This morning I was thinking about a banner we made to express appreciation for our newly constructed courtyard complete with sandbox, playground, and splash pad. We were preparing for our ribbon cutting ceremony for the dignitaries and I had the impression that a big red banner with feet prints of all our students would somehow be fitting. However, I quickly regretted my ill- thought out group art project. Washing the sensitive, resistant feet of 40+ students, prone to run around, flick ink, water splash and rip the poster produced a work of art not quite fitting for the big wigs. It was a disaster. I tried to cover up our big mess with printed computer font letters spelling "Thank You For Our Happy Feet". I couldn't even get that right- since I quickly pasted the letters. Our lopsided message was hardly professional. But I was spent, running on empty. I already injured my back earlier in the day and stooping down to wash and dry everyone's feet only made matters worse. However, it did make me feel like Jesus washing the feet of his disciples-so I had that going for me.
Earlier that day my co-worker told me about a free rooftop concert that evening with the Neon Trees, a local Provo band making it big. I love alternative rock, including the Neon Trees. I often listen to the radio as my students sing along to all the pop stuff while we're driving the 15 passenger van. Every once in a while, there
will be a song I will actually like-a song that "moves me". It's usually a song off the beaten path- many times an alternative
rock song. I say "moves me" not because I start crying, but because I
literally HAVE TO MOVE. Whether it's tapping my fingers on the steering
wheel, waving a hand in the air to conduct, or tapping my toes- this
ENERGY just has to COME OUT.
I wanted to stop by this Neon Trees concert, but how could I? It was leaving work at 9:15 p.m, completely exhausted, hurt, splattered with yellow paint, looking like a hag. Besides who just shows up to a concert all by herself? What a loser. Definitely not "concert ready." However while driving home past downtown Provo I thought I could at least check it out. I could at least roll down the windows and listen. I could at least park my car. I could at least walk down the street to get closer to the music-closer to the stage. I could at least step up on the curb to get a better look. It was just too darn irresistible. Then they started to play my favorite song, "Lessons of Love". And all of a sudden, my back pain was gone and infused with ENERGY and JOY. I know it's not joy-joy, or even pleasure, but it's this feeling washing over me where I literally can't stop smiling. It would hurt if I tried to stop those smiling muscles in my face. I also can't hold "it" in-whatever it is- I have to let it out and MOVE. Though I was back with the security officers and surrounded by people who were just listening- I was clapping my hands above my head and moving to the beat. I could tell others thought I was weird, since I wasn't stage side with all the other yahoos and I was way too old. But I had to express myself. It was not a dance to be "seen of men"-to get attention, to try out my latest moves, to impress a guy. It was a dance to express what I felt inside-and it was a glorious release.
After a couple of songs, reality started to creep back in, since it was 10:00 and I still hadn't eaten dinner and was sore and worn out. But I was full of gratitude- I am so grateful for music that moves me-vibrating with something deep in my soul-it's MY song. It's different than just listening to music I like-it's music I LOVE. I am so grateful certain music can make me FEEL a certain way and that this feeling can come out. To "express" means to "squeeze out." I am grateful this emotion can spill out-even with yellow happy paint. I am grateful for MY very own HAPPY FEET.
Saturday, October 25, 2014
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Bossing Me Around/Permission
This morning I was thinking about being bossed around. As part of "National Bosses Day" or whatever its called, I reached out to my various bosses to express gratitude. While I was signing a card, one of my supervisors asked who my boss really was. I answered, I have all sorts of bosses telling me what to do. And I do. Someone also remarked how Erin gets to do whatever she wants. And that's true too. Yesterday I had a couple experiences that highlighted these points and caused me to think about being bossed around and asking permission.
I'm more of a "ask forgiveness" rather than "permission" kind of gal when it come to doing what I want. When I'm not allowed to freely explore ideas and express myself, I almost feel like I'm in prison or that my creativity is being squashed or stinted. I shut down and switch gears into a "yes-master/zombie" trance. It's not fun. However, when creativity has reigned supreme I've also gotten myself in trouble, stepped on toes, and ultimately not achieved the outcomes I was seeking. For at times I really don't know what I'm doing, even though I may pretend I do.
