On my walk this morning I saw a feather. It made me think about how magical I once thought feathers to be. I loved how they felt, how they were structured, how they looked in the sun. I was pretty sure with the right words and right swoosh through the air, anything was possible.
I also held romantic notions about all the things I could write using the quill. The end product of writing with one was rarely what I imagined but like a four-leaf clover, I was freshly inspired by possibilities on the discovery of each new feather.
I should probably mention that as a kid picking up and (gasp!) bringing a feather inside my house was a necessary covert activity, especially when my grandmother lived with us. She called feathers ‘filthy’ with a facial expression of disgust that I can still see clearly in my mind all these years later.
Harvesting ‘ink’ was another obstacle. I cut up my share of pens and never accumulated a well, just a lot of ink all over my hands. I used lemon juice for secret messages. Mustard was a medium I used born out of sheer inspiration, or maybe it was desperation because I don’t ever recall having paint or food colouring or anything else to use in a quill-writing emergency.
So, when I spotted the feather on the sidewalk this morning, the voice I heard in my head said this, “It’s too bad that feather is so filthy.”
Can you still hear the faint echo of magic? It is tucked into the words, ‘it’s too bad’. I also felt it; a slight ache at my chest, a longing for something I once knew in my heart.
Listen for your own echos this week. Listen for them through your body, right inside the moment you are in. Let your authentic self know you are willing to hear and ready to take flight.
My daughter just turned 12 and is swiftly moving into womanhood. I am watching her regularly occupy two worlds; that of a child and of an emerging young woman. It is sometimes heartbreaking to watch, I want to fix what’s difficult. When I am mindful, I also realize all of it is necessary and achingly beautiful.
Consider this: No matter how old you are, growing pains are a constant part of life when you are committed to growing as a person.
I flew to France on my own when I was 12 to visit my best friend who had moved there for a year with her family.
The airline I went with offered an ‘Unaccompanied Minor Service’ which meant one of the flight attendants was assigned to me. She led me from check-in, through security to the departure lounge. I didn’t wait long before there was a pre-boarding call and I was escorted again to my seat which was the first window seat in economy after the business class section. No one was sitting beside me.
Early on during the fight one of the pilots came to join me. I assumed it was part of the kids program where I would get to see the cockpit, which was common on most airlines pre-9/11. There was no mention of the cockpit though, he just chatted with me about all kinds of things. I really liked him. He was funny and easy to talk with and he asked if he could join me for dinner later on during the flight. I said I would love it. This was the pilot, after all, and I was 12. I was super excited to have his attention.
When it came to the dinner service he brought me some nice extras from the business class menu; some fresh bread, cut fruit and an extra dessert. He also went back for wine and two real wine glasses. The conversation over dinner felt different. It was very grown up. The pilot talked about all the wonderful things he would show me once we landed in Paris. Everything he suggested sounded incredible. I was well aware he didn’t realize I was 12 or that I had a connecting flight to Marseille. Once the flight attendant who had assisted me earlier saw with adult-eyes that the situation needed attention, she enthusiastically yelled at him en française. The predominately one-sided conversation was spoken too fast and with too many French words I didn’t know but her tone along with a peppering of, “elle a douze ans,” (she is 12 years old) was enough. His reaction also said a lot; his face went a deep crimson and he sheepishly left. I was also embarrassed and felt like I’d done something wrong.
The young woman in me had appreciated being treated like an adult. My emerging independence loved the sound of adventuring in Paris between flights and was eager to appear like I did that kind of thing all the time. I was also enough of a kid to know I was out of my depths, that I’d never make it through drinking a glass of wine without cringing and that the jig was sure to be up before the flight was once my ‘unaccompanied minor’ status was revealed amongst adults.
After we landed, the flight attendant was determined to get some details from me about what I spoke about with the pilot and if I had consumed any alcohol. I was stubbornly uncooperative. In my mind she had transformed into the enemy from my original perspective of helpful guide. From where I stood at 12 years old, I didn’t see the full picture. I didn’t have enough varied experiences to draw from.
Isn’t this a common story for all of us at every stage of growth? Sometimes you see enemies and obstacles where help exists. Sometimes you simply need greater life skills or resources before you make the big decision or move away from a situation that isn’t working. Trying on a role can also feel good and be instructive even if it doesn’t make sense and you aren’t yet ready to radically change your life.
