Coming up for air

I almost drowned once, when I was 13.

My class had gone to the pool, a fun afternoon booked by our teacher, and my classmates were trying to see how close they could come to breaking the pool rules before they got yelled at. 

I sat on the edge of the pool, watching them, hoping nobody got too close because ... well, because it was a miracle I was even there. I was terrified of the water. 

Not the water at the beach where you could touch bottom. Not the shallow end of the pool. No, I was scared spitless of the place I was sitting - right in the middle. Even dangling my feet in the water was too much for me. 

I hugged my knees tighter. They were getting more rowdy. 

From behind, a guy rushed past me - and in so doing he brushed past me. I lost my balance, over-corrected and landed on my back in the water. 

I panicked!! Thrashing around, I could not tell where the bottom was. I didn't know where UP was!! I tried gasping for air when I felt my face break the surface at one point. But then I went down again and couldn't seem to figure out how to get back to the side! 

Photo "Sinking In To Water" courtesy of
koratmember at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Arms reached into the water. Hands tried to grab my wrists to pull me up. I felt their touch. My first thought was, "They're pushing me down! I'm going to die here!" I struggled to get away from them. The water, by this time, was full of bubbles from all the activity. I was past thinking. I needed OUT. Without knowing it, in my own confused mind, up was now down, and down was up.

I dove; it got darker. My lungs were bursting. I had to get away.

Suddenly, someone grabbed my swim suit by the shoulder strap, and pulled. Hard. I couldn't escape .... and then I felt the back of my head break the surface of the water.

Knowing instinctively that I was in the grip of forces beyond my resistance, I stopped struggling, and was vaguely aware of muffled shouts getting louder through the water in my ears. More people grabbed my arms and someone lifted me up to the side again, coughing and spewing pool water from my mouth and nose. The expressions of concern and fright were lost on me. I could have died.

In those thirty to forty seconds under the water, I was extremely vulnerable. I could not save myself; all my efforts only had the opposite effect from the one I wanted. 

When I stopped struggling - those trying to help me easily got me out of trouble. 

I don't remember who brushed past me. I don't remember who pulled me out. All I have are sensory memories - sights, sounds, touches - and my interpretation of them, skewed by abject fear. 

Since that time, there have been times when I have been in situations where I have felt as though someone bumped me back under the water again. Panic sets in, and I wonder if I'll ever get out. And I have to remind myself - again - that it's best in this situation if I just stop struggling and let myself be helped, whether by someone I can see ... or not.

The Only You

We were at our weekly team-builder: a half-hour of social interaction over treats provided by one of the groups in our team, when I saw her standing nearby in a small group of about four people, chatting. Our eyes met - and I wandered over.

Actually I had wanted to chat with her for a couple of weeks, because I'd been thinking about her. She'd recently finished a degree program and obtained her Master's, a process I'm only beginning. As things got busier and busier outside of work, with my classes and my preparation, reading, projects, and the like, I found my thoughts wandering to how she must have felt during her program.

A few seconds into our conversation, she said, "If I had any advice to give you, it's this: don't forget to look after yourself. Sleep. Eat. Exercise." 

I grinned, and let her continue. "It's really easy to get so involved in your studies that you fall prey to the 'just one more page, just one more chapter' kind of thinking. Don't let it happen. Take a break, even if it's for ten minutes. Do something you want to do. Don't give in to the temptation to just grab something at the drive-through, eat healthy." 

I nodded. Her words made sense. 

They carried the message, even though she didn't actually say the words, "You are the only you that you have. Take care of you, because if you don't, you won't have anything left to give." 

A nice pot of soup - steaming away

Her words came back to me yesterday as I struggled with a difficult decision ... it doesn't matter what it was. Yet I found myself tempted to sacrifice my own future, my own sanity even, for the sake of something that - truth be told - was better left to work itself out. 

Yes. I had to let go. AGAIN. But it didn't make it easy. Not one bit. 

If I hadn't, I am sure that I would have bankrupted myself, or landed in a psychiatric ward somewhere because I was trying so very hard to be strong when that situation was not even my situation to control. 

Was it hard? OHHH yeah. 