Take for instance, yesterday-setting rock-climbing routes. Oh sure I can pretend and start screwing in the holds willy-nilly using my imbecile judgement saying, "Oh that's fine-good enough." But I found myself getting stressed. I observed my boss and co-worker adeptly climb and test routes, use youthful strength to fasten holds not only in the right place but in the right direction. Finally I stopped, turned to my boss and said, "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it." It was so much easier to just have my boss hold the rock in place and then do my job with confidence as the simple handyman using the hex key.
Asking permission is sometimes more difficult for me. I guess I'm afraid someone will say no, reject me or deem my work unacceptable. Maybe it's the fear of being judged or having spent my effort in vain. After hanging out at a residential treatment center, I also identify with all my oppositional defiant students. No one likes being told what to do. It's all about freedom, control, and choices. And yet, I understand the importance of personal stewardship and deference to authority. So with this in mind, I went to our music committee meeting last night prepared to present the song I had written for the choir for our Christmas program.
A couple of months ago when receiving my call as choir director, in one of my "take initiative moves" I was sharply reminded by the music director that she was "my boss" (the words she used) and that everything I did had to be approved by her- which is fine- I understand. I'm trying to be sensitive and open. However at this meeting I found myself feeling in "prison"and shifting into my zombie trance, especially when most of my comments seemed out of place. I tried to emotionally prepare myself in case of rejection. After all just because I've spent the last month writing this song-doesn't mean it's a waste of time if it's not used. It's a gift for me to express myself. It's a gift for my Creator to show my love. It's a gift to share with those I care about.
As the meeting was about to close, one of the choristers asked if she could listen to the song I wrote. After we prayed, I was permitted to share the song. It was difficult to shift from zombie trance to songwriter/servant. Basically it was the musical equivalent of "getting permission" by having others listen and judge the work to see if it would be acceptable for inclusion in our church meeting. I was nervous and stressed The song was approved and most likely will be included in our program. Now, instead of feeling like a maverick, I'm part of a unified group with a unified purpose doing my individual part to help with that purpose. I can move forward with confidence because I have permission.
I want my confidence to wax strong in the presence of the Lord. There are so many things I love about David in the Old Testament. I appreciate the many instances of him "inquiring of the Lord," asking permission to do everything. (Will Saul come down? Will I be delivered into his hand? Shall I go smite the Philistines? Shall I pursue after this troop? Shall I go to the cities of Judah? etc, etc. etc.) I love his specific yes/no questions. I love his dependence upon Higher Authority. He did best when he let the Lord be his boss. I know like David, I can slay Goliath- I can do anything that is right if I'm not working alone. I can have the Lord on my side-with His permission and approval because He's my boss.
I'm more of a "ask forgiveness" rather than "permission" kind of gal when it come to doing what I want. When I'm not allowed to freely explore ideas and express myself, I almost feel like I'm in prison or that my creativity is being squashed or stinted. I shut down and switch gears into a "yes-master/zombie" trance. It's not fun. However, when creativity has reigned supreme I've also gotten myself in trouble, stepped on toes, and ultimately not achieved the outcomes I was seeking. For at times I really don't know what I'm doing, even though I may pretend I do.
Take for instance, yesterday-setting rock-climbing routes. Oh sure I can pretend and start screwing in the holds willy-nilly using my imbecile judgement saying, "Oh that's fine-good enough." But I found myself getting stressed. I observed my boss and co-worker adeptly climb and test routes, use youthful strength to fasten holds not only in the right place but in the right direction. Finally I stopped, turned to my boss and said, "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it." It was so much easier to just have my boss hold the rock in place and then do my job with confidence as the simple handyman using the hex key.
Asking permission is sometimes more difficult for me. I guess I'm afraid someone will say no, reject me or deem my work unacceptable. Maybe it's the fear of being judged or having spent my effort in vain. After hanging out at a residential treatment center, I also identify with all my oppositional defiant students. No one likes being told what to do. It's all about freedom, control, and choices. And yet, I understand the importance of personal stewardship and deference to authority. So with this in mind, I went to our music committee meeting last night prepared to present the song I had written for the choir for our Christmas program.
A couple of months ago when receiving my call as choir director, in one of my "take initiative moves" I was sharply reminded by the music director that she was "my boss" (the words she used) and that everything I did had to be approved by her- which is fine- I understand. I'm trying to be sensitive and open. However at this meeting I found myself feeling in "prison"and shifting into my zombie trance, especially when most of my comments seemed out of place. I tried to emotionally prepare myself in case of rejection. After all just because I've spent the last month writing this song-doesn't mean it's a waste of time if it's not used. It's a gift for me to express myself. It's a gift for my Creator to show my love. It's a gift to share with those I care about.