What if, however, your situation is different than that?
What if you have stood still so long in the place you’ve comfortably occupied -the job, relationship, lifestyle- that you have stopped enjoying the conversation, the nice bread, fresh fruit and extra dessert…what if you don’t feel like you deserve the possibility of exploring Paris? Isn’t that when you must make it a priority to come home to yourself and build practices that nourish you? Isn’t it worth the effort to take the steps toward living your fullest life?
Or maybe you are currently observing someone you love stuck in the same developmental stage, addiction or role that will never serve them? Sometimes it is appropriate to intervene and course correct and sometimes your own growth depends on lovingly observing the person you care about figure out the rest of their travels.
Growing pains are a constant part of life when you are committed to transforming into the newest version of yourself.
Remove the roadblocks by paying attention to the details of your life. Explore Paris like a twelve year old and intentionally occupy two worlds; that of a curious and excited child and through your emergent self who is ready and willing to experience the journey. Imagine a world where we all maintained a commitment to ourselves like that: it would be difficult, necessary and achingly beautiful.
The first 10-day Vipassana Meditation Course I ever attended, I thought I knew what was in store for me. I would be in seated meditation for about 10+ hours a day, it was a silent retreat, there would be no access to the outside world through technology, and in addition, reading, writing and music were not permitted.
What I didn’t anticipate was that when all else is really quiet, the mind can be an absolute circus…on repeat.
Even though I had a regular meditation practice, it was the first time I had spent numerous full days in a row meditating. I had watched my clinging and aversion before. What was different this time was to watch my thoughts on a kind of movie reel that was looped to play again and again and again. There were many narratives on this endless loop. Here are examples of three tedious ones that partway through the course decided to throw in the towel:
Tedious thought pattern #1
On the drive to the Vipassana Centre, I received a speeding ticket. A big, expensive one that I badly wanted to lament over. I played out why I took the route I did when it made more sense to go a different way. Why was I speeding when I wasn’t in a hurry? I listed numerous ways I acted recklessly. I countered with ways I was very responsible. When the police officer pulled me over and said ‘X’ why did I say ‘Y’? I could have said ‘A’, ‘B’ or ‘C’. The way the officer jumped into traffic to pull me over was dangerous in my opinion. Why didn’t I say ‘X’. What if the police officer then responded with ‘Y’. On and on I went about what I did and what I didn’t do. What if… What if… What if…
Tedious thought pattern #2
Once I was shown to my room, I got out my meditation stuff to set up in the hall for that night’s first meditation session. I had my cushions, my shawl, some comfy layers but my cozy socks were nowhere to be found. When I looked further in my bag I realized I didn’t pack a single pair of socks, cozy or otherwise. I only had the thin pair I had on my feet that I’d worn to work that day. The ten days ahead stretched into a lifetime without socks. I immediately made a plan in my head, “I’ll wash them after the last sit on the second day and dry them overnight on the baseboard heater. Then I’d resume the schedule on the 4th, 6th, and 8th day. They are thin,” I reasoned. “How long could they really take to dry?” Answer: longer than between lights out and the 4 a.m. morning bell. Clinging to my memory of comfort was relentless.
Tedious thought pattern #3
And a third torment was the rule around exercise; only walking was permitted during free time so that meant no yoga for ten days. I knew this going in and still it wasn’t something I wanted to accept. After my first 10 hours, I was convinced that I would never walk with ease again because my legs would remain in a permanently folded position for the rest of my life. I was also pretty sure my upper back was breaking a little more each hour of meditation in a unique way that ensured my lungs couldn’t expand efficiently to draw in adequate oxygen. I needed yoga or so I told myself. My morning yoga practice at home was elevated to a utopian dream from the distant past. I wondered if the seated spinal twists or forward bends I’d done in the meditation hall counted as breaking the rules. What I played out in my mind (with satisfaction) was the dialogue that might ensue if I were ever questioned about this defiant act.
Are there variations of these thought patterns that you can relate to; ways you push away or hang on to an idea, a plan or a relationship? The mind is constantly commenting, evaluating, jumping forward and back from the future to the past about your clinging or your aversion. Sometimes the mind grapples with bigger issues and other times the minutia of life.