Once I had finally made that decision and let go, the stress level went from 95% down to 30%. I felt the muscles in my neck and shoulders, which had been getting tighter and tighter over the last several days ... start to relax. My stomach started to un-knot and the nausea subsided. I could take a full breath again. And the only thing that had changed about the situation was my attitude toward it - and toward myself. The crux of the matter was - I was the only me I had. I still am. 

If that means that I have to set boundaries and stick to them - if that means I have to say no to a request, or sacrifice a B+ and settle for a B- to look after myself, then I need to do that. 

Thank you for reminding me of that, my friend.

A Light Rein

Some years ago - more years than I am comfortable admitting - I took some equitation lessons at a local riding stable. 

The instructor taught us, among many other things like flexibility and balance, about the importance of maintaining a "light rein." 

She said that when it came to holding the reins, beginners made two very common mistakes: keeping a tight rein, or a loose one. This had nothing to do with the grip of the rider on the reins themselves, but on the tension between the rider's hands and the horse's mouth ... through the reins. Keeping the reins too tight would end up with the animal not paying any heed to important direction from the rider because it would constantly be pulling at the bit. Keeping them too loose would not alert the rider to the mood of the horse, and would leave him or her unprotected if the mount were to shy away from something and jump sideways, or just take off running! 

The goal, she said, was to keep a "light rein." You could actually feel the movement of the horse's mouth through the reins when you were holding them correctly. Then, the reins became a means of communication back and forth between rider and mount. 

What I learned in an indoor riding ring, I have been able to apply to many aspects of living over the years: living life day to day and navigating relationships with people and with possessions.

Thanks to Tina Phillips for her photo,
"Girl On A Pony"
Source - www.freedigitalphotos.net

Since I've entered a new lifestyle of letting go, one of the things that has been a challenge for me has been knowing the difference between letting go and abandonment, between taking care of the ones you love and being compelled to engage in the dangerous occupation of "care-taking" (that is, a cleverly disguised method of controlling someone through continually rescuing them and making them dependent on your help). 

As I was pondering this fine line - truly a balancing act in which the boundaries keep changing according to the circumstances - the lesson I learned in the riding ring came to my rescue. 

A light rein... that's the answer. If there's two-way communication, if no one person feels obligated to the other, then that's the balance I need to seek. 

That means the rules change according to the situation. Rescuing (in an unhealthy way) in one circumstance is actually having compassion or showing mercy in another. Letting go is appropriate in one situation but it might be abandonment in another. The secret to knowing which one is in how it "feels" - it's okay to help someone, and for them to feel gratitude, as long as each person maintains his or her self-respect and doesn't feel "beholden" or "obligated" to the other. When that doesn't exist - it doesn't feel right.

It's okay to trust that feeling of "rightness."

Parenting is not an Olympic event

I was reading an interesting and thought-provoking article posted on a social media site today about parenting. Specifically, it was about how we in today's society are making parenting harder than it was for our parents when we were kids. 

This is something we've noticed often in the last twenty-odd years. It's almost as though parents today are afraid of each other and / or trying to outdo each other in an effort to not be seen as "bad parents." 

When I was a child, only the rich could afford to put their kids into sports, or get them more than one Christmas present, or have birthday parties for their kids, much less make them into themed ones. We were fortunate to get ONE birthday present. And I remember distinctly that my first, last and only birthday party was when I turned 11 years old. (After that fiasco, I cared nothing for them, and still don't.) Now, parents are having full-blown birthday parties for one-year-olds. And they are totally stressing out over them.
 
Seriously?  Those kids are never going to remember their one-year-old birthday party. So the parents go crazy over something so ridiculous as whether they have enough helium or whether they can find the right color Spiderman outfit for the wall decoration. 

I'm sorry for the crickets in the background ... is that the sound of total indifference? 

Memories can be made without going
over the top...

I'm not saying we shouldn't have birthday parties for our kids. Far from it - making a big deal about the anniversary of the day they took their first breath is a worthwhile endeavor and making memories surrounding times like that can really be the stuff of strengthening relationships .... as long as we don't succumb to the "keeping up with the Joneses" mentality perpetrated by parenting magazines, social media, and sitcoms, to name just a few.

I think that we have seen so much in the media regarding the trouble kids can get into through neglect or boredom, that we are paranoid about letting them have any time to themselves. So we go overboard! Every moment has to be scripted. We keep them entertained because - God forbid - they might think of something to amuse themselves that isn't in "the plan". And who knows? that might mean they'd end up in juvenile hall. It is fear and fear alone that keeps us dreaming up new and exciting things for them to do.