As the meeting was about to close, one of the choristers asked if she could listen to the song I wrote. After we prayed, I was permitted to share the song. It was difficult to shift from zombie trance to songwriter/servant. Basically it was the musical equivalent of "getting permission" by having others listen and judge the work to see if it would be acceptable for inclusion in our church meeting. I was nervous and stressed The song was approved and most likely will be included in our program. Now, instead of feeling like a maverick, I'm part of a unified group with a unified purpose doing my individual part to help with that purpose. I can move forward with confidence because I have permission.
I want my confidence to wax strong in the presence of the Lord. There are so many things I love about David in the Old Testament. I appreciate the many instances of him "inquiring of the Lord," asking permission to do everything. (Will Saul come down? Will I be delivered into his hand? Shall I go smite the Philistines? Shall I pursue after this troop? Shall I go to the cities of Judah? etc, etc. etc.) I love his specific yes/no questions. I love his dependence upon Higher Authority. He did best when he let the Lord be his boss. I know like David, I can slay Goliath- I can do anything that is right if I'm not working alone. I can have the Lord on my side-with His permission and approval because He's my boss.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Moved by Movies
This morning I was thinking about being moved by movies-or more specifically with my emotional responses and rationale behind them. Being "moved"also infers some sort of action-perhaps even a commitment. I have cried at millions of movies for a million different reasons, but last night I burst into tears when I saw the name on the end credits- "Blair Treu." Though this movie is touted as "The First Church-Produced Movie of Its Kind ", it was written and directed by my friend Blair Treu. That's a lot of capital letters and rightly so for it is BIG DEAL. He was commissioned to make this movie for my church. So borrowing from the format he uses in the movie, I'd like you to you to meet "Blair Treu-The Writer/Director/Producer." Actually I don't know much about his career and we're not close friends BUT since he appeared on the stage of MY life- he has "moved" me in important ways.
I was 14 and had the general impression that if there was a cute guy at a Mormon dance-he most likely wasn't a Mormon. That was the joke. I had never liked a Mormon guy before-and believe me, my heart has been going pitter-patter for cute guys since I was 5 years old. But that changed in the summer of '78 and meeting Blair Treu and his friends at an LDS youth conference in St. George. Blair wasn't necessarily drop-dead gorgeous- but it was his whole package-his looks, personality, spirituality, and the way he treated others that made him stand out. He was super sharp and wonderful. He was one of my very favorite elders to write and receive letters from when he was on his mission-just because I thought he was so "neat." I discounted him immediately because I thought he was too short for me but I subconsciously used him to as a standard to measure the spiritual stature of guys I would meet in the future. He gave me vision. Blair moved me to commit to finding a sharp guy of my own faith-cause by golly-they existed.
That summer I hung out with Blair and his friends at Huntington Beach lifeguard station #13. We went to Mormon dances every Friday and Saturday night. I remember Blair being a great dancer and doing handstands with his friend Mike Mason. (Who Joanie and I took as our dates for our prom). I remember being concerned when he got in a motorcycle accident. I remember using Blair's mission farewell party as an excuse to get out of "hell night" for the Lakewood High School sorority I was rushing. Joanie and I sheepishly stated , "Our friend is going away for 2 whole years and we have to say goodbye." You couldn't get away with that here in Utah. I remember sitting at his missionary farewell with my best friend Joanie and listening to his talk. He used a fictional story of best friends talking in heaven and how the one friend had never shared the gospel with the other because they were afraid of ruining their friendship. The friend then stated that though they had been best friends on earth, she could no longer call her a friend now. After the meeting I burst into tears and shared my testimony and how I didn't want to be like the best friends in that story. I loved her and I wanted her to know that I knew the church was true and wanted her to be part of it. Blair had unknowingly moved me to commit to share the gospel with people most dear to me.
Fast forward many years when my son coincidentally started hanging out with Blair's son, Kyle through their mutual interest in dance. My son was also friends with Kyle's future wife and ended up being one of their grooms for their wedding. I instantly loved Kyle because I loved his father. A couple of months ago, through Facebook, I learned from Blair that Kyle had been in a serious automobile accident and had been thought dead. He requested that we pray and fast for his son. For over a month Blair gave daily Facebook updates on the progress and shared his very personal thoughts and feelings about his experience. Later Blair requested we write letters to his son as he began his difficult rehabilitation emphasizing God's hand in his miraculous recovery. Blair moved me to use Facebook as a tool to care about others people and commit to mentioning others by name with very specific reference to their needs in my personal prayers, fasts, and in letters.