Consider this:
The helpful mind uses the past and the future constructively.
An unhelpful mind is used by the past and the future; it is held hostage by what has been and what might come to be while obscuring the moments that unfold in the present. The unhelpful mind disperses your energy into the details of the past and future.
What situations in your life right now do you catch yourself having an internal chat about? What might you declutter, from the activity in your head, if you could shine a light on those regular mini mind dramas?
Choose to gather the energy you exploit when you run away from what is difficult. Harness the effort you put into hanging on to the past, to what isn’t working or to a life that will never come to be. Let go. Redirect it all to what matters to you, right now in the present.
Imagine the power of that?
Imagine too what and who you might choose to be part of your moment-to-moment life if you believed in the true power of your intention and attention.
This week, spend a little time each day listening-in on the voice inside your head and then with courage and determination choose to focus on what is instead.
Personal narratives matter. The willingness to turn toward the pain of others matters. And prayer, whatever you embrace that to mean, also matters.
I felt fortunate to take part in a prayer circle for India recently. The zoom call, with people from all over the world and from many faith traditions, was two hours long and so incredibly moving.
One volunteer described his team as “ground soldiers of love” visiting remote areas with a mobile clinic to provide medical care and groceries for some of India’s most vulnerable. He described crowds of people lined up outside hospitals waiting for care or waiting to hear of news of loved ones who had been admitted. Volunteers handed out water in the heat.
One woman shared that people she knew had loved ones go into the hospital, die from Covid and be sent straight to a crematorium without their involvement. She described the real fear around lack of food and the impact of isolation and suspicion within close-knit communities. She also shared her own transformation as a witness of the willingness of others to keep an open heart alongside pain; to share resources, information and sorrow.
The themes that emerged were beautiful. Human beings have an enduring capacity to reach toward each other and to be creative for the greater good.
Suffering and the awareness of suffering
I have often struggled in my own life to take in news coverage that capitalizes on the brain’s negativity bias, to watch violent movies as entertainment, or listen to music with messages aimed to shut down rather than to open.
There is real suffering in the world. There are genuine opportunities to face what is difficult.
One woman in the prayer circle said,
“When we are in complete darkness, we hear one another with a kind of acuteness that’s very rare.”
I believe that too. Difficulty and pain cuts through the clutter like nothing else. In darkness, questions effortlessly emerge about personal needs as well: What and who do I really care about? Why am I wasting my time hiding?
Don’t we have choices about where to place our energy? Presence can bring forth something greater in all of us; a kind of rising up. Maybe this, in part, is what I believe prayer to be: a decision to ‘turn toward’ with intention and to create more space in the heart for goodness. That matters.
Ground soldiers of love are necessary. Soldiers of the heart are also necessary.
This week, consider ways you can choose how and where to direct your attention. As a deliberate act toward the greater good, start with yourself.
There were two people I used to know who I still think of sometimes. The love between them was really beautiful. Let’s call them the ‘running couple’.
The woman had married young and had children. Her marriage was difficult and she went through a very turbulent and expensive divorce.
After a couple of years in an apartment, she had saved enough for a downpayment toward the purchase of a small house.
She was a runner and kept literally crossing paths with another runner who lived on her new street. Almost immediately they became inseparable.
He was wide-eyed and in love with everything she did and with everything her kids did. He was amazed at his good fortune to have them all in his life.
She was equally taken with him. She was having fun for the first time in years, had more energy to be a better parent and she simply couldn’t imagine her future or her kids’ futures without him. Her gratitude was endless.
And then, she made a surprising decision. She chose to get back together with her ex-husband.
After the break-up (or reunion depending on your perspective), the running couple were devastated about what this decision meant for their future. A light had gone out in both of them.
They loved each other. They also believed they were making the best decision for all involved. Two things (and more) can be equally true.
Isn’t it possible to be scared and courageous? Honest and kind? Exhausted and alert?You can be surrounded by people who love you and feel unloveable. Experience guilt and fulfillment. You can be committed to a healthy lifestyle and find out you are sick.
What if the thing you seek or choose isn’t either/or? What if it is both/and. Letting go of either/or can be liberating. It might even be the shift you need to access the strength to follow what your heart knows to be true.
