves of grief hit me in unexpected ways. This morning, walking the dog, we took a break at a picnic table in the neighborhood that looked a lot like the picnic table we once had in our backyard where we shared meals and memories in the summer twilight together. The picnic table is long gone. The memories are imminent.
Sometimes our grief is not overt. Anything that feels like a loss is accompanied by a felt sense of grief, even if we don’t acknowledge something being a loss. My 4th and youngest child graduated from high school last week. What’s grievous about that?? We celebrated! She accomplished much! The child graduated Summa cum Laude and she didn’t even tell us. We found out when we saw her name on the graduation program noting her as such. So much to mark. So much to celebrate. Yet, underlying these events were such sadness for me.
A week after she graduated, our family cat of almost 20 years got really sick. We took her in to the vet and realized that it was time to let her go. Annie has been there almost as long as I was married. Bree, my high school graduate is younger than Annie. She has never known life without Annie in it. Annie leaving marks a significant change for my family and me.
We store events, trauma, memory, experience in our bodies. Our bodies are soul houses. Two weeks ago, I threw my back out loading and unloading bricks for a retreat. I was excited about building a labyrinth on site that retreatants could participate in. It was really beautiful and all of it occurred before I ever felt any pain. 24 hours later, I felt it. I was in bed, unable to move for three days. My body was beginning to protest unfelt and unprocessed loss. I entered into a forced pause. Then came graduation. Then came Annie. Dying.
I’ve gone through old pictures of both my children and my pets. And, somehow, that life seems like a phantom life, like someone else’s life or a distant dream. Being a mom at close range feels like so long ago. I don’t know when it happened, but I’ve transitioned from a central figure to a peripheral one. And that’s as it should be.
I stood naked in the bathroom in front of the mirror, looking for the evidence of our narrative, since some of the grief leaves me feeling like an apparition. And I saw the things that told me I was a mother; the varicosities all down my right leg from the 4th and final child that originated and resided in my body for a short time in the dark, the multiple stretch marks that have long since faded, but still exist like old tire tracks in my skin, the stretched, saggy skin, the wrinkles, the faded freckles. And for the first time in my life, I thanked my body out loud for the many miraculous things it’s done, first for myself, and for all those my flesh wrapped soul house has done for those that I’ve come in contact with. I’ve abused my body. I’ve pushed it, ignored it, been angry with it when it protests and tells me the truth. But today, I am filled with gratitude for all the ways it has been present to my life. For the last several years, it has been a spiritual practice to drop into my body. Being embodied and fully present, yes, is a practice, not a given.
I watched Annie’s body give way to age and watched her breathe her last. I’m gonna ask my body about it, how to be sad, how to grieve. And then, I’m going to move into this next season with humility and strength as I await what’s next.
The very day Annie left this world, I found a mama kitty and her four babies in my shed where I keep the lawn mower. The reminder was poignant that life continues in its mysterious cycle of life, death and rebirth. It is gut wrenching and miraculous all at once. And maybe love is the thing that will save us all. Annie had a long (her breed life expectancy is 12-15 years) love-filled life. She sure gave a lot of love and we sure loved her. Life will go on. And so will LOVE 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻
Staying In the Present; Your Spiritual Practice
If I’m not thoughtful and deliberate about staying present and embodied, I default to snoozing and I forget myself and my life. It’s easy to do and sometimes feels like relief. Right? Sometimes reality feels like too much. But, the price is too high; I don’t want to miss my own life.
Adopting some spiritual practice is compulsory for staying present and aware of reality in real time. For me, running has given me a space to access all three intelligent centers (mind, body and heart) and watch them harmoniously inform one another. Running and creating are two activities that I often walk away from having some sort of new insight or wisdom, thus these have become spiritual practices for me.
This was the case yesterday. I was listening to some song lyrics and became acutely aware of the meaning of a line in a song that used to be something I just sang along with and enjoyed the sound of. The line hit me right between the eyes! The particular line was, “And I never stepped on the cracks ‘cause I thought I’d hurt my mother” (So Real by Jeff Buckley).
In the context of the song, I began to think about how much energy I spend diverting imagined pain. I realized it is a lot more than I feel comfortable with. Our lives are driven by this energy unless we become aware of it. Everyone’s heard of the saying, “step on a crack and you break your mother’s back”. I don’t know the origin of that saying, but I have spent time noticing the cracks in the sidewalk and avoiding them. Mostly it’s an unconscious habit adopted during childhood somewhere, obviously not really thinking I’d inflict harm upon my mother.
But wow! What a metaphor for how much energy we put into innocuous situations where we think we might head off painful events or confrontations that only exist in our minds. We begin to relate to an alternate reality and check out of what is really happening. We do this so automatically, where we tell ourselves stories that may or may not be true and pour energy into those narratives and abandon what is real. So much energy is spent protecting and fortifying ourselves by doing mental cartwheels, that we become unavailable to the real pain and events in the present. We can’t be fully happy or sad, because we’re absent.
We all do this. It’s part of living in a body and having a human brain. What if we could do the work of awareness and notice when we head in that direction? Perhaps we spend less time in the made-up reality and more time in the now, being present and holding space for all that is actually there, even if it is painful? I believe this is an important work in staying wakeful and aware. Drop a note here and let us know what practices help you stay embodied, aware and present.
An Empty Eggshell?