But isn't that the point? I know ... I sort of fell into this trap when my kids were small. I found myself sucked into the myth that they had to have something with which to occupy themselves every moment of every day, and before long, they couldn't make a move without checking it with me first - and then I complained and told them that I wasn't their entertainment director. 

Or was I? 

Yes, I did it to myself. I made myself indispensable. I forgot that my main job as a mother was to get my kids to the point where they could be independent from me. Yes, I could support them; yes, I could be there to talk to. However, the cry of "I'm bo-o-ored" needn't have filled me with so much panic. 

I eventually (possibly too late, I'm not sure) learned to say, "You know what? I am sure that you can find something constructive to occupy your time." When I did, that's when I discovered that these kids had talents that I didn't even know about. One excelled at baking. Another developed a penchant for video editing - like for Youtube! Slowly they have learned ways to amuse themselves in socially acceptable ways. And just as slowly I have learned that I don't need to cow-tow to the tyranny of "Should."

And my obsession with controlling everything they did, thought and said got to the point where they actually resented me for it.... and with good reason!

Years later - I had to apologize to them for that. Talk about humbling!

I used to spend my time berating myself because I wasn't as "natural" a parent as the mom up the street who had her two kids organizing their own yard sales at the age of seven and nine. (Mind you - I consoled myself with the fact that all they were learning was to be mercenary and take advantage of their same-age neighbors by foisting their own cast-offs (most of them broken or tattered) to their friends ... for money.) Or, I compared myself to the mothers who were constantly gushing about their kids and about how fulfilling motherhood was. Yeah, I was seriously doubting my suitability for the career of being a mom because I didn't feel like I thought I "Should." (Oh puh-leeze. Now I know better!) 

It's still a sore spot with me - especially when I hear people talking about their parents or their kids like it's the one thing in their life that gives them ultimate fulfillment... as if those who don't feel that way are somehow defective. 

Parenting is not an Olympic event. There are no winners and losers. You can do everything right and your kid can turn out wrong after all. You can do everything wrong and your kid can turn out right in spite of it. 

This is not a competition; it's life. We don't need to be afraid of each other or envious of each other. We need to realize that everyone has the right to have feelings, whatever they are, and everyone has his or her own take on how to raise a child. 

Acceptance and support goes a lot further and carries a lot more weight than condemnation or judgment. After all, we're raising the people that will eventually carry on where we left off and who will pass on their values and skills to the next generation. The last thing we need is to be competing with each other over something that our kids don't even think is important. Or won't remember!

They're not going to remember who gave them what, or how much something cost compared to something else someone else gave them or anyone else. They are not going to care how many organized activities they've had when they get to be adults. What will matter the most to them is whether their mom and /or dad gave them the one commodity that seems to be the most lacking in our busy world: their time - in paying attention to them, to what mattered to them. It's way easier to let someone else take over the responsibility of spending time with our kids when all they really want is OUR attention. When it all boils down, that's what remains. Kids need to know that they are important to US.

I think the most profound commentary I have ever seen about parenting was summed up in a "Family Circus" cartoon I saw once.  It said, "Parents can give their children things ... or time. Time is better!"

Her Red Badge of Courage

I hadn't seen her for months. Her appearance, aside from a few cosmetic changes such as hair color and style, seemed pretty much the same. However, I'd heard some of her story through the grapevine, and although I didn't quite know what to say to her, I knew that this was a connection I needed to make. 

She invited me to sit down. 

The conversation was brief - perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes - but as I expressed my condolences for the loss of her husband several months previous, she began to share some of her memories and experiences of his last few months, of his passing, and of how she coped with those first few months of living life without him. 

"Lonely Woman On The Beach"
photo courtesy of 
Sira Anamwong at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

She talked about how she had wanted to keep her job, how she knew that life would be unbearably hard but that it would be even harder without a steady source of income ... and him gone. She described how she had to sell her home and make fundamental lifestyle changes - all while she was going through the grieving process. Occasionally a tear would well up and trickle from her eye. When it reached her cheek, she'd reach up and brush it aside, as if it was something of a bother.