A few years ago, I added a small round charm to the necklace I always wear that hangs at my upper centre chest. I had the word ‘and’ engraved on it.
I added it to remind me of the ‘and’ when I am feeling stuck, unsure or for when my thoughts cling to what isn’t. It was an attempt to reject binary perspectives and to move into the possibilities of wholeness. Sometimes the ‘and’ around my neck reminds me about my sincere intention to live the ‘and’ inside my heart. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Here is a meditation practice that is another way to move into the wholeness of the ‘and’:
Take a few breaths and simply pay attention to where you notice the inhalation and exhalation the most in the trunk of the body. Is it at the belly as it rises and falls? Or is it more at the upper chest? There is no right answer, just notice what you feel and where you feel it. Choose the place that becomes most obvious to you and let it become your intention to breath from this place, radiate outward with each inhalation and relax with each exhalation. Expand from the place you notice in the trunk, expand a little more, and then a little more still until your awareness fills the trunk of your body. Then, include the limbs and neck, then reach the tips of the fingers and toes and the entire skull. Let your awareness finally reach to the skin so that it feels like you can breath and embrace the whole body with your attention.
Use this meditation for a few consecutive days or weeks and then start to expand this to include how you see a room, the forest when you are on a hike, the way you see another person’s face. Whatever it is, find the place you are drawn to and expand your awareness into the whole. Practice seeing (and living) the ‘and’.
Sometimes it is hard to see clearly when you feel like you are trapped in a certain space, but a locked door is a blessing.
For a short time, I lived in a two bedroom apartment that had the shower and sink in one room and the toilet in another. The door handle to the room with the toilet was broken. I knew this. Everyone that came over knew this. A few times out of habit, I’d gone in and swung the door closed and was unable to get back out without someone from the outside using pliers on the lock mechanism to reopen the door.
One day after attending classes, I returned home mid-afternoon. Without thinking, I went to use the toilet and heard the door click behind me. I was locked in and this time I was home alone.
The room was smaller than most public restroom stalls. The tank was mounted to the wall and there was space to stand to each side of the toilet and to the front but not much more.
My first response to my situation was to laugh because, it was so ridiculous and, really, how hard could it be to pick the lock? Over the next six hours or so I didn’t continue to be that amused.
‘Hahaha’ swiftly turned to ‘all I need to do is this…or this…or maybe this’. At one point I had the idea to remove the float arm from the tank and then soon discovered it was a useless tool to open the door anyway. I needed the pliers that were sitting just outside the door.
I tried yelling for help. Nothing.
I spent tremendous amounts of mental energy imagining how my afternoon might have gone differently. I played out scenarios about how I would eventually get out. I made mental lists of all kinds, imagined in detail what I would eat once I had access to the kitchen again. Eventually, I did a yoga sequence from the lid of the closed toilet seat and then continued to battle my mental chatter before I settled into a seated meditation.
When you have done everything you can from where you are, sometimes the only thing left that makes any sense is to accept ‘what is’ and make fresh choices from that reality.
Late that night I was freed. The next day the lock and handle were replaced.
You can know things. And then you can really know things. I knew that lock needed to be fixed but I was busy with my life. I was busy wanting what I wanted. What things do you know you need to fix? Your relationship with…yourself, another person, with food, an addiction, your working life? What wants in your life do you use to justify staying stuck in a place that doesn’t provide you with what you need?
A locked door is like the gift of a key in your hand along with a message that says, ‘choose another way’.
Sometimes it is hard to see clearly when you feel like you are trapped in a certain space, but a locked door is a blessing.
Cassowaries are the third biggest (flightless) bird after the ostrich and emu. They are colourful, have a hard and prominent casque on their head and their middle claw is a 12 cm long dagger. They can jump two metres off the ground, run at a speed of up to 50 km, stand up to 6′ tall and weigh anywhere from 110 to 160 pounds.
A Cassowary is a BIG bird. They eat and poop a lot.
Cassowaries predominantly eat fruit and the enormous piles they leave behind are full of undigested seeds and berries. They walk great distances and are responsible for the distribution and germination of all kinds of plants. Cool, right?
