Challenging fears

A woman once told me she never made left turns when she drove. “Never?” I asked incredulously. “Never,” she affirmed. “That must be somewhat limiting,” I remember saying.

I suppose we all have things that limit us.

One of mine is a fear of heights which I discovered when I climbed to the top of a pyramid near Mexico City. Getting to the top was no problem, but when I turned to go down and realized there was no handrail, I was paralyzed by fear. Someone offered me a hand, but I could not force myself to take that first step, and finally had to butt-walk down the steps.

Anyway, I thought of the woman who never made left turns when I was expressway driving four evenings last week, including two airport runs, one during rush hour.

Driving long distances is not my favorite thing to do, but it is one of those things that is a measure of my confidence level. When I was younger, I drove by myself from Philadelphia to Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, more than 1,600 miles each way—and I did that trip several times. Last fall, I drove to northern Michigan, about 250 miles each way, which is a more manageable trip for me now.

I was somewhat fearless in my youth, and hopefully I have gained enough wisdom to know what is prudent to do versus what is just plain foolish. What I don’t want to do, though, is to limit myself because of irrational fears.

I like to travel and am perfectly willing to travel by myself, by car or plane.

A few years ago, I went to the Cotswolds by myself, and the first day I went hiking, I realized it was foolish to come without a cell phone or trekking sticks—not out of some irrational fear, but rather because it is more prudent to carry a phone and stick.

I don’t watch the news on tv, but I hear enough to know that lots of fearmongering goes on—from the news snippets I hear on the car radio and the mailings I get for security systems and identity theft protection.

Crime happens everywhere, and in our country, it seems that one is as likely to get shot in a school as almost anywhere else.

Agreeing to the nonprofit fundraiser dance a few months ago helped me see how I had been putting limitations on my life, because my dance lessons were in the evenings and some nights dancing didn’t start until 8:30, which is when I am usually settling in with my knitting or a book. I had to challenge myself to go out at night.

I am glad I did because a whole new world has opened to me, one I would have missed if I had insisted on my being home by dark.

I want to keep challenging irrational fears so that I am living my life to the fullest, and trusting that the best is yet to come.

Should I stay or should I go?

The first reading for Tuesday’s Mass was Acts 16:22-34. The story is about Paul and Silas being arrested, beaten and jailed. During the night, “there was such a severe earthquake that the foundations of the jail shook; all the doors flew open and the chains of all were pulled loose.”

Two things caught my attention. The first is that even after the doors flew open and the chains were pulled loose, Paul and Silas stayed in the jail.

The second is that the jailer slept through the earthquake (“When the jailer woke up….”)

As I imagined this scene, I wondered if I would have stayed as Paul and Silas did or would I have run to freedom.

That provoked remembering other times when I have been faced with the question, Should I stay or should I go?

That question has arisen in relationships, work and volunteer involvement, and I thought about what helped me decide whether to stay or go.

Sometimes it was a commitment I had made that I felt I needed to keep, even though circumstances had changed and what had initially seemed good had become unhealthy. I have often stayed in jobs and in relationships long past the time when I should have left, but I have a strong sense of loyalty that can override common sense.  

Would I have slept through an earthquake so powerful the doors flew open? I hope not, but as I reflected on those times that I stayed when it would have been better to go, I wondered if I was in some kind of sleep, perhaps caused by denial.

I admit I can be clueless. Like the time I was planning to marry someone who was cheating on me. I didn’t know he was cheating but how did I miss the signs? Asleep like the jailer?

My most recent conundrum has been with my church, which I joined when I moved here ten years ago. I like my parish and have been comfortable there. But about three years ago, there was an issue with my donation record—more than half of my donations did not make it to my annual report. I followed the proper steps to rectify the issue (hoping that it was a data-entry error and not a misappropriation issue).

Having worked in the nonprofit sector, I know the importance of correct donation recording and reporting.

I gave the pastor a printout of my bank statement showing all my contributions, so all he had to do was issue a corrected letter with the dates I had provided, but he did not. I stopped contributing but was left feeling dissatisfied and distrustful.

The pastor is beyond retirement age and in poor health. He is wobbly and will not use a cane; and I have seen him fall. Throughout Mass I am preoccupied with his unsteadiness, and I leave Mass unsettled and irritated—and asking myself why I stay.

Should I stay or should I go?

I have decided to go.

An afternoon in Detroit

Last Friday, I visited a friend who recently became a grandmother and spends her days with her granddaughter while her daughter and son-in-law are at work. My friend is thrilled to be able to spend so much time with her granddaughter. We walked to a neighborhood restaurant, and along the way, I took these pictures of some of the houses in the Woodbridge neighborhood of Detroit.

I loved this whimsical way to line a flower bed!

One of the people we stopped to chat with along the way was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of the Eiffel Tower and the words: Detroit, the Paris of the Midwest, an expression I had not heard before. I know the word Detroit is a French word (meaning a strait and referring to the Detroit River) and that the French explorers were the original settlers, but I had never heard the Paris comparison. A little digging turned up a piece on a local show called CuriosiD about the origin of the comparison and this postcard.