I found this empty half of a Robin’s egg on my run yesterday afternoon. I stopped mid-stride to pick it up and look at it. I felt the dilemma of this empty shell in my bones. Perhaps I’m an empty shell. Maybe I’ve given all I have to give and now there’s nothing left to do but disintegrate and decompose on the sidewalk. I thought about the baby that emerged from this shell, living, breathing, fulfilling its purpose, existing and living on the earth for its appointed time. How lovely that this was shelter and life for that little creature for a while, a home that offered protection for delicate growth.
Now what? The natural order of things say that we are born, we live, we birth, we die. Not just once though. We find that our lives are filled with these rhythms of living and dying, birthing and burying, and also, repurposing and recreating. Even in the dying, there is resurrection. When things die and go into the ground, they become part of something else.
This eggshell came on the heels of a poignant conversation I had with a client. We’ve been dreaming up a piece of art for her home in Lake Tahoe. With tears in her eyes and voice, she described a moment around a tree where it became apparent that the clay pot holding the tree needed to be broken in order for the roots to be able to spread out. I thought of this as it relates to the egg. Sometimes in order for the new to emerge, the old containers have to break open. It doesn’t mean the end of the old container; it means that there is another way for that container to exist in the world.
The eggshell will be repurposed into a piece of art. If it had stayed where it was, it would’ve gone into the ground to continue its work of nurturing some new, fragile form of life.
Perhaps there is a resurrection, a change of purpose in your own life? Survey the things that may need a breaking open to create something new.
And shoot me a note. I’d love to hear about your own surprising resurrection.
The Moon, a Tattoo and Lessons from France
I had to take a trip to France to realize some things. Perhaps we go the long way around for very profound reasons. Perhaps the linear route was never the intent. If our paths are more circular, perhaps we come to a crossroads in life where we see that life is not linear, nor are the choices we make and the epiphanies that we have. Perhaps our journeys are exactly as they are meant to be: not wrong, not right, but present; not good, not bad, but embodied.
And maybe the work that is ours has more to do with noticing reality - really noticing it, not just in a superficial way, but beneath the surface of things - rather than editing and attempting to control it. If we embody the present rather than push against it, then we become participants in it. We actually can begin to learn how to curate our experiences when we are dwelling within them. We become less reactionary and more responsive.
Me, getting a crescent moon tattoo near Moulin Rouge, Paris, France, 2/2022
One of the things on my list to do while in France most of the month of February this year, was to get a tattoo in the Moulin Rouge district of Paris. We’d thrown the idea around back in the Fall of 2016 when I was there last, but it never materialized. It wouldn’t have happened this time around either without my dear friend and travel companion, Sharilyn, who has a way of making things happen. We walked out of the shop that day, both bearing new ink on our skin (Sharilyn, I am eternally grateful to you for making this happen and sharing in the experience).
My new Waxing Crescent Moon Tattoo (Sharilyn, who was also inked, in the background)
Why a crescent moon you ask? This isn’t just any crescent moon. It’s a waxing moon, and it is open toward the direction of my body, mind and heart. Please allow me to explain a few things. I have always had a mad love affair with the moon. I remember sitting on a stool in the front yard of my childhood home watching a lunar eclipse into the early morning. I stayed until the last edge of the shadow on our satellite disappeared. I remember how breathtaking it was. I have always swooned over the moon. And, I have always strained to listen to her wisdom.
New Ink: Waxing Crescent Moon
This ink is a reminder to me. I always encourage my clients to fly forward with receptivity, curiosity and gentleness. In a waxing state, the moon moves toward fullness, a whole and hopeful way of being. She is pointing inward, toward my body, heart and brain. This is a proclamation to me to continue to wax with thoughtfulness, equanimity and groundedness. It takes much inner work to stay in present reality, when that reality might be painful. I continue to learn from the rhythm and patterns of the moon and hope for the ability to embody reality, stay present and receptive to giving and receiving love.
I have much to say yet, but I will leave that for another entry. For now I will leave you with this beautiful poem about staying open and receptive.
The Healing Time
Finally on my way to yes
I bump into all the places
where I said no to my life
All the untended wounds
the red and purple scars
those hieroglyphs of pain
carved into my skin,
my bones, those coded messages
that send me down
the wrong street
again and again
where I find them,
the old,
old misdirections
and I lift them
one by one
close to my heart
and say,
Holy, holy
~ Pesha Gertler
Antidote to Despair
Have you ever seen a painting, heard a piece of music, watched a film, read a novel or poem that deeply moved you? Or clearly articulated your inner experience? Or given language to something that was previously inexplicable? You probably have, if you’re human. Art can give dignity and meaning to our human experience in profound ways.
“We all fear death and question our place in the universe. The artist’s job is not to succumb to despair, but to find an antidote for the emptiness of existence.“ ~ Kathy Bates as Gertrude Stein in Midnight In Paris. I was literally thinking about this idea when I saw these munched up crayons, ironically, in a bookstore parking lot. It felt like a metaphor to me, an artist succumbing to despair. It was more likely a mom cleaning out the family van. But I couldn’t help but take notice. That’s definitely a tall order for any artist to fill. (I don’t know if Gertrude actually said those words, but I think she could’ve). I can say this: I think my own creative process has saved me over and over from despair. Creating things with my hands, my imagination, my soul has allowed me to sort through my inner experience like nothing else can. If I distill this quote down to a personal level, I can see how true it is in the actual making of art for the individual. Whether or not a finished work actually provides an antidote, who could say, though I think it’s important to notice where we laugh, cry, and feel disturbed when encountering good art.