My first encounter with a Cassowary was in the Atherton Tablelands just north of Cairns in Australia. I’d ventured there with another traveller I’d met, Merry. We decided to hike the waterfall circuit trails after all the rain of a recent cyclone.
One of our first days hiking, Merry and I came across piles of dung so large I felt like a dinosaur would dip his head down through the tree canopy at any moment, see us and indulge in a mid-morning snack.
Cassowaries were already on Merry’s radar though. She hoped the piles meant we would see one of these great birds in the wild. I was less keen. At the entrance to one of the hiking spots there was a trail sign that warned about the Cassowary’s fighting prowess and the ability to (and this next word I recall quite clearly), ‘disembowel’ it’s adversaries with its dagger-like claws. Those piles of poop looked ominous to me.
A day or two later, we met Henry.
He’d been mentioned in the notes given to us by the owner of the cabin we rented. In addition to the directions to find the place (turn onto the private road with the passion fruit vine at the country gate), he gave us all kinds of tips on getting the most out of our time there. Specifically, he mentioned that there was a small creek on the property with a resident platypus and that we should keep an eye out for Henry who was a local character known for his frequent public outbursts of anger.
Henry was a Cassowary. On the day we saw him in action, he believed he had met another equally angry and aggressive Cassowary. They were a stunning match for each other. Every move Henry made, the ‘other’ Cassowary made an equally cunning and fierce rebuttal. Henry was relentless. His antics alone may have inspired the trail sign about disembowelment. On this particular day, however, Henry wasn’t fighting a living adversary. He was fighting his own reflection in a van and he was definitely winning. The van looked awful and Merry decided she didn’t want to see a Cassowary in the wild anymore.
Henry makes me think of this quote by Eckhart Tolle from his book, The Power of Now,
“…your perception of the world is a reflection of your state of consciousness. You are not separate from it, and there is no objective world out there. Every moment, your consciousness creates the world that you inhabit.”
Consider when you have been engaged in a toxic relationship, work environment or involved in a reactive and heated confrontation. How did you reflect that world in your interactions with others? How did it feed the story you tell yourself about ‘them’ and ‘the way it is out there’?
If your perception of the world is that everyone is a fierce Cassowary then you too may react to challenging situations as a fierce Cassowary. Or maybe you cower to the reflection, placate the reflection, ‘attempt to fix’ the reflection. How might you be Henry creating the world that you believe in?
Is it possible to consciously shift that particular relationship, negative experience at work, and difficult confrontation by altering your own perspective? What if everything out there is an illusion of your way of seeing? What if changing ‘them’ is irrelevant if the way you see and respond to life’s challenges is the only real source of change.
It is something worth thinking about and exploring.
Body wisdom provides each of us with an amazing, innate source of guidance. We know so much through our bodies. We are gathering information all the time. If a recognition of messages and then a willingness to practice a response to this wisdom are the first steps toward living fully and authentically, what is the next step?
Here is what I have been considering since last week’s post…
A clearly expressed response to a deep knowing is more powerfully received by others, and the imprint of this (how it feels in your body when your authenticity is received) is helpful in strengthening your relationship to your inner guide.
When I did some yoga training in India, the first part of my trip I spent at an ashram and then I went off travelling on my own for the remainder of my time. Leaving the ashram was sobering. I was plunged into a very different world. It was still vibrant and alive; aromas, colours, the people, animals and all the activity. India continued to be magical in so many ways but my nervous system had immediately moved into high alert.
The first taxi driver that took me from the ashram to the train station grabbed my breasts instead of my bags.
The first market I explored, I literally had a crowd following me through it. I had told one woman my name when I was looking at bracelets and by the time I moved on from there, I had my name carved into all kinds of things that I was told I had to buy, like a wooden dagger and a creepy doll with my name etched onto her forehead.
I met a healer by the River Ganges who asked me to write the first names of my loved ones in his book so he could include them in his prayers, he then placed fresh flowers in my hands, waved incense, chanted and said if I didn’t give money, in American dollars, that the powerful Mother Ganges would seek revenge on the names I’d written in his book.
I endlessly paid for taxi rides to nowhere because regardless of where I said I wanted to go, I was almost always dropped me off somewhere else entirely.
I paid for a tour to visit landmarks only to visit vendor after vendor near the landmarks to buy goods. On and on it went.