Blair's part in the Church's production of "Meet the Mormon's" is a big deal-it is important. I pray for the movie's success- that they will be able to donate lots of money to the Red Cross-that others will be moved emotionally as I was. Perhaps people might be moved to change some of their perceptions that Mormons don't have horns (at least I haven't seen anything growing on me lately). Perhaps people might be moved to actions to learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Perhaps people might be moved to make commitments to make and keep sacred covenants. For me, I have been "moved" to make important commitments by the name listed on the movie credits- Blair Treu.
I was 14 and had the general impression that if there was a cute guy at a Mormon dance-he most likely wasn't a Mormon. That was the joke. I had never liked a Mormon guy before-and believe me, my heart has been going pitter-patter for cute guys since I was 5 years old. But that changed in the summer of '78 and meeting Blair Treu and his friends at an LDS youth conference in St. George. Blair wasn't necessarily drop-dead gorgeous- but it was his whole package-his looks, personality, spirituality, and the way he treated others that made him stand out. He was super sharp and wonderful. He was one of my very favorite elders to write and receive letters from when he was on his mission-just because I thought he was so "neat." I discounted him immediately because I thought he was too short for me but I subconsciously used him to as a standard to measure the spiritual stature of guys I would meet in the future. He gave me vision. Blair moved me to commit to finding a sharp guy of my own faith-cause by golly-they existed.
That summer I hung out with Blair and his friends at Huntington Beach lifeguard station #13. We went to Mormon dances every Friday and Saturday night. I remember Blair being a great dancer and doing handstands with his friend Mike Mason. (Who Joanie and I took as our dates for our prom). I remember being concerned when he got in a motorcycle accident. I remember using Blair's mission farewell party as an excuse to get out of "hell night" for the Lakewood High School sorority I was rushing. Joanie and I sheepishly stated , "Our friend is going away for 2 whole years and we have to say goodbye." You couldn't get away with that here in Utah. I remember sitting at his missionary farewell with my best friend Joanie and listening to his talk. He used a fictional story of best friends talking in heaven and how the one friend had never shared the gospel with the other because they were afraid of ruining their friendship. The friend then stated that though they had been best friends on earth, she could no longer call her a friend now. After the meeting I burst into tears and shared my testimony and how I didn't want to be like the best friends in that story. I loved her and I wanted her to know that I knew the church was true and wanted her to be part of it. Blair had unknowingly moved me to commit to share the gospel with people most dear to me.
Fast forward many years when my son coincidentally started hanging out with Blair's son, Kyle through their mutual interest in dance. My son was also friends with Kyle's future wife and ended up being one of their grooms for their wedding. I instantly loved Kyle because I loved his father. A couple of months ago, through Facebook, I learned from Blair that Kyle had been in a serious automobile accident and had been thought dead. He requested that we pray and fast for his son. For over a month Blair gave daily Facebook updates on the progress and shared his very personal thoughts and feelings about his experience. Later Blair requested we write letters to his son as he began his difficult rehabilitation emphasizing God's hand in his miraculous recovery. Blair moved me to use Facebook as a tool to care about others people and commit to mentioning others by name with very specific reference to their needs in my personal prayers, fasts, and in letters.
Blair's part in the Church's production of "Meet the Mormon's" is a big deal-it is important. I pray for the movie's success- that they will be able to donate lots of money to the Red Cross-that others will be moved emotionally as I was. Perhaps people might be moved to change some of their perceptions that Mormons don't have horns (at least I haven't seen anything growing on me lately). Perhaps people might be moved to actions to learn more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. Perhaps people might be moved to make commitments to make and keep sacred covenants. For me, I have been "moved" to make important commitments by the name listed on the movie credits- Blair Treu.
