What makes it so hard for me? I watch them do it with sucess. I watch them do it with some honest trepidation, but since it’s truth they feel lead to communicate they just do it. It’s not that many of them don’t way the cost. It isn’t that they are loose cannons or reckless. They do care what people think. But they say where they stand anyway. Why do I struggle so much doing that?

I think I often use the argument “I don’t know if I’m doing this right technically. What if I don’t form it correctly before delivering the message? Did I “cross my t’s and dot my i’s” so to speak. What if the mechanics are wrong and I look ignorant?” It’s just an excuse. I once wrote and posted whether I got it technically immaculate or not. Once upon a time I just wanted to write. And I wrote. I wrote honestly what I believed at that time from the information I had to work with and what I knew. I know that maybe the technique still is a worry for me, but that isn’t the real wall I am trying to break through.

I often argue, “No one wants to hear this. They aren’t listening anyway. Why do it? Like Brandi Carlile says, “But the stories don’t mean anything, when you’ve got no one to tell them to…” (Carlile, 2007) .” That also didn’t matter to me when I felt like had freedom to write. I had to write. Whether someone was listening or not. I still do. I will journal, scribble on napkins, menus, used envelopes, whatever I can find, but I write. It’s what I do. So that isn’t the wall either.

I think the barrier has to do with a lack of privacy and judgement. I recently went with a very dear friend who is a communications professor to faux audit her class. I sat in the room listening to a panel of approximately six women of various ages discuss interpersonal communications. One of the topics was, why is it so challenging to discuss negatively percieved emotions. Why is it so hard to share them? I’ve been thinking a lot about all that I heard that night. Let me offer this as a summary of sorts. It doesn’t cover everything, but it says a lot of what was raised in that room.

Allison Iraheta – Scars

Truth and art are often times a great deal like a newborn child. You want to protect it. It is personal to the one who sees it. It is dynamic. It breathes. It grows. It can be hurt. It’s part of who you are. Often it tells a great deal about the one who claims to believe it. We’ve all been scarred. “Did I say something stupid?”

A more comical expression of the seniment can be found in L. M. Montegomery’s classic Anne of the Island. Anne Shirley finds that her best-friend submitted her story as an advertisement. Anne explains her pain about this:

“I feel as if I were disgraced forever. What do you think a mother would feel
like if she found her child tattooed over with a baking powder advertisement? I
feel just the same. I loved my poor little story, and I wrote it out of the best
that was in me. And it is SACRILEGE to have it degraded to the level of a baking
powder advertisement” (Montgomery, 1915)

While this seems comical when you read it (Unless you are an artist or a writer then it’s more bittersweet because you get it!)  the truth inherient in art is serious and exposing our hearts that freely is exposing it to judgement. What will people think of me if they know. No one can see in out hearts and heads and there there are so many truths that make us who we are that it just seems safer and easier to protect behind out rib cages and skulls.

Recently I’ve done a great deal of soul searching and a lot of changes have occured in my life. I don’t know which is worse for me, the fear of what people think of me or the fear of what I think people think of me. Letting truth out exposes you and it exposes those you love. You want to keep those you love in an ivory tower and you want the world to love them, too. Love is so all inclusive on the one hand while private and sacred in the other. That’s why our homes and bedrooms have doors. Doors that open up when we want to share and feel safe. Doors that close when we want to be intimate and in a healthy way selfish. When you write something down, it’s doors wide open.  Artist Jennifer Knapp wrote,

“Careful what you say
Careful who might hear
Someone else inside the
universe
Could write it down
And you’ll be hearing it for years” (Knapp, 2010)

Basically if you’re going to write it, be prepared to own it. That is what scares me. Can I own it? Can I say it and own the consequences?

References:
Carlile, Brandi (Performer). (2007). The Story [Recorded by Brandi Carlile]. On The Story [Medium of recording: CD] New York : Sony. (2007)

Gad, Toby (Lyricist), & James, Elyssa (Lyricist). (2010). Scars [Recorded by Allison Iraheta]. On Just Like You [Medium of recording: CD] New York City: 19/Jive. (2010)

Knapp, Jennifer (Performer). (2010). Dive In. On Letting Go [Medium of
recording: CD] Nashville: Graylin Records/Thirty Tigers. (2010)

Montgomery, L. M. (1915). Anne of the island. Canada: L. C. Page & Co

It’s too much but not enough thin

It’s rushing about all frantic while sitting absolutely still

It’s greeting guests who haven’t shown up you

It’s a ravaging bloated too full devouring starvation

It’s too hot while being all clammy dry damp with cold

It’s a pressure cooker of wide open spaces

“You are just fine. You have what you need. It just takes a little time.