Restauranting With Care
Have you noticed post-pandemic that perhaps your favorite local restaurant is understaffed and the staff that is there look stressed and worn out and exhausted? If you haven’t noticed, perhaps I can give you some pointers on restauranting from this side of the table. Yes, I’m using this as a verb, because many people who restaurant are ignorant about how to do it. And I can usually pick out those patrons who’ve never been employed in the food service industry.
I have been employed at a small, local Irish Pub for 7 years. In many ways, it has been a lifeline for me. It has seen me through a divorce, a few romantic relationships, my fits and starts as a career artist, a global pandemic, 4 moves and one trip to Europe, among many other things. I am deeply grateful to the owner, my co-workers and our many patrons, many of which are regulars as well as painting clients. (Don, Carynn, Steven, Andrew, Drew, Brian and Bonnie, Jennie and James - I know:I - , Chip, Scott, Elaine, Stacy, and more).
I thought things would only get better from 2020, but I think I’d prefer that year to this one. It feels like we went to the upside-down in 2020, and in 2021, we just ventured further in. I suppose one must travel through to get to the other side instead of turning around and going back the way one came. For about 5 minutes, once things re-opened, I noticed a surge of kindness and generosity as people appeared to be so grateful to be out and about once more. Now, it seems as though everyone has redoubled their efforts to be demanding, entitled and ego-centric moving about in a new world (please understand with these observations, I am desperately trying to hold onto a belief in the goodness, kindness and gentleness of people in general).
I’d had a week from hell. I found out I have to have eye surgery on both my eyes. At 50, I have cataracts! What??!! But yes! One of my children experienced a horrible trauma, so I’d been out of town trying to be present with her amidst dealing with my own car trouble. At this point, I was putting out the most urgent fires
I arrive at work for my last shift before a wedding the next day and a trip to the beach following. I was prepared for a Friday night shift that would be notably understaffed and probably with co-workers that were new and green, so much of the peripheral work would fall upon me, along with huge amounts of people that would be hungry and thirsty and want all of it right now. We’d been busier than normal for several weeks now.
I begin the shift as usual. I am covering the floor by myself and we begin to pick up. When it is like this, I try to communicate with my new tables and say that I’ll be with them shortly. A new table comes in, a young man and middle-aged woman. They are sitting, looking over the menu. I approach the table on my way back to the kitchen and say that I’ll be right with them. They never look up or respond, but as I do, I brush the table top with my hand, so I think they must hear and see me. But I don’t wait for a response. I bring the dishes back to the kitchen and return to the table and ask if I can start some drinks. The young man asks for a Smithwick’s Irish Ale. We always have this on tap. The correct Irish pronunciation sounds like “Smiddicks”. This young gentleman pronounces it Smithwicks. I don’t correct him. I ask to see his ID. As he pulls it out, the woman asks him if that’s what she usually drinks. Since he mispronounced his beer choice, I chime in to describe the Ale. While I am talking she continues to look at him and asks him questions about the beer. She, thus far, has not looked at me, made eye contact or even acknowledged my existence. I scan his ID and I notice he was born exactly 5 days later than my oldest daughter. Since it is clear she doesn’t want explanation from me, I leave and pour a pint for him. I come back to the table a third time with a pint of happy hour Smithwicks. The lady sitting with him begins to pull out her ID. (I was not going to card her; she looked my age - I’m 50). Without giving me a glance, she pulls out her ID and says she’s going to drink but doesn’t know what yet. I look at her ID. She was born in 1972. She is a year younger than me. I begin to ask her about what she might have to drink. She interrupts and asks me about the Irish Chips and what sauces come with them. I told her that our French fries don’t come with any sauces unless they’re loaded beer cheese fries, but I’d be happy to bring something alongside. She persists about the sauces, asking me again what sauces accompany our chips. I told her that we have all kinds of sauces and I really like our tartar sauce with the fries. We have salad dressings and barbeque sauce and all kinds of things. She cuts me off and asks if I’m copping an attitude. I tell her I’m just trying to understand what is wanted. (Inside, I’m wondering how could she possibly know if I’m copping an attitude, since this is the first time she has actually looked at me, even after three visits to the table). She says, “You know what? We’re just gonna leave”. I walk away. I don’t know what else to do. Nothing will make her happy.
I go about my business, bussing tables, tending to other customers. I return to the kitchen and find that the owner is on the phone trying to talk someone down. It’s her. She leaves the pub and immediately calls and demands to speak to a manager. She begins to complain about me, to which the owner comes to my defense immediately. The lady doesn’t like that. She hangs up and leaves a scathing review on Yelp. In the meantime, I am fuming, feeling dehumanized and unseen and unappreciated. The other tables that I am caring for notice the scene and validate how ridiculous this woman is, which feels incredibly kind, since I default to thinking everything is my fault. I’m learning there are times when it’s just not and people are responding out of their own experience.
It took me a whole week of processing and conversations and podcasts and reflections to recover from this one toxic interaction. Because….. and here’s the BECAUSE……
I deeply care about my job. And I’m really good at it. I deeply care about people. And damned if I’m going to write people off as the worst. I am deeply and desperately trying to continue to believe in humanity and the dignity of every human. It becomes increasingly difficult and subversive in a predominantly white, entitled, privileged culture where people forget what it’s like to apply some elbow grease and actually get one’s hands dirty serving others. If you are disconnected from that side of humanity, PLEASE reconnect yourself! Or at least, learn how to uphold the dignity of your neighbor! And if you find yourself becoming angry that you can’t get your favorite chicken sandwich right now or that special car part, remember that there are human beings behind all of those challenges that have stories, hearts and faces. They are not simply mechanical robots put in place to make your life work.
