Sometimes the most
dramatic things in life happen without another soul even noticing. I
experienced this recently and was reminded of the power of connection and the
power of our stories, even those chapters closed so long ago. Talking with a friend I caught a glimpse of
me then.
This friend is close, comfortable
and ours is a friendship safe enough to share real secrets and genuine
reflections.
We sat at my dining room
table, eating lunch, enjoying our Saturday and the sunshine streaming through
the windows. We covered too many topics to count and then began talking about
the possibility of an agreement we were considering. As we talked my motivation
for pursuing the deal slipped out, and I mentioned a significant chunk of my
childhood had been spent homeless. Although
I am usually cautious in how much I talk about this, with her it was barely a blip
on my screen. It wasn’t a blip for her. She didn’t just hear my words, she connected
to the experience and to what it must have been like for me. In the split
second following my statement tears barely noticeable filled her eyes. Her connection was so spontaneous and heartfelt,
I was catapulted back in time, landing
in a kaleidoscope of emotions. This has so long been a part of my story history
that I talk about it as though I am citing a reference,
rather than my story, lived. But
in her spontaneous emotions so visible, I was left unguarded, feeling for a
moment the way I felt as that little girl. A shooting star of events long ago, yet
living just below the surface of present moment ready to spring forward and
delight in the gasp of emotions it unlocks.
Those feelings have little power over me these days, but it remains a
part of my history. More than that, it
remains a driving force today in who I want to be.
The first chapters of my
story were written for me without any sense of control over my life. Kids like me didn’t grow up and do well, go
to college and become successful. Girls
like me marry young, marry poor and drift into disappointed lives.
So I did, at first anyway. Except I kept finding footnotes that pointed
me in different directions and kept
whispering in my ear. I attribute faith as the author of these footnotes which
kept appearing.
I spent a lot of time as a
child traveling the world and making friends in books. I read about people who persevered and I read
about the person I hoped to be.
It was this hope that
pulled me back from a much different life, a life filled with diminishing
dreams year after year. It was this hope
that allowed me to hold my head high when I wore the same outfit day after day
to school because it was the only one I owned.
It didn’t matter that it was clean and washed each night. It was a bull’s eye marking me as an easy
target.
The target I wore became
part of my story and me. It instilled a
deep empathy in me for all living creatures,
no matter whom or what they are.
I have instinctive recognition of human pain and it reminds me to never
take for granted what we see on the outside, because after all is such a small reflection of the inside.
I somehow found the courage to stand tall and
decide and then re-decide over and over to be different and to live different. It was my flirtation with accepting what
others expected that allows me to understand the numbing relief which comes
with living a life of pain and defeat.
It is also that same chapter which reminds me pain is never a good
enough reason to lighten up.
Yesterday I took brief
flight back in time, feeling that same insignificant feeling. Only for a moment though, as I looked at my friend caring enough to cry
for me. I saw my three dogs lying by our feet, my home which I cherish, my new
business which has been built on tears and pain. My life which is full and blessed with so
much which easily might not have been.
I am happy to be on a never-ending journey of who I hope to be. My
real story knows I will never be who I hope to be.
Writing from my journal:
Who I hope to be.
My dream is not in the present moment it is always
in the future and in the past. What I
long for and what I long for which could have been. It flutters ahead and dances in the breeze,
taunting me with the illusion of how close I am. I chase it as it twirls,
knowing the chase is futile and yet knowing I must participate in this
dance. For what else would I do but
chase my dream. The experience is my choice to participate fully in the dance.
And once upon a time I dreamed of
believing these magical words which seemed so impossible. I smile as I read them these days, knowing I
feel them in me.
Maya Angelou
Phenomenal Woman
It's in
the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