As she spoke, I was struck by how incredibly vulnerable she was, and how very brave in the midst of her vulnerability. I have a very dear friend who lost her husband a few years ago, and so I wanted to acknowledge how much she had suffered and was still suffering. I glanced down. Somehow my hand had reached across the table and hers was grasping it. The gesture made my throat feel thick, tight.

I pointed to her identification tag, her access to the workplace. "That's your red badge of courage," I told her. "It is a symbol of the bravery you show every single moment as you put one foot in front of the other and go through your day." She smiled - a peculiar expression mixed into it - and said that not many people realize how much a part of every day that pain is. 

"I have a close friend who lost her husband a few years ago. She still misses him so much."

She wiped away another tear. We talked a little bit about how she still felt his presence, relied on his strength, even now. I couldn't - dared not - imagine how I would have managed in her situation. I'm sure I would have lost my mind. 

As I got to my feet, she got to hers... and hugged me ... one of those heart-felt hugs you can sense isn't based on expectations. "Thank you. That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me." 

I'm not exactly sure what exact "thing" she meant, and I don't need to know. All I know is that at that moment, deep inside, I was keenly aware that I had been at the right place at the right time for the right person ... and somehow, said the right thing. 

It was so humbling to be a part of that.

How to KNOW when you've let go

I was chatting with a friend last night when the topic of letting go came up. Recently I've had to do a lot in that department, so it was fresh in my mind. Apparently it was in hers as well. What followed was an in-depth discussion of what letting go looks like, how quickly it can be undone, and how to guard against slipping back into old patterns of behavior.

I guess I can take a minute to talk about why letting go is important. It almost sounds like a moot point, but some people still don't understand this concept, and some even actively oppose the idea as being "cold" or "unfeeling." 

However, letting go is the only way to cure ourselves from a set of self-defeating behaviors that keep us in the delusion that we have any control over someone else's behavior, from the zealous girlfriend's "I'll change him," to the distraught parent who blames himself or herself for the bad choices that his or her child may make as an adult. 

This set of behaviors conveys the message to the person we are trying to change, that we don't trust that person and we think we know what is best for him or her. "If they'd only listen!" we wail ... all to no avail. In fact, often such efforts to control or manipulate the ones we love actually drives them to behave in the very ways in which we DON'T want them to behave! In the meantime, others see our machinations and snicker up their sleeves at us - or worse yet, pity us. 

Here's the thing. There are certain things that are under our control. These are usually things that pertain to our own life - choices we make about ourselves that impact what our quality of life is. On the other hand, there are things over which we have no control. These are usually either circumstances that just happen, or decisions made by other people. The dividing line, the cross-over point, is found in learning where one person stops and the other begins. 

As simple as that sounds, it is not easy for people who (like me) all their lives have been taught that true fulfillment would be found in doing nice things for other people, looking after them, caring for them. I'm not saying that we aren't to care about people. What I'm saying is that there comes a point at which it becomes unhealthy, when we start bearing the consequences of someone else's actions for that person. The danger is that the person we are trying so hard to protect will come to depend on that safety net, and never learn to be self-sufficient or to take responsibility for his or her actions. People learn (or so they say) from their own mistakes. If I prevent someone from reaping the consequences of his or her actions, or I hinder that individual from learning his or her lesson from a mistake made, I rob that person of an opportunity to grow. 

Becoming aware that there is a problem is the first step in starting to remedy it. I remember catching myself "meddling" in my children's affairs - and stopping almost in mid-sentence to backtrack and extricate myself from getting involved. It was not easy. But knowing what the problem was helped me to take steps to correct it. It took a long time, but eventually I could catch myself earlier and earlier when I started to get too "in their face" about something I wanted to control. 

And so, I learned to let go - mostly by trial and error. A LOT of error. 

So ... back to our conversation.

"How do you know when you've let go?" my friend asked me.

Even as I typed, the simplicity of my answer astounded me. "You know you've let go of something when it can 'walk through your mind' without you getting upset, when you can honestly wish the best for that person or that situation without it needing your input." 

Thanks to dan at
www.freedigitalimages.net for his photo,
"Blue Butterfly"

As the conversation progressed, it became clear to both of us that while some people pay lip service to the idea of letting go, very few really grasp what that means, what it entails, how beneficial it is for both parties, and how easy it is to let the tendency to want to control slowly take over our lives again. 