Friday, October 3, 2014
MY People/ To KNOW and LOVE
This morning I was thinking about 2 recent experiences when I was stuck in someone else's world surrounded by "their" people. I say "stuck" because I had nowhere to go and I was committed to be there- It was my choice. I chose to stay on the week long Powell houseboat-I paid the money, I took off work. I chose to stay at a friend's daughter's wedding from 10am to 10pm . I committed to sing and play the guitar for the wedding processional. I committed to get the sound system back to work even if that meant staying until all the reception music was finished. It not only was a choice to be part of the captain's world, or my friend's world-it was a privilege. But it is always hard to get the idea out of my head and heart that EVERYTHING is not about ME-because it's not. I know this.
As an outsider, I stepped into an observer role. It was beautiful to witness the warm, loving interaction between these close families and friends. It was people watching at it's finest. It was evident they knew one another deeply. They cared about their well-being and wanted to protect each other. They loved each other. My new found friends were surrounded by THEIR PEOPLE.
At the wedding, the preacher taught how the human need for LOVE is sometimes influenced by our human fear of BEING KNOWN. We fear if someone really knows us, they might not like us. He challenged the new couple to continue to know and love one another. In these two circumstances, people didn't really know me or love me. Which is an OK world to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there permanently.
As I was driving home from my Lake Powell adventure, I burst into tears at the thought of returning to MY people. It was so nice to come home to my little world, even though it seemed to have fallen apart when I was gone. I was greeted by one daughter who cut her hair short (which she has never done), and the other who sprayed the house for spiders (which we have never done) and had severe panic attacks (which she has never had). As I hugged them I told them how important they were to me- and how they were truly MY people.
During this past week I checked in with my mom over the phone. I talked to my son. I conducted the choir. I talked to best friends. I chatted with co-workers. My visiting teacher came over. I was publicly acknowledged. People expressed appreciation. I was warmly greeted by my students. I waved at neighbors. This is my world and MY people.-people who look me in the eye and acknowledge I not only exist, but KNOW ME and LOVE me in some fashion.
I know God knows me deeply and personally. He cares for me. He shows his love daily. I suppose God has those same longings to be KNOWN and LOVED as mentioned in the great intercessory prayer, "And this is life eternal to KNOW GOD". I know he wants me to LOVE him, to KNOW him, and to be one of HIS PEOPLE. I want to be part of HIS WORLD.
As an outsider, I stepped into an observer role. It was beautiful to witness the warm, loving interaction between these close families and friends. It was people watching at it's finest. It was evident they knew one another deeply. They cared about their well-being and wanted to protect each other. They loved each other. My new found friends were surrounded by THEIR PEOPLE.
At the wedding, the preacher taught how the human need for LOVE is sometimes influenced by our human fear of BEING KNOWN. We fear if someone really knows us, they might not like us. He challenged the new couple to continue to know and love one another. In these two circumstances, people didn't really know me or love me. Which is an OK world to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there permanently.
As I was driving home from my Lake Powell adventure, I burst into tears at the thought of returning to MY people. It was so nice to come home to my little world, even though it seemed to have fallen apart when I was gone. I was greeted by one daughter who cut her hair short (which she has never done), and the other who sprayed the house for spiders (which we have never done) and had severe panic attacks (which she has never had). As I hugged them I told them how important they were to me- and how they were truly MY people.
During this past week I checked in with my mom over the phone. I talked to my son. I conducted the choir. I talked to best friends. I chatted with co-workers. My visiting teacher came over. I was publicly acknowledged. People expressed appreciation. I was warmly greeted by my students. I waved at neighbors. This is my world and MY people.-people who look me in the eye and acknowledge I not only exist, but KNOW ME and LOVE me in some fashion.
I know God knows me deeply and personally. He cares for me. He shows his love daily. I suppose God has those same longings to be KNOWN and LOVED as mentioned in the great intercessory prayer, "And this is life eternal to KNOW GOD". I know he wants me to LOVE him, to KNOW him, and to be one of HIS PEOPLE. I want to be part of HIS WORLD.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Trying to Fit In with the Cool Kids
This morning I was thinking about my recent efforts to fit in. As a knee jerk reaction from my reject letter from the TAB choir, I accepted an invitation to go on a week long Lake Powell houseboat vacation, basically with a bunch of strangers. I tried to approach a potentially uncomfortable situation with a positive attitude; after all, I am a River Rat and Lake Powell is THE BEST place for waterskiing.
Once there, I was surrounded by some of the coolest grandmas on the planet. Grandmas that wake surf and water-ski with a high degree of athleticism and panache. They look hot in their swimsuit, are full of fun and humor, whose motto when approaching the whole singles world is "just be." Combine that with their highly personable and attractive young adult children and you get one very desirable group of truly "cool kids."