What I didn’t realize was that India was grooming my relationship with my inner guide in a way I didn’t recognize until my final week. I met and travelled with a woman who had just arrived in India from Europe. With her at my side the contrast was undeniable; she was who I had been when I arrived.
I began to recognize that my ‘no’ had gradually become grounded and valid. Hers wasn’t. When I said no or requested a direct answer to something, I did so with my entire body. She said the word no and hoped. I also had miraculously shifted from believing that being hustled was the same as being hassled. It wasn’t the same at all. I could find joy through interactions but she was still too on edge. Generally, the people I met had simply ‘tried me on’. I was basically asked over and over and over again, “Will you accept this as your reality?”
How do you do the same thing in your life? When do you respond to life’s pressure, expectations and challenges with an averted gaze, with a soft no or coerced yes. When do your survival skills depend on avoiding the hussle and the hassle. When do you hide and bury your head? When do you allow yourself to believe that when someone else ‘tries you on’ that you have no choices available to you?
There are plenty of times that I have resorted to the don’t-rock-the-boat programming of my upbringing. Sometimes getting along and going with the flow is appropriate and other times it is a poor choice. Your body knows. And it is all learning.
Something to try: This week follow through on what your body knows even when a situation falls outside the line of comfort for you and others, or it places your need to be liked at risk, or if it means that you must be willing to lose something that you want. Be open to observation on how it feels in your body to recognize the message, to be willing to practice a response and finally, to notice how it feels when what you authentically put out into the world is received. Notice it all.
After I finished school, I went on my first solo trip abroad. Travelling on my own meant that I met a lot of amazing people. It also provided some real lessons for me on why being ‘nice’ isn’t as important as being true to myself. Here’s one of them:
Early one morning, I began my journey to the airport to travel from Aukland, New Zealand to Sydney, Australia. I was the first person to be picked up by an airport shuttle service and the driver asked that I sit in the back since I was taking an international flight and it was the last drop off point. Domestic travellers were directed to sit closer to the front. I was travelling light and my backpack was on the seat beside me.
A man in his late 50’s was the next passenger to be picked up. He had so much luggage that most of it went in the back portion of the van. The shuttle was empty except for me but he walked straight to my seat, took my backpack and moved it to the seat in front of me so he could put an additional bag of his where mine had been. He then sat down between his bag and me and sat so close that I was pressed between him and the window. We soon discovered he was on the same flight to Sydney before connecting to a flight bound for South Africa where he owned a holiday house.
He’d had a big night out prior and still smelled like alcohol. From his carry-on he produced a small photo album with pictures of his second home that he showed to me. He tried to make a case for why I should change my plans on spending the next part of my travels in Australia and come with him to South Africa first. His wife would not be joining him for several weeks.
There is enough in this part of the story that sets up this blog post for a strong theme about speaking up when an interaction with another person doesn’t feel right; when acceptable boundaries are crossed. Our bodies know when something isn’t right. I knew the moment my knapsack was moved. Everything that followed, made me more and more uncomfortable but the very first action of this other person was all I needed. Instead of responding to my internal alert, I smiled. I then listened. I complimented him on his second home that he was obviously proud of and I politely declined on his offer to visit him while his wife was still in New Zealand.
When do you participate in a version of this in your own life? When do you override what your body is telling you? Do you grin and bear it when the wisdom of your body is guiding you to respond authentically?
Meanwhile, the shuttle was filling up with predominately domestic passengers. The man beside me only paused to stop talking about himself when it clicked for him that I was travelling with a single backpack and only a smallish handbag.
He quickly developed a plan: We would sit together on the plane. I would check-in his extra luggage for him pretending it was mine. He would save money on that leg of the flight and simply recheck those bags once he arrived in Sydney. He also had plenty of ideas about our time together in South Africa regardless of what I said to the contrary.
True to the word of the shuttle driver, we dropped off passengers at the domestic terminal first, including a man in his early forties who I would see again soon; sweaty, out of breath and clutching his side.
At the international terminal, the man headed for South Africa had so much stuff that I knew it would take him awhile to get inside so I planned to check-in quickly and lose him. Once I was through security I could easily stay busy inside the shops until boarding to avoid him. The problem though, was there was a long line to check-in so I went to the bathroom and waited and waited and waited. When I finally emerged, the coast was clear and that’s when I saw the man who’d recently been dropped off at the domestic terminal.