We are all struggling to make our way in the this new, strange post-pandemic world. The one thing we can’t leave behind is kindness and those small, beautiful ways we can hold up one another’s dignity. Please be kind, gracious and patient toward your neighbor. Those moments are so lasting and have powerful effects long into the future.
Ambivalence: An Appropriate Emotion?
I usually hear the word ambivalence described with a negative connotation, that it is an emotion that is thought of as an unpleasant or negative one. I’ve heard it categorized into the bad feeling department, giving it the same assignment as say, anger, rage, depression, sadness, confusion, all of the no-no feels. I stand by current wisdom that says that our emotional intelligence is simply being aware of what emotions we are feeling and without judgment, experiencing them as gifts, as indicators of where our lives are speaking to us. Any emotion, whether traditionally considered positive or negative, can lead us to either impairment or as gifts received.
Ambivalence, or having two polarized emotional responses to one particular occurrence or event, is that feeling of bitter sweetness, or we use the term, mixed feelings, or a love-hate relationship with something. They seem contradictory and intuitively, we wonder how they can be in the same space. In our world, ambivalence makes perfect sense to me. Perhaps it is the gateway to a third way of being.
In a sense, I have been painting ambivalence since I became a painter, though perhaps without even knowing it. In an early artist statement, I wrote, “As a painter, I perceive that there are many relationships active in a good piece of work, such as light and dark, smooth and rough, colorful and dull, space and illusion of space, abstract and concrete. These relationships exist to portray contrasts and diversity, without which, artwork would be boring and flat. This could be said of life as well. And it is in these relationships perhaps, that we find those transitory, beautiful spaces in which the dichotomy of contentious opposites are found flourishing peacefully, inhabiting a minute corner of the world for a transient instant.” I have always been fascinated by these tensions of opposites, two polarized views of seeing the world. I realize in my painting process, I am attempting to make something new out of the two polarized planes. The two opposing forces are present, but live together, making a third possibility, “the dichotomy of contentious opposites found flourishing peacefully, inhabiting a minute corner of the world for a transient instant.”
This is the third force, in latin, called Tertium Quid. It is what Richard Rohr calls the “reconciling force that is bigger than both of the parts and doesn’t exclude either of them.” It is this force that can generate the New. This is true in every sphere one would want to apply it to: politics, art, relationships, creativity, spirituality, emotional depth, the way one does dishes or thinks about the future.
When one feels ambivalence, one is simply aware of opposites being at odds with one another. Perhaps this is an invitation to find the reconciling force within that emotion.
On my run yesterday, I spotted this beautiful yellowtail butterfly wing on the side of the road. At first, I gasped at the beauty, shape and color of the saturated yellow and sheens of iridescent blue in the black outline. I recalled what I learned about some iridescence found in nature, that there are no pigments present - it appears iridescent because of the way the light refracts on the imperfect surface of the object (this happens with mother of pearl, dragonfly wings, peacock feathers, etc). I wondered what was true about this wing. Then it hit me that the rest of this little majestic guy was probably splattered on someone’s windshield, or being digested in the stomach of a bird. Then, I looked up to see a fallen bird nest a couple feet away under a tree in the neighboring lawn. I immediately felt sad at the loss and end of these beautiful, vulnerable creatures. I thought of people and stories in my life that can easily make me feel despair. How quickly I went from awe, curiosity and appreciation to a sense of futility and sadness. I began to wonder why? Why even expend energy into anything that is beautiful? It really is a transient instant. I felt ambivalence toward my own life. I also know that if I can’t take the honest dip downward to sorrow, I can’t take the honest thrust upward to joy. These two inform one another. The seeming opposites are actually cohabitating quite naturally. It is me who tries to sort them out and separate them and call one better or worse than the other. The third way is about ceasing to include or exclude, but allow everything to belong. The third way is about integrating two polar ideas and making something new. I’m charging myself with a new spiritual discipline, and that is to look for the reconciling force toward any given situation I find myself in.
The Familiar
I drew this figure on a train from Paris to Switzerland a couple years ago. Later, I took the drawing, inspired by a bronze sculpture I saw in Paris, and incorporated it into this Encaustic piece. I thought of it and what it meant to me when I read the following words:
“Anytime you’re gonna grow, you’re gonna lose something. You’re losing what you’re hanging onto to keep safe. You’re losing habits that you’re comfortable with, you’re losing familiarity.” ~ James Hillman
There is something lovely about the familiar. When we lose something familiar, we begin the grief process. It jolts us out of our sleep, wakes us up to the moment, perhaps even wakes us up to our life. The line in the poem below reminds me of staying awake. “Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.” The familiar gives me great comfort. And it makes me wonder how much I am clinging to it and resisting the new because I have not stayed alert in the midst of my comfort? It takes intentionality to stay awake to our own lives. Creating things helps me stay alert. What keeps you awake to your one wild and precious life?
“Your great mistake is to act the drama
as if you were alone. As if life
were a progressive and cunning crime
with no witness to the tiny hidden
transgressions. To feel abandoned is to deny
the intimacy of your surroundings. Surely,
even you, at times, have felt the grand array;
the swelling presence, and the chorus, crowding
out your solo voice. You must note
the way the soap dish enables you,
or the window latch grants you freedom.