Taking the reins again creeps up on you without you realizing it. Before long you catch yourself making little hints, or grumbling to yourself under your breath, or fantasizing about the way you wish things could be. It can't be separated from acceptance - accepting what IS is so powerful.

I've been living this lifestyle for enough time that to me it seems so simple (notice I DIDN'T say easy) ... and yet it is difficult to learn that once you accept, once you let go, you have to keep on accepting and letting go, and recognize when you grab the reins again (even if only in your mind.) If you don't, you'll crush the very delicate and rewarding relationships you have developed, ones based on equality and not power, ones that neither lord it over others nor are subservient to others.

Old habits are so deeply ingrained that it takes a lot of diligence (especially at first) to realize that "it's happening again." It is possible to train yourself to recognize it - but the human mind has ways of playing tricks, deceiving you into falling back into the same slimy pit over and over again. 

The bottom line, the chief indicator of success, is how you feel about a person or situation. If you are in turmoil, if you are not at peace or not accepting what the situation is or what the actions, beliefs and/or opinions of the other person are (notice I didn't say AGREEING WITH, just accepting), then you can be pretty sure that you've not let go fully ... at least not yet.

When you've let go, resentment is gone. Peace reigns. You can rejoice in the other person's accomplishments even if you don't agree with how he or she got there, and even if you had no hand or part to play in what he or she decided. You have more energy to devote to things that need attention in your own life. You aren't so draggy. It's like someone lifted a fifty-pound pack off your back and turned on a light in a very dark and uneven place. 

Yes, that really is possible. It really is.

The Truth : Taking Responsibility

| This above all: to thine own self be true,
| And it must follow, as the night the day,
| Thou canst not then be false to any man.

- Polonius, in Hamlet, Act I Scene iii (William Shakespeare) 

I've been having discussions with a few people lately about how important it is to be honest about even the little things, to maintain personal integrity. The practice of honesty with oneself (and then inevitably with others) is one that, in today's society, is slowly going the way of the whooping crane. 

It is high time to revive it. 

During the last four and a half years, I've been living a lifestyle that demands rigorous honesty - first with the self, then with God and with others.

That forces me to be realistic with myself about a great many things I might otherwise have shoved under the carpet and lived in denial about. It fertilizes my conscience. It demands that I own up to my mistakes - even to (and especially to) my children. It makes me examine the motivations behind my own behaviors that still at times baffle me.

I've discovered that as I embrace this personal honesty, I have less tolerance for being snowed, no matter who's doing it. It's like I have this "BS meter" that points not only within but also outward. It pings all over the place when I hear people talk whose power has gone to their heads - notably politicians, high-ranking officials in businesses or organizations, and the like. 

However, the loudest pinging goes on when I am not being true to my moral compass, when I allow myself to be led astray or I start rationalizing my behavior to myself. That's a good sign. The loudest pinging used to be when I noticed someone else being dishonest. I still notice, but it's tempered with the knowledge that it could just as easily be me compromising my principles to satisfy some ulterior motive.  I know. I've done it.

Insisting on honesty doesn't mean I'm not tactful when I notice something askew in someone else's behavior. It doesn't mean I "let it all hang out" and justify my lambasting someone by saying that I'm being honest. Nor does it mean that I keep silent when silence is not called for. It means that I look at my own reactions and check my own integrity first. It means that I understand that I am human. Fallible.  And that it is okay to make mistakes - as long as I recognize them, and that I learn from them. 

Telling myself the truth is the first step in me taking responsibility for my part in whatever situation has become unlivable. It doesn't allow me the luxury of blaming another person entirely for the state of a relationship or a situation.

When I do need to confront someone, I remind myself to do so in meekness and kindness, with consideration for that person's feelings. It's the way I want to be treated whenever I mess up.

Wouldn't you?

Fully fledged

In the life of a young bird, there comes a stage when it gets its flying feathers. Over time, the baby fuzz is replaced by firm feathers - including wing feathers that will be rigid enough to ride on air currents and support the weight of the bird. 

Until that happens, the baby bird spends more and more of its time - still in its nest - flapping its wings, exercising those muscles. Yet it still can't sustain flight. During the stage in which the adult feathers grow in, the bird is said to "fledge," and when there is no more fuzz, it is called full-fledged, or fully fledged. 