As we walked through this neighborhood, I was thinking about how one does not necessarily have to travel far to discover something new and interesting.

Living the questions

I have been trying to pay closer attention to the questions that resonate with me. Recently, I read what defines you? and that question keeps coming back to me.

What does define me? Is it my faith? My values and beliefs? The actions that spring from my faith, values and beliefs?

I was recently nominated for the Athena Award, and I was deeply honored. The Award is for a woman who supports other women in their professional lives.

I thought about the person who nominated me and what she saw in me that was worthy of the nomination.

At the Award luncheon, I chatted with the woman sitting next to me. She had heard me speak at another event and asked about my life and the challenges I have faced.

I found myself telling her about my going-away party when I left Pennsylvania ten years ago, and how people approached me throughout the evening and thanked me for something I had done for them. Many times, I could not even recall the incident they referred to, and I became aware as the night went on how honored I felt to have been asked for help, honored to be entrusted with someone’s struggle, honored to walk a part of someone’s journey.

As I recalled that party, I was filled with gratitude for the people who have touched my life, and I realized that gratitude is one of the things that defines me.

I didn’t win the Athena Award, but being nominated was a wonderful acknowledgement of how I have lived my life. And then recalling my Pennsylvania going-away party and the things people said to me was icing on the cake.

I think that another thing that defines me is that I have overcome the challenges of my younger life and remain open to helping others overcome their challenges.

Yesterday, I had lunch with a friend and her new grandbaby. My friend commented on how I was with the baby, and I admit I can be very silly when I am around children. I want them to know that I delight in them, in their smiles and laughs, and that I desire their happiness. Joy is something that defines me. I delight in babies, nature, beauty, art, food—really all of creation. I believe we were created to live joyfully—even when life is difficult.

I remember when my friend Jim had brain cancer, we laughed about something every day—and we were grateful for every day.

Another thing that defines me is that I try to live my life with nothing to fear, nothing to prove and nothing to hide. This intention is a main part of my spiritual life, a key to living in dependence on God. I set this intention more than thirty years ago, and it is a goal that continues to challenge me and help me move toward greater freedom. Living this way leads to letting go and living a life of transparency.

What defines you?

Atlanta Botanical Garden, Part 2

In addition to the Troll exhibit, the Atlanta Botanical Garden also had a special exhibit of orchids–one whole building filled with vibrant colors and some unusual shapes.

A little whimsy

Do you have a method for writing?

Several people have asked me recently about my writing method. Writing method? I don’t think so.

But, upon reflection, I can see that I probably do have a method, although it may be somewhat unorthodox.

It started when I was a child, maybe ten or eleven, when I got a diary, one of those hard-cover books with lined pages and a lock. I poured out my deepest hopes and fears on those pages, until the day my older brother found it, broke the lock and read it. From then until my twenties, I did not commit anything personal to paper. I kept writing, but only in my mind.

In my twenties, I began journaling, but I was still cautious about what I wrote down—in case there was a repeat of the diary episode. I was still processing my deepest hopes and fears, but they didn’t make it to paper; I wrote about deeper issues in my mind.

At some point, I realized that I was constantly writing in my mind, creating content that would never be committed to paper. Most anything could spark a reflection which became an essay.

 It wasn’t until my late forties that I actually wrote and submitted an essay for publication.

At lunch, sharing this with my friend, I said, “I can write about most anything,” and then, picking up a bottle of water from the table, I said glibly, “even this bottle of water.”

The next day, the bottle of water came back to me, and I wondered if, in fact, a water bottle could be a writing prompt. Then I remembered this:

At Easter Sunday Mass, the priest used a peace lily as a visual aid. He shared that this plant had come into his life his first week as pastor, twenty-seven years ago. He has divided and repotted it several times over the years, but the real key to keeping it healthy is that once a week, he fills a bottle with water and pours it into the plant.

He analogized the weekly watering of this plant with tending to our spiritual life. I realized he was mainly speaking to those people who only come to church on Easter and Christmas, but his homily made me think of how I tend to my spiritual life.

Before meeting for lunch with my friend last week, I had seen my spiritual director for our monthly meeting, one way I tend to my spiritual life. Once a year, I go on a retreat for a more in-depth watering of my spirit. Daily prayer, weekly church attendance, monthly spiritual direction and annual retreat, four components of how I tend my spirit.

And reflection—whether I am walking, knitting, baking or gardening—any quiet time can provide quality reflection time.

How about you? How do you tend your spiritual life? And do you have a particular writing method?

So, Megan, yes, even a water bottle can be the prompt for a reflection. This one is for you.

A visit to the Atlanta Botanical Garden

I love whimsical gardens, and my visit to the Atlanta Botanical Garden was pure delight.

Their current exhibit is called Trolls: Save the Humans by Thomas Dambo.

This was whimsy on a grand scale!