Alertness is the hidden discipline of familiarity.
The stairs are your mentor of things
to come, the doors have always been there
to frighten you and invite you,
and the tiny speaker in the phone
is your dream-ladder to divinity.
Put down the weight of your aloneness and ease into the
conversation. The kettle is singing
even as it pours you a drink, the cooking pots
have left their arrogant aloofness and
seen the good in you at last. All the birds
and creatures of the world are unutterably
themselves. Everything is waiting for you.”
~David Whyte~
Rummaging For God; Let Your Life Speak
Rummaging For God…
Let Your Life Speak
I saw a post somewhere the other day, perhaps on Facebook or some social media outlet. It said something along the lines of wanting to be used by God to let his kingdom shine through. Though I know the heart behind the intentions, I felt some cringiness inwardly and moved one with whatever I was doing. Later, I thought of that post (I can’t remember the particular post, only the gist) and began to think about why it made me feel uncomfortable. I used to pray similar things and understand the longing behind it.
Our prayers and desires change over time. I think of myself as a participant in a grand story, perhaps even a collaborator in the storytelling. There is a partnership, a longing for and striving toward a world where all belong and have a part in the storytelling, the thriving and flourishing of our world. If God “uses” us, like I use a wrench or a paintbrush, we are disposable, expendable and not in a relationship where we are giving and receiving love. We are objectified.
There are three ways to perceive and operate in the world in relation to how we see God’s involvement in it. We become complacent and approach our lives with a sort of passive stance and allow the chips to fall where they may, so to speak. We are not proactive or responsible for our choices, or lack thereof. We “trust God” to handle things and when we don’t like how he’s managed things, we resent our lives and the people in it. Or - and there’s a term for this - we become white-knuckle gripping control junkies who pick ourselves up by the bootstraps and forge ahead with our grandiose plans. This is called Pelagianism. Then, there is a third way which is a collaborative cooperation to what is good and loving. It is a “true theology of grace and freedom that sees life as response to God’s love.” (Dennis Hamm)
If you’ve seen the movie, INTERSTELLAR, you know what this looks like. A daughter, once angry and estranged from her father, softens toward him and literally listens to his voice from across the universe and dimensions of time and space to respond to his love. She becomes aware of herself as loved and loving. The natural outflow of this connection is that their world is saved. The father didn’t “use” the daughter for his gain; they were in a loving relationship, which, naturally produces love and goodness. God is not utilitarian. He is Love. And we get the opportunity to soften to and extend toward that Love.
This awareness is one of many moments where I went “rummaging for God” and in so doing, found my life speaking back to me….. volumes. I am including this pdf article written by Dennis Hamm on praying the Examen (a particular way of praying). It’s a review of the last 24 hours of your life, a gathering of your day as you notice the things that it speaks to you. It concludes with a look forward to the next 24 hours and being aware of what you are feeling as you look ahead. This has been such an important practice for me this year. And I want to share it with you. Please click on the image above and read the article by Dennis Hamm and follow along as you wish or want. As always, stay where the fruit is… if it doesn’t speak to you, let it go for now. Next week, I will present a meditation video as we pray through this prayer together. Fill out the form below if you want the free guided meditation to go along with this prayer. And as always, go gently….
Practice Resurrection
There is a two word sentence in a Wendell Berry poem. Practice resurrection. I love the whole poem, but these two gems put side by side are so pregnant with poignant meaning, especially after a year that has been so disruptive on a global scale. And we find ourselves rounding up on the anniversary of when the pandemic appeared in the US, right in the middle of the Lenten season.
There are things that I need that I am not even aware of. There are invitations being given consistently, but if I am not in a receptive posture, I don’t even notice. There are times when I am practicing resurrection without calling it that. It isn’t until I pause and listen that I become aware of what my life is saying to me.
My invitation came three times this year (2021 - we’re in the third month). I sat down to put some structure to the year on the first day. I laid my goals down on paper. Career, financial, spiritual, creative, physical, every heading I could think of. I thought about my health and wellness. I made some goals there. I thought about my alcohol consumption during 2020 and even the last 3 years. Admittedly, I noticed an increase during 2020. I found comfort in a glass of wine toward the end of the day more often than not. It got a short pause. I skipped over it because I didn’t have the mental energy to really look at it, which was my first no to the invitation. Then Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent came along and I paused again around the question of alcohol consumption. Just a short pause. Nope. Too much going on to put energy into that right now. About the end of January, a dear friend of mine let me know of a monthly book discussion group she put together. She let me know some of the titles that would be discussed and the gathering and events around them (all virtual for now) and I was intrigued and felt a yes and immediately dug in. Well the third invitation made its way without me even realizing what had happened. The book for this month is called The Alcohol Experiment: 30 days to take control, cut down or give up for good. It is a kind, non-judgmental look at our attitudes and beliefs around drinking. She challenges the reader to go AF (alcohol free) for 30 days and observe the self during that time and then make adjustments from there. I’m on day 12.
Meanwhile, toward the end of last year, I began practicing the Ignatian Examen daily. This is a practice that I have known about for years and had implemented here and there, but not consistently. It is the process of observing the day, noticing and looking for the movements of God in it. One becomes aware of the rise and fall of emotions during the day to indicate what seems important. It was during this prayer of Examen that I even noticed these invitations that came three different times over the span of 2 months. I wouldn’t have even made those connections without these two events, the Examen prayer and the book group, happening in my life. I have been practicing resurrection without knowing I was.