There are those so much worse off than you are. You’re doing just fine.

No one thinks you aren’t trying.”

I know. I know. I know.

It’s a squirming. It’s adjusting a too tight collar. It’s a frantic screaming silence.

It’s just fine. It’s just fine. It’s just fine. It’s just fine.

When you have lived with someone constantly telling you what to do, other options seem impossible. Even in the wake of total devastation, you can’t think. You can’t move. You freeze. You wait for someone who seems to have power to take up commanding you again. You wait for soemone who looks like they have control to shout the orders. You have been told you have no answers, you can’t do, you aren’t (fill in the blank) for so long that you cannot move. You know you’ll make a mistake. You know you won’t have the courage. You know you won’t have the answer. So you just stand still. Until finally something inside you makes you realize that even when you are standing still two things are happening. You are dying doing nothing. And life will go on around you. It will not stop. It will not stop if you fail. It will not stop if you suceed. You must move and catch up. But it is terrifying. It is painful. It is seemingly impossible.

     I have found in my life recently that what is most helpful to me are examples… not dictators, but positive examples. Those who call you out to come on and move, but who won’t do it all for you. Those who have guidance and resources and experience you don’t have who have made it and tell you YOU CAN TOO. Even when you can’t believe it. They get under your shoulders. They bear your burden with you, not for you. They heal even if it hurts. They may have to push a little. They may have to fight you as you fight your terror and the world around you. But they don’t quit on you or for you. Rebuilding is so hard and energy consuming. But it will happen with you as a participant or as material it consumes to get it done. The world ”grows” on.  

Reference

Roskin, M.G. (2011). Countries and concepts: Politics, geography, culture (11th ed.). New York: Longman

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2009/9/6/1252254230481/Second-world-war-A-homele-001.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/sep/11/second-world-war-europe-ruins&usg=__BuOSUEK4N9clsIkGJTCMCH3UTYU=&h=276&w=460&sz=31&hl=en&start=0&sig2=oIi2dSC7-NdQV_tR22Yxsg&zoom=1&tbnid=cgJk9VFfBMJCaM:&tbnh=145&tbnw=196&ei=8oB_Tbm9PM6gtgemkoDKCA&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dsecond%2Bworld%2Bwar%2Ba%2Bhomeless%2Blady%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26safe%3Doff%26biw%3D1259%26bih%3D604%26tbs%3Disch:1&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=116&vpy=106&dur=31&hovh=174&hovw=290&tx=186&ty=108&oei=8oB_Tbm9PM6gtgemkoDKCA&page=1&ndsp=15&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0

       Instead of trying to gush on and on about why I love these folks, let me allow what I often hear through just one very special lady speak for itself.

“…Think about the tropical rainforest. Once upon a time, scientists and farmers thought it grew where it did because the soil HAD to be the richest on the planet. WRONG! They cut the forest down… only to discover that the soils are amongst the most nutrient depleted in the world. All of the nutrients are bound up in the biomass. What makes the rainforest so rich and amazing is the speed at which nutrients and energy are transferred and cycled through an astonishing variety of plants and animals that are all incredibly different and each fills a unique niche.

Life is like that. Every one of us fills different niches in making the world a richer place. But, when we put up barriers and refuse to fill any niche in helping that life/love/energy/God flow through the whole system, we not only stunt our own growth, but impoverish the world as a whole.” – Terri Willard, March 13, 2011

       This has probably been one of the worst and most taxing years I have ever lived through. So many changes in my life that I can’t keep up. I just pull a Dory

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adqLaecr9WY

and muddle forward one step at a time. I am able to “just keep swimming” even when it feels like just treading water in part because of the voices of  friends like “T.”. It’s not hero worship (although she knows I think she’s a hero!). Terri is beautifully human. Terri is my friend. I am very lucky to know her. I am totally honored to know her family. They are really beautiful. I am blessed to learn along side them.