At the end of the exhibit in September, one of these giant trolls will remain as a permanent part of the Garden.

Dale Chihuly pieces from past exhibits currently grace the Garden.

Other whimsical sculptures and water features dot the landscape.

Moving outside my comfort zone

Me, ballroom dancing in front of 630 people was outside my comfort zone, way outside, and I had surprised myself by saying yes to the invitation to participate in a dancing competition as part of a nonprofit fundraiser.

In my work life, I have spoken to audiences of up to 1000 people, but giving a talk and dancing are two different things.

I had fifteen years of practice speaking to smaller crowds before I spoke to 1000 people.

I had about fifteen hours of lessons before dancing in front of 630 people.

The morning of the event, nerves on edge, I asked myself, “What was I thinking when I said yes to this?” But it was too late to back out, and so I went through with it.

In keeping with my theme for the year to be like St. Joseph, I want to be open to the surprises life brings. I believe God is asking me to step outside my comfort zone, to take risks, to allow myself to feel vulnerable, to remember that God holds me—God has this.

After my friend Jim died in 2012, my co-workers encouraged me to watch Dancing with the Stars because it was fun and beautiful. I got hooked. For the next ten years I watched the show, and whenever I heard a song I liked, I would say, “When I am on Dancing with the Stars, I am going to dance to that song.”

But when, during my first dance lesson at Arthur Murray Studio, my dance instructor asked what song I wanted to dance to for our local version of DWTS, my mind went blank. “Something fast,” I said, but I could not recall one song title.

He started to teach me some basic ballroom dance steps and then a song popped into my mind: I Hope You Dance by Lee Ann Womack. When my instructor played it, I knew that was the one because it fits into my theme of Be like Joe, and it also reminds me of a woman I worked with at the cancer support center.

Shonece Leonard was a cancer survivor and a Zumba instructor. She loved to dance and died unexpectedly two years ago almost to the date when I would be dancing.

In that way that random things sometimes coalesce, not only would I be dancing a week from the anniversary of her death, but the venue is around the corner from where Shonece lived and down the street from the senior center where she taught Zumba.

At her memorial service, her Pastor had read the words to I Hope You Dance, and every time I hear that song, I think of Shonece. She faced many challenges with grace, hope and optimism, and she inspired me.

It all fit together and made me feel as if Shonece would be with me in spirit as I stepped outside my comfort zone and onto the dance floor, knowing that she would be cheering me on.

Particular to Charleston

Charleston has lots of alleyways, which you can see on walking tours. We learned about Philadelphia Alley, though, through an article about the hidden gems of Charleston.

Instead of “open” and “closed,” one shop I walked by had “open” and “later.”

Some parts of the waterfront are lined with historic mansions and other parts are lined with rowhouses.

And then there is the pineapple fountain.

Dancing queen

“You are so brave,” and “I couldn’t do that,” were the most common reactions when I told people that I was going to participate in a dance competition as part of a nonprofit fundraiser.

Turning Point is a resource center for survivors of domestic abuse/sexual violence, and I have been a Survivor Speaker for them for the past two years. I know how important their services are, and I am happy to be able to share my story to help their cause.

Turning Point’s annual fundraising dinner features Stepping Out With the Stars, a dance competition that pairs a professional dancer from the local Arthur Murray Dance Studio with someone who is involved with Turning Point (called the Star). This year, there were five star dancers.

For the past two years, I have attended this fundraiser and watched the dancing competition.

Last fall, when I received the email invitation to be one of the Star dancers, I waited a few days before responding, asking myself if I could be brave enough to perform a ballroom dance in front of hundreds of people. Could I risk public humiliation if I wasn’t a good dancer or if I forgot my steps?

I decided to accept the invitation because I believe so strongly in Turning Point’s mission and because I know that real courage is what it takes to walk away from an abuser or to report a rapist, to ask for help and to survive. The courage it takes to dance pales in comparison.

Preparation included dance lessons with one of the instructors at our local Arthur Murray Dance Studio, who choreographed the dance and taught me the steps.

I have never taken ballroom dancing lessons, so everything was new to me. At the beginning of the first lesson, my instructor explained the rules of ballroom dancing. Rule one—the man leads. Oh, oh, I thought. We are in trouble. Being led does not come easy for me.

That first lesson, my instructor repeatedly said, you took the lead. and initially I disagreed, but soon I could see he was right. I kept trying to take the lead. He suggested I close my eyes, and that helped.

During the second lesson, my instructor explained the foot positions of ballroom dancing, and I came home and printed out footprints and placed them on the floor in the correct positions so I could practice.

Then I went to as many lessons as I could and also found other opportunities to practice ballroom dancing, even if it was not my routine. I just thought that the more practice I could get, the better prepared I would be.

I wanted to try my hardest to do a good job because the instructor was volunteering his time to support Turning Point, and I wanted to honor his commitment of time and effort.

The event was last Friday, and I was the first to dance. Family and friends came, and I felt very supported.

I felt quite brave.

Waiting to be introduced to the crowd of 630 people