Sometimes a bird, even though it's been practicing in the nest and has even managed to lift itself up into the air a bit, still seems to want to stay in the nest; perhaps it is afraid of falling. Eventually, the baby fuzz that's been falling out will blow away from the nest and the rough sticks get more and more uncomfortable. 

Thanks to Jeff Ratcliffe at
www.freedigitalphotos.net for his
photo, "Eagle In Flight"

Before long, the desire to leave the safety of the nest is stronger than the fear of falling - and the bird takes that leap of faith into the invisible, making short flights to the ground, up to branches (or in the case of an eagle, rock ledges), landing on neighboring trees or other suitable perches. At this point, it doesn't leave the protection of its parents but continues to learn to use its wings and to feed itself by watching its mother and father. It only takes a few weeks to learn these skills. Many birds do maintain that family relationship. The family group is a great source of security. And some - just fly away to establish their own territory.

I guess that lately, I've been going through that transition period where the young one has left the nest but is still somewhat dependent, learning all she can to be self-sufficient, strengthening her wing muscles. It's a thrilling but frightening time (for both of us!) and both my daughter and I have been learning a lot from the experience. So far, she's traveled across the country nearly to the other side, lived in someone's car (with them and later with their permission), found a job, faced transportation issues to and from work, shopped for a second-hand car, hunted for an apartment, ... and the list is ongoing. While she's been having all these experiences thousands of miles away, my heart has been traveling with her, praying for her, supporting her, talking her down when she's upset, suggesting options when she's been out of her depth. I even talked her through preparing a chicken dinner for a lady who let her stay with her the first of this week! (And I'm not sure who was more pleased with the results - her or me!)

As someone in recovery from control-freaking and from obsessive care-taking, there's a fine line between letting go and abandonment, just as there is between being there for my child and trying to make her choices for her. It truly is a process where I, like she was when she was in my nest, have been growing my own feathers. 

I can see the day quickly approaching where she will have learned enough to be able to be self-sufficient. I am so proud of all that she has accomplished so far, and I believe in her ability to make it on her own. It's a process for her and it's a process for me too. As I support her in this transition while slowly letting go and allowing her to make her own choices and reap her own consequences, I grow another feather myself. 

And yes, I've been doing a lot of flapping, even some short hovers, and - admittedly - a fair bit of squawking. ;) 

Before long though, I'll make that leap myself - out into the unknown - and find that the invisible is strong enough to carry me too.

Quelling the voices

I love my life. Sometimes the events really suck, but this new life that I'm building since I got into recovery is scads better than the one I started to leave behind when I finally admitted that I needed help. 

Occasionally though, voices from my old self rise up and accuse me. At least it's in my old self's voice - though I'm inclined to believe it comes from another quarter that's more sinister. Be that as it may, the voices do come in and tend to mess up my thoughts, make me sour and sometimes even bitter, and I experience a good deal of discontent as a result. Peace leaves. The waters of turmoil start to come to a boil.

It's the discontent that usually alerts me to the fact that something has gone awry. When I step back and take stock, usually I find that it's a voice or two from my prior lifestyle that has crept in unawares and wreaked havoc in my thinking. My focus has shifted; I am no longer living life from the inside out, but from the outside in... allowing what others say and do - and even what they might think or believe (and it doesn't even have to be about me; I'll MAKE it about me) - to get the better of me. 

Inner statements like, "They like her better than they like me" or "What did he mean by that?" or "How dare she imply that I would think / do that?" or "How come I am always the one to give and give some more and this other person just sucks me dry?" rob me of precious joy. 

Thanks to nuttakit for this photo,
"Barbed Wire" which I got at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

When I finally realize that the focus has shifted from maintaining my center to reinforcing the barbed wire fence in an attempt at self-preservation, that's when I need to quell the voices, the ones that accuse me, the ones that tell me I'm no good, that I'm not worth anyone's time or effort, that nobody will ever like me for ME, only for what I can DO for them. 

I start with the basics of recovery. Being responsible for my own actions but nobody else's. Letting go of the need to control what someone says, does, or thinks. Setting boundaries that prohibit others from controlling what I say, do, or think. Reminding myself that I have just as much right to exist and to occupy space as the next person does; and so do they. 

Then, the truth about the situations I've been struggling with becomes clear. I can return to enjoying my life; the voices fade into the background. The thoughts and opinions of others about me, or of others about other people as compared to me, or even of others about my choices or my beliefs, matter less and less the closer I get to my center - the part of me that is key, that makes me who I am. 