He looked like he’d just run a marathon in a business shirt. When he saw me, he was so relieved, that for a brief moment, I thought he might cry. He placed a hand on my shoulder (his other hand was pressed to his side like he still had a cramp from running) and he said in a shaky but emphatic voice, “Neeeeeeeever agree to check someone’s bags for them.”
I assured him I didn’t…wouldn’t…and he said, still out of breath, “Security has taken care of him. You don’t have to worry. That man was drunk and who knows what he has in those bags.” He went on to explain that he had run all the way from the domestic terminal, saw the man in the check-in line and pointed him out to security. He had promptly been ‘taken away’ just moments before. Apparently, there had been quite the commotion and I’d missed all the action.
I was relieved. I also saw my circumstances from another perspective and felt a bit embarrassed but mostly I was overwhelmed with gratitude for this stranger in response to his concern for me. He had his own flight to catch but he gave me a big hug and then with a hand on each of my shoulders said, “promise me, you’ll be more careful?” I agreed I would.
I checked-in, went through security and found my gate. I was shaken that I had behaved in a submissive way. I had already been travelling for two months and felt like I was savvier then that. Why hadn’t I dealt with all of it better? I wasn’t a mouse. Why didn’t I communicate clearly? I had no plans to actually take his luggage for him but I mostly had pointed out why that would be inconvenient ‘for him’. Why had I continually allowed my brain to override the feelings in my body that I wanted to get away from him?
I knew the answer: I wanted to be nice.
It was almost time to board so I decided to get a Snickers bar and a magazine. When I got back to wait at my gate, I was still deep in thought about how amazing it was that a perfect stranger had gone to such lengths for me. I took a bite of my snickers and noticed someone was yelling about something and people were stopping to look. And then, I quickly realized someone was yelling at me from a distance. It looked like I had company on the flight to Sydney after all.
The area was crowded so the view of the man was obscured. He was calling out, “Kathy! Kathy!” I have never gone by the name Kathy which is also why I didn’t realize the disturbance had anything to do with me at first. I still had a mouthful of my snickers. I watched and listened while feeling disconnected from my body as the rest unfolded.
“Well, thanks a #$@% lot!” he yelled when he realized I was looking his way. “I was nothing but kind to you. I invited you to my home and then I was treated like an animal.”
I can still hear his voice all these years later say these words in particular, “The things they did to me because of you!”
By this time there were a lot of eyes on him and on the source of his outrage; me. Security officials seemed to appear out of nowhere and were blocking his path toward me. His rant continued with more “you…”, “you…”, “you…”, along with aggressive finger pointing and strings of expletives. While he was still a couple rows of seating away, security moved in close to him, spoke with him in hushed tones and finally escorted him somewhere. I didn’t see him on the plane after that but there were lots of eyes on me as I boarded, like I had done something really, really bad.
There is no doubt things could have unfolded differently that morning.
My choice to be nice was a disservice to myself. It was also a disservice to the running man who thought I was going to jail for drug trafficking. And it certainly wasn’t the best outcome for the man who (presumably) was still headed to South Africa; he has likely also retold this story over the years but with an emphasis on his experience of having a full-body cavity search performed by airport security.
Was my decision to be ‘nice’, nice for anyone?
Think about the times when you haven’t listened to what your body was telling you because you didn’t want to upset the people around you. Maybe it was an interaction with a stranger or perhaps with someone you see every day. Sometimes it seems easier to put off acting on what your body has to say about what is best for you. Is it really easier? Is it really the best scenario for anyone at all? What about when you repetitively ignore what your body is telling you? How does that impact how you make decisions for yourself? How does that impact your health? How does that impact all of your relationships and your life path?
Imagine your world if you deeply listened to the wisdom of your body. I’m not talking about being led by passing wants. I am referring to the deep listening of your enduring needs. Your body knows the people who are good for you, the foods that are good for you, ways to move your body that uplifts and nourishes you. Your body gives you feedback all the time about healthy environments, as well as guidance for day-to-day business, financial and personal decisions.