What things in your life are giving you goodness? What are ways you can practice resurrection? In what ways are you caring for yourself? What tools can you put in your self care tool box? Notice the things that bring you comfort, connectedness, joy, wellness in body, mind and heart. Can you put yourself in the way of those things? How? What things in your life are taking more than they are giving? How can you put boundaries around those things? Notice what you say yes to. Notice what you say no to. Notice as an observer, an inner compassionate witness and see how gentle you can be with yourself.
MANIFESTO: THE MAD FARMER LIBERATION FRONT
~ by Wendell Berry
Love the quick profit,
the annual raise,
vacation with pay.
Want more of everything ready-made.
Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die.
And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery any more.
Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a little drawer.
When they want you to buy something they will call you.
When they want you to die for profit they will let you know.
So, friends, every day do something that won't compute.
Love the Lord.
Love the world.
Work for nothing.
Take all that you have and be poor.
Love someone who does not deserve it.
Denounce the government and embrace the flag.
Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands.
Give your approval to all you cannot understand.
Praise ignorance, for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed.
Ask the questions that have no answers.
Invest in the millennium.
Plant sequoias.
Say that your main crop is the forest that you did not plant,
that you will not live to harvest.
Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into the mold.
Call that profit.
Prophesy such returns.
Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees every thousand years.
Listen to carrion--put your ear close, and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come.
Expect the end of the world.
Laugh.
Laughter is immeasurable.
Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.
So long as women do not go cheap for power, please women more than men.
Ask yourself: Will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child?
Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth?
Go with your love to the fields.
Lie easy in the shade.
Rest your head in her lap.
Swear allegiance to what is nighest your thoughts.
As soon as the generals and the politicos can predict the motions of your mind, lose it.
Leave it as a sign to mark a false trail, the way you didn't go.
Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction.
Practice resurrection.
Self Care Takes Some Reflection
As I was running this afternoon, I ran by a house with a gentleman in his driveway. He seemed familiar and after a moment, I recognized him because he was still in his cycling clothes and he had his bike turned upside down in his driveway. I had passed him a time or two on my run as he was on his bicycle with a friend. I noticed how attentive he was to his bike. He was applying grease in some places, checking tire pressure and taking great care of his prized equipment. I noticed, just in passing, his great attention to detail. I thought, “Wow, he must really love his bike, the sport, the process.” Then I thought, “I’m so glad that running doesn’t require painstaking attention to equipment and expensive upkeep and such laborious details. The moment I thought that, I immediately began to think about how I treat my “running” equipment. Just because I can put a pair of running shoes on and head out the door and make what I want of my run, doesn’t mean it’s not costly. I am my running gear! If I am not properly caring for me, how can I expect my running gear to work efficiently?
Self care is deeply important, especially in these particularly challenging times. We may have to be more creative about how we take care of ourselves. Connection and intimacy have limitations right now, at least with other people. How are you connecting with yourself these days? I want to offer out some suggestions for self care that I really hope with be helpful as we find fresh pathways back to ourselves and the source of love, which is always present, even if we don’t feel it.
The Enneagram teaches that there are three intelligence centers active in a person. Depending on our type on the Enneagram, we operate more efficiently or less so to varying degrees. The 8, 9 and 1 are body types. The 2, 3 and 4 are heart types and the 5, 6 and 7 are head types. I am a 4 and my strongest intelligence lies naturally in my emotions. The Enneagram has helped me learn that I can feel things deeply and I understand the world through my emotional response to it. I am learning to distinguish between a reaction and a response, not to let my emotions drive the bus, but also honor and give space to what I am feeling and allow myself to listen more closely to my feelings. My work has also been to develop the other parts of me. Dropping into my body has been a learned skill, and why I took up running a few years ago.
As I reflected on this cyclist taking care of his bicycle so lovingly, I wondered how I could better care for myself. We take care of what we love. I love running. It helps me to be aware of my body. It also creates a space for thought. My best thoughts come to me when I’m running. I have been intentional about this underdeveloped part of my human experience. All three of these centers work in tandem to inform the others, at least, that’s been my experience.
I have a dear friend who self identifies as a 1 on the Enneagram. 1’s are body types. She has a keen mind, always active, innovative, coming up with creative new ways of doing things, making the world more “right”. She takes care of herself; her physical environment is full of beauty, rich smells emitting from candles, and rich food cooking on the stove. She is very health conscious and pays great attention to detail when it comes to comfort, beautiful surroundings and well-being. And I usually don’t know what she is feeling. When I inquire, she shuts down. This is probably the underdeveloped center for her and some work around the emotional center might help her to know what self care could look like.
Whether you know your type or not, when you think of your heart (emotional experience), head (mental processes) and body (physical, body presence), what are you least aware of, or, how about this? What part of you is the Cinderella of your existence? For most of my life, I have rejected my body. I have been the wicked step-mother who has denied things my body has asked me for. What part of you do you ignore or reject? How could you begin to show that part love? This might be the first step to really understanding what it means to really care for yourself, like someone caring for their bicycle. We take care of what we love.