I know the voices are likely to return. I've accepted that. I can only hope that the length of time that it takes for me to realize that they've returned, gets less and less as time goes on. 

In the meantime, I can enjoy each day as it comes.

The Acid Test

The term, "the acid test" has been around since the days of the early gold prospectors. They needed a way to determine if the metal they found was real gold or some other metal. So, they would mark the metal with nitric acid, which would melt other metals; gold, not so much. That term came to mean the way by which someone would know if something was genuine or not - from merchandise to someone's promises or beliefs. 

I got to thinking about this expression this morning as the face of this one person came into my mind, someone to whom some people react one way while others react the opposite way.

I first met Joseph in the late 1990s. He's an itinerant - a man who chooses to be homeless. He has a "home base" - the home of a relative in a different province - but he only goes there once in a while to catch up on his mail. Most of the time, no matter what the season, he walks and sometimes hitch-hikes from place to place.  He has a full beard, wears layer upon layer of clothing (because there's no other place to put it) and smells of spruce, wood smoke, and sweat. He makes no apologies for his appearance or his lifestyle. He sleeps in the woods, sometimes in a sleeping bag and sometimes not. 

It's intriguing to see the reactions of different people to this man. The first time I saw him, I was a receptionist at a church office. He walked into the office one day in 1998. My immediate impression was that he was a homeless man in his mid-fifties, in need of a bath, a good meal and a change of clothes.  There was something about him, though - something in his eyes, which contradicted what my sense of smell was telling me. My boss at the time, a wonderful pastor, caught sight of him and came out to greet him warmly. I decided to watch him, talk to him, and get to know him a bit better. 

Taken at Picadilly Circus, London.
Thanks to photographer Mantas Ruzveltas
for this photo, "Homeless Man" - obtained at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Over the course of the next week, as he used the woods behind the church to sleep in (with the pastor's permission of course!) I learned that he loved his life, that he enjoyed country and western music (well, nobody's perfect), that he was a diabetic, and that he had the most gentle, humble character you would ever want to meet. I instinctively knew that if I ever needed anyone to look after my preschool children, I could trust him implicitly to guard them with his life. 

I began to look forward to his visits; he was always so full of joy, so content with his chosen lifestyle, so grateful for every bit of help offered to him, and so accepting of others. About once or twice a year he would show up, stay a few days and then move on. Whenever he did, he'd stop for a church service on a Sunday morning. He'd usually sit at the back, close to the door, so that he could slip to and from the washroom unnoticed. It was there that I noticed the varied reactions to his presence. They were much like my original impression had been - except that they were a bit more (how shall I put this nicely? oh never mind) "in your face."  Some reactions were downright visceral; they were clearly repulsed by this man and got as far away from him as possible. 

Many of these people are the first to attend prayer vigils and go to spiritual retreats, talk about the glory days, and tell others exactly what they believe. 

But Joseph is the acid test  -  his very existence challenges people and he isn't even aware of it; he just is who he is. Yet the challenge hangs in the air, "Do you really believe what you say you believe?"

A few months ago, as winter melted into spring, I found myself wondering where Joseph was, if he was still out there tramping the roads and touching lives with his uniqueness. 

And then one Sunday morning recently, I saw him - sitting by himself in the back near the door. His hair and beard were more gray; his face was more gaunt, but it was him. He was beaming, basking in the simple but profound pleasure of good music and shelter from the rain. When the service was over, I rushed over to where he'd been sitting, but he was gone. Disappointment settled on me like a wet blanket. I made my way back to my seat and began to pick up my purse and other items.

Then I turned and saw him, not ten feet away! He'd been in the washroom (most likely) and was coming up to the front to talk to the pastor and ask for a drive. My eyes misted over; what a beautiful soul. I shook hands with him and was delighted that he remembered me - his grip was a little weaker, but still firm. He was wobbling a bit with age and the ravages of life on the road - but it was the Joseph I remembered. His eyes were still as bright, and his smile as ready as it always was. 

Given the rainy day, the pastor asked a young man (a student interning at the church) to drive Joseph to where he needed to go next - across town - and I wondered if yet another generation would come to appreciate the inner beauty of this simple man ... and pass the acid test. 

I sure hope so.