It may not be easy and you won’t always get it right. Mindful movement practices like yoga can help. Paying attention to your breath, to your life as it happens, can help. Meditation can help. Consider this week’s blog post as an invitation to get out of your head and into your whole body.
Here’s something to try: Get quiet and still and ensure you will be undisturbed for a few minutes. Intentionally spend some time noticing sounds around you, your breath, and any sensations in your body. You might scan the body; moving through it with your mind from head to toe. Next, place your hand on your upper chest and ask: What is it I need to know? Intend for this to be a feeling into instead of a thinking about question. If an answer comes, it comes. If it doesn’t, go on with your day and check in again at the end of the day or the next day at the same time. Create a small practice that carves out space for receiving answers from your body. Make it your clear intention to communicate with your inner guide.
When my sister’s and I were all still under ten years old, we returned home late with our parents one rainy night in the spring. We had been sleeping in the car and the expectation was we were to go straight from the car into our beds. My mom was ensuring we lived up to our agreement when we heard my dad call for her from downstairs with panic in his voice. My mom told us to stay upstairs but feeling scared, we all followed her anyway. My dad had just turned off the power from the breaker panel and everything was dark. It was hard to see but what greeted us could be heard and felt.
Our finished basement had seemingly been transformed into a fish tank that was rapidly still filling with water. We could hear it rushing in from somewhere. There were random things floating around that we would hit as we waded through to where my tall, lean dad was standing almost knee deep in water. His hands were on his hips while he assessed the brick retaining wall that had transformed into a water fall. Water poured in continuously. There was a moment that all of us just stared and then my dad decisively said to my mom, “Call Nick and Kay.” These were my parents best friends who had young kids of their own. It was after 11 p.m.
My dad immediately went outside in the rain to dig a trench in the flowerbed that stretched along the top back-side of the water-gushing retaining wall. My mom was doing her best inside to get some of the water out and using buckets stacked on partly submerged furniture to catch the water still pouring in. My sisters and I were busy ‘swimming’ and rescuing some of the things floating around our basement.
Once my parents friends arrived, our honoury Auntie and Uncle, it was after midnight. They’d organized for a neighbour to stay with their own kids much to our disappointment. My Uncle joined my dad in filling empty feed bags from our horse barn with sand and then they stacked them into the trench my dad had dug out along the wall. My aunt was inside with my mom dealing with the water. The more the feed bags were stacked, the less that the water flowed in. From our kid perspective, the excitement quickly dwindled to a trickle and it was late anyway. We went to bed but my Aunt and Uncle stayed to help my parents until the sky started to lighten just before the sun rose.
Do you reach out for help when life threatens to flood your life with unexpected challenges?
It can be tough to overcome the concern that a request for help might be inconvenient for someone else. The vulnerability required in admitting you need help at all can also be a big hurdle.
What if you consider the other side of things; the times that you have been given the opportunity to help someone who really needed it. How did that feel? Maybe it was physical help like painting or helping with a move, or taking care of kids when there was an emergency, creating a go-to recipe inventory during a health crisis, driving hours to pick up a forgotten key, helping to write the speech or the apology or goodbye letter, connecting someone with a job opportunity, or being the shoulder to cry on or the hand to hold, or maybe you helped to make the arrangements or call for reinforcements.
A request for help can often communicate, “I trust you. You are the person I choose in this moment.” These exchanges, this giving and receiving from both sides, are valuable amongst friends. It has enormous potential to deepen existing bonds.
Asking for help can be difficult. Saying no to a request can be difficult. There will also be friends who don’t know how to ask and are equally unwilling to receive. There will be times that you risk reaching out and the person you choose disappoints you. And sometimes when you figure out these limitations, yours and theirs, it can shake the foundation of a relationship. It can make you question everything while also help you learn something if you are paying attention.
There is always a lens you can shine on yourself no matter what the circumstances, no matter what the outcome. There are always ways to nurture a deeper awareness of yourself and of the people you have chosen to walk through life with…even if it is only for a little while.
Just like in meditation, be curious about it all.
Some friends aren’t the middle-of-the-night-save-me-from-the-flood people. And isn’t that okay? During different seasons of your life you might seek out different friends anyway and be enriched by those who are happy to swim around and look for treasures with you and then, when the excitement fades, have enough good sense to go to bed.