Love what you can, when you can, how you can
"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet." ~Frederick Buechner
We had occasion to pass through a neighborhood over Thanksgiving that was adorned with confederate flags and Trump support. It spurred some conversation. A well-meaning family member interjected some musings that went something like this: “What would it mean to show the love of Christ to people with confederate flags in their windows? Maybe many of them are atheists and not rich, Christian Republican racists.” Honestly, my first response was a huge eye roll toward heaven and then a visible and audible deep sigh. I do say well-meaning because I really don’t think it was meant to shame or reduce injustice. I do think it over-spiritualized a very real, very close human dilemma.
I went for a run a little later along the Alabama shoreline and began to explore why my first response was cynicism and a critical eye. There are so many reasons why I responded that way, but my thoughts on my run that day showed some clarity about myself. And I am working on building trust with myself. The last few years, I have noticed more acutely where I have abandoned or betrayed myself. And with my return home to myself comes recognizing my own front door! The words from Derek Walcott’s beautiful poem, Love After Love come to mind “Peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.”
Some moments begin to flash past in my memory. The day I sat in my high school Government class and stood up to the bully who was relentless in his cruelty to a student who was socially awkward and had yet to graduate beyond his middle school body. The time when a girl I met in a state-wide youth choir handed over to me her pocket mirror with a razor blade tucked inside along with her heartbreaking story to go with it. She gave me her tears, her sacred story and her trust that day. She had been a victim of abuse. Stories upon stories over my lifetime came floating like logs moving down a swollen river. I have, in my own life, in my own way, been oppressed and quieted and rejected when putting my core self out into the world. Not to say I haven’t perpetrated such acts; we have all been the archer and we’ve all been the prey (Taylor Swifts words in her new song, The Archer).
Where my heart breaks wide open is where there is suffering, especially when that suffering is caused by an oppressor of some sort, whether it is an oppressive system or person or group. Bullies make me rage. There are those beautiful souls who work with perpetrators such as those involved with prison ministries. We need those who are called to love and rehabilitate the bully.
And I also know my limits. I rage when I think that there is a sex industry. I rage because there are men who are patrons to a booming business. These same men have wives and daughters and sisters and mothers.
I rage when the community I live in gets more offended at a mask mandate to keep our hospitals manageable and our people safe than they do that our downtown square hails a confederate soldier as a war hero that offends its citizens and sends a message that indeed, not all are welcome. Is this not the antithesis of southern hospitality?
I’m grateful for the question posed, though at first it felt condescending and self righteous. And I don’t know the reason for it in the first place, but it has given me the occasion to examine my response to it and what feels important to notice. I’ve recently heard the term, “Do No Harm”. While I love that statement, it speaks of what not to do. I also recently read this statement: “Love what you can, when you can, how you can.” This becomes the response to the question asked by my family member. Perhaps that person can love the perpetrator. And he can do it with more grace than I can. My gladness is relieving suffering where I find it in my little corner of the world. Perhaps I can lock arms with those who want the same thing. Perhaps you can too. Where is your deep gladness?
The Collective American soul will not heal until we're honest about the reflection it casts
It’s two days after Election day, and no President has been declared. Four years ago, we elected a man into office that has deeply disturbed me. I have spent the last four years largely experiencing anger, disruption, jaw-dropping shock and cynicism, but mostly deep sadness and longing.
Much of my anger has been directed toward our elected officials, but as I peer below the surface of things, that is not what I’m angry about. I’m angry and deeply sad that we elected such people to run our country. Our leaders are a metaphor for us as a nation. We elected them. We handed over power to who reflects us best. Our leaders reflect our collective soul back to us. And what I’m seeing is that our country has become toxic with hate and violence running rampant.
We will not change anything until we face our reflection and begin to heal, both individually and collectively. This is not an easy move to make. It means laying down our weapons of divisiveness- the mentality of “us and them” - and begin to take in our inner landscape and notice the places that we’ve disconnected ourselves from the rest of the human race. The reality is that we are all deeply connected and the “least of these”, our weakest, most vulnerable brother or sister must not be left behind.
My cry is not “God Bless America”. My cry is “Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy”.
Recipients of mercy could have a beautiful, different future. It is a harder path, a more profound path. Honestly, I’m not sure we can do it. As Cynthia Bourgeault states, “the route to all new beginning comes by leaning into the diminishment, stripping and emptiness. Not by trying to distract ourselves, anesthetize ourselves, or use our spiritual tool kit to re-establish the status quo. New beginning is intrinsically disorienting and anguishing; it builds on the wreckage of what has been outgrown but not yet relinquished. As the veils are lifted and familiar reference points dissolve, it is only on the timeless path of surrender, or “letting go” (= CONSENTING TO THE PRESENCE AND ACTION OF GOD) that we find our way through the darkness and into the new beginning.
So this is my prayer, for myself and us, as a nation…. Working on a painting currently to reflect these thoughts….
More to come…..
Love Your Own Story
I have wanted to edit parts of my story, create a reality where parts aren’t true, or spin them in a certain light so as to make them more palatable. So, when my friend Karthi, said to me years ago, “I’m learning to love my own story”, it arrested my imagination. Being a whole person means that we are not fragmented or compartmentalized. It means that we have observed, recognized and received all that is true; we notice without judgement. And as we work towards wholeness, we become compassionate witnesses to our own stories.
I was standing in the lunch line at my middle school. I was in 7th grade. It was a public school, but a very high end public school. People were flocking to the district to make sure their kids could go to this particular school. It’s the equivalent of Brentwood Middle or Grassland Middle here in Franklin, TN. It was where the money was and where the white kids were attending. There might have been the occasional Asian student from a family of doctors. I don’t remember ANY African Americans or Latino students. Somehow, I was among that population of students. But I didn’t belong, and I knew it, and they knew it.