I have stopped watching for details dropped
I would love to say that I am not still waiting
But I have never lied well

Funny how a certain letter, a specific color, a taste
Some random joke, a song bird, rain on a pane
Bring memories still.

You know, some dreams haunt
I still harbor certain fantasies
I still often wonder.

This Galatea had less impact on Pygmalion
Dreaming was no cupid, no breath of life
Flesh can be stone heavy.

Stone is better for this work.
Perhaps it was wise of you to leave
Me marble hard and ice cold.

Rebuilding requires materials.
Rebuilding demands icy reserves.
Flesh is weak even if the spirit is willing.

I understand that you scream in silences
That deafens even marble ears, Pygmalion.
No letter, bird, or color speaks clearer.

Still it is easier for me on cloudy days.
It is easier for me in silent winter, birdless.
Believe it or not marble bleeds and breathes.

Rebuilding will result in beauty.
Marble begets marble…less destructible.
Stronger if colder, harder, and older.

When …if …you visit your garden
Come see wisteria and morning glory
Life flourishing around marble.

These ladies work so hard. I was sweaty. I was TIRED. I smelled like bleach and grease. My hair-do was more of a hair don’t! They were friendly. They were so organized. It was amazing to be involved. It really was.

     I know that there’s been some new related articles about school cafteria’s being the next the next to get a make over about nutrition and portion control. I know that celebs such as Jamie Oliver (http://www.jamieoliver.com/campaigns/jamies-food-revolution) and others are becoming activists on behalf of the children. I would like to say that what I saw was pretty healthy. I think there may be ways we could “trim the fat” so to speak, but for some kids in the US this is the only hot meal they may have all day with two parents working and healthy eating is costly. It costs in time. It costs in dollars. If you don’t believe it you haven’t really cooked lately. There are economic choices but in a home where time is as valuable as the dollar, those cafeteria ladies make a big dietary difference in children’s lives. I’m not saying that Mr. Oliver and others shouldn’t push for healthy choices. I am saying that active involvement and education of parents as well would help. And honestly, it will have to be made to be worth a working team of parent’s/ grandparents/ guardians’ time.

    My main reason to post however is to thank the ladies who do this faithfully for a group of less than enthusiastic at times children. It is hard work. It requires math skills, higher level thinking, coping skills, patience, observation, science, reading, and memory. Don’t brush over it as being anything less than a serious career!

These ladies have my well….

I write.
I tear it up.
I break down.
I get tough.
I do all the little things
That make us alive…
Everyone says
Move on with life.

When no one’s looking
When no one’s around
I’m so surrounded by blue
I could almost drown
What the hell do they know?
They can’t see
The blues that just keeps haunting me.

I wake up.
I sleep.
I walk and
I eat.
I do all the little things
That helps to cope with regret.
Still no matter what they say
There are moments I can’t forget.

I do all the little things
That keeps me alive…
Everyone says
I’m doing fine.

I suppose that is what hurts the most

Not “with” but “for” and you couldn’t do it

So I am left with this ghost

I was warm to come home to

There were new things to learn from me every day

It didn’t hurt that I worshipped the ground that you stood on

That I would throw whole self into the fray

But you held back just enough

I suppose that is what hurts the most

Not “all”, but “some”; you couldn’t do it

So I am left with this ghost

I was open; I was so wide open

You build a castle in the clouds and I believed it

You changed the morals and the rules to suit the moment

I was confused watching you pulling back bit by bit

But you set standards tailored to restrain

I suppose that is what hurts the most

“Today it’s like this but not tomorrow”, no guarantees

So I am left with this ghost.

Now the sky is so dark, limitless, expansive
It’s beautiful and frightening to see so much room

So much unknown sprawling out now over my head
Where I once saw pictures and adventures

I just see too much.

I use to believe that space was to be fought for
Once upon a time was so possible with hard work

Now it’s as if I’m a newborn; flailing limbs
So much room now after birth, so much air, too much

And the unknown is just a vacuum, cosmic and extensive
Where I once dreamed of grand adventures, of drinking deeply

I just see too much.

And as much as I miss them twinkling, glinting
As much as they are wanted it would seem that

There are no more stars out.