We all got an allotment of lunch tokens for the week. My lunch token was always red. Everyone else had blue tokens. I remember that day, standing in the lunch line, wearing a brand new outfit that I was really excited about. Burgundy flats with little bows that were supposed to look like leather. I didn’t know the difference. But my classmates did. The shoes were paired with a burgundy plaid skirt and a gold turtleneck. It must have been 1982 or 1983. My mom took me to the local Kmart the weekend before to give me a rare treat of new clothes AND the Kmart brand of crayons. Kmart or not, crayons were the best!
A kid named John, who I don’t think I’ve ever exchanged words with before, must have noticed my different colored token and my fake leather shoes. He began to tease me about my mother being on welfare. Not understanding how he could possibly know that, I just stayed silent as he prodded and teased.
This is part of my story. I haven’t seen my father since I was five and my mother raised myself and my two brothers by herself without help from my father. She worked her ass off, being a nurse’s assistant on the psychiatric floor and later a lab assistant. Even though she had a full-time job, it was still not enough to take care of herself and three children. She sought outside aide through the government. We collected housing assistance and food stamps. We also qualified for free school lunches. That’s why my token was a different color. We lived in a spacious three bedroom apartment in a top notch school district. My brothers got the whole basement to themselves. They did complain that they had to share a bedroom. Me and mom were upstairs and each got our own room. We had a community swimming pool in the complex. I spent hours and hours in that pool. My mom used to tell me I was going to turn into a fish. I knew I was already a mermaid;)
My mom eventually married and we moved from there. And I don’t know how long we received government assistance. I imagine it was a few years. I don’t know what would’ve happened had we not received that assistance. In my mother’s case, the aide she received was supplemental to help until she was independent enough to make ends meet on her own. And for us, it worked. For me, that access to help made the difference between diminishing or flourishing.
I have a college degree. My mother doesn’t. Her mother doesn’t. Her mother didn’t. I come from a family of farmers who scratched a living off the land. I’m going to change my family tree. I’m going to take some of my mother’s courage and claim it for my own.
There’s a voice inside my head that becomes louder as I enter into my studio. “How dare you! Who do you think you are? Painting is for the rich. Painting is a luxury you cannot afford. All you can afford is to clean toilets and scrub floors. You will never do anything so noble as to change a woeful situation for someone else. Man your station.”
Then, the voice, the empathic voice comes in, the Voice that is the Core Voice. And I believe it. I trust this inner most voice of being. It says, “Come. Stay a while. You belong here. Let’s see what we can do today”.
What Voice Has the Most Power in Your Life?
What does your self talk sound like? You know what I mean; we all do it. We have tiny vignettes playing in our head all the time. Some voices have been present with us for a long time; that voice that first popped up during an event in your life of perceived failure. We all have places in our narrative where these new, powerful voices began to rise up. Anne Lamott calls them “banshees and drunken monkeys”. They are not kind. They are severe. They are cruel. And we give them pause. We give them power. And often, they are so powerful that they bring us to a halt. We stop. We cease the important work that we’re meant to put out into the world. We make space for shame. We make it feel at home as we let it spread out and take residence.
I want to speak specifically to women here. I’ve had to untangle some of the shame messages I’ve received from men in my life. Most of them I love and are well meaning. And I’ve had to do the work of receiving the truth into my soul that their seemingly benign comments were really about them and not about me. Brene Brown says the “antidote to shame is empathy”. When I began to learn how to be kind to myself, as I would a dear friend, I began to heal.
An important man in my life supported my desire to return to school as an adult learner in my 30’s. As part of my art major coursework, I spent a lot of time in the woodshop. I loved every minute of it and have since set up my own woodshop in my home studio. I have had a woodshop now for seven years. It includes three different saws and an air compressor for power tools. It’s the bare minimum, but I have everything I need for the work that I do. I build all my own painting panels, cradles and frames.
I remember at least three separate instances in the last seven years in which the fact that I have a woodshop and what I make in the woodshop came up in casual conversation with different men. I remember having a pretty detailed conversation with each of these men about what equipment, the process, and the products that were involved in my process. A short amount of time went by after these conversations and they seemed to have been forgotten. Each one offered their help to me in building frames or making panels or something that I had already told them that I do myself. Perhaps they forgot about our previous interaction? Or perhaps they didn’t believe me? Or perhaps they felt insecure in more of an equal role with a woman and needed to diminish me in some way to soothe that insecurity? I don’t know. I know how it initially made me feel when I experienced it. I did feel diminished, like an outsider or someone who didn’t belong and had no business touching a saw. I’ve had other similar experiences when I’m under the hood fixing my own car (that’s for another blog!).
Those voices that want to tamp down are often loud. I share these experiences with you because they’re relatively innocuous and quiet voices in my head, but only because I’ve done the work of empathy around them. I belong in the woodshop. I really love being in the woodshop, the smell of fresh cut pine all around me as I make beautiful things. It brings a lot of joy to me. These particular interactions have not shut me down. There are always other stories and experiences that want to shut me down and that is why empathy is needed. Can you name a person, place, event, or thing that is attempting to shut you down? What is the antidote? How can you give rise to the stronger, truer voice that is present in the core of who you are? The banshees and drunken monkeys are always there, but why do they get to drive the bus? Make space and time for the empath that also lives among the voices. How can you create more space for that particularly important voice?