My dad was cool- Colorado River water-skiing cool- and not just because he could do a jump start off the dock with a cigarette in his mouth, beer can in his hand, and Chicano hard hat on his head. He just had a way. Water-skiing and driving a ski boat still connect me with my dad. I loved making my daddy proud of his "hot-dog water-skier" baby girl. I wanted to be "cool" like him-like my brother. I wanted to be cool like these hot skiing grandmas. Like a teenager, I sometimes get a rush when hanging out with the "cool kids" or the highly desirable ones. I guess it makes me feel if I hang out with them long enough, maybe I'll belong. Maybe I'll be cool too.
Last week I loved being included in the early morning serious water-skiing group. Of course that meant I had to prove myself and deal with the accompanying performance anxiety. But I exhaled and HIT IT, relying on the Clincher gloves to get me up, cutting hard on the fancy competition ski, and smiling while enjoying Lake Powell glass.
It's interesting how one compliment can make a whole trip. In passing, one lady referred to me as a fellow athlete. Another lady said I was a phenomenal skier. All of a sudden, I felt like I fit in. I was cool, even if it was only for a mili-second. Coolness evaporates so quickly-just ask my kids.
I suppose "cool" isn't a requirement for the celestial kingdom. However, it is a social structure based on personal character. It's filled with people who think, act, and feel similarly about the Lord. People who are not only trying to be more like the Father, but who are trying to FIT IN with the great and noble ones. I want to belong and be one of the "cool kids" forever.
Once there, I was surrounded by some of the coolest grandmas on the planet. Grandmas that wake surf and water-ski with a high degree of athleticism and panache. They look hot in their swimsuit, are full of fun and humor, whose motto when approaching the whole singles world is "just be." Combine that with their highly personable and attractive young adult children and you get one very desirable group of truly "cool kids."
My dad was cool- Colorado River water-skiing cool- and not just because he could do a jump start off the dock with a cigarette in his mouth, beer can in his hand, and Chicano hard hat on his head. He just had a way. Water-skiing and driving a ski boat still connect me with my dad. I loved making my daddy proud of his "hot-dog water-skier" baby girl. I wanted to be "cool" like him-like my brother. I wanted to be cool like these hot skiing grandmas. Like a teenager, I sometimes get a rush when hanging out with the "cool kids" or the highly desirable ones. I guess it makes me feel if I hang out with them long enough, maybe I'll belong. Maybe I'll be cool too.
Last week I loved being included in the early morning serious water-skiing group. Of course that meant I had to prove myself and deal with the accompanying performance anxiety. But I exhaled and HIT IT, relying on the Clincher gloves to get me up, cutting hard on the fancy competition ski, and smiling while enjoying Lake Powell glass.
It's interesting how one compliment can make a whole trip. In passing, one lady referred to me as a fellow athlete. Another lady said I was a phenomenal skier. All of a sudden, I felt like I fit in. I was cool, even if it was only for a mili-second. Coolness evaporates so quickly-just ask my kids.
I suppose "cool" isn't a requirement for the celestial kingdom. However, it is a social structure based on personal character. It's filled with people who think, act, and feel similarly about the Lord. People who are not only trying to be more like the Father, but who are trying to FIT IN with the great and noble ones. I want to belong and be one of the "cool kids" forever.
Saturday, September 13, 2014
Indispensable Tsunami Wisdom
This morning I was thinking about the loss of one of my co-workers. Last week we camped, sang, talked, hiked, rafted, cooked, and helped students cope. Many would agree he was indispensable for our program. Yet, this week I show up for work and... he's gone-fired-swept away by the powers that be. During my brief time at my current workplace, I've seen the CEO, clinical directors, head psychiatrist, medical director, principal, teacher, laundry lady, head cook, company lawyer, line staff, 30+ year employees, my own boss, and therapists meet the same fate. At my last therapist meeting, all my previous work family was gone. Such a large part of my work satisfaction comes from the people I work with. They create my work environment and I like "how I feel" at work. If I didn't- I would quit. Last month I quit an early morning job for that express reason-I didn't like the way I felt and how I was treated. I'm sure I'm not even missed-work life goes on. Power shows me that even indispensable people are quite dispensable.
To deal with my loss, I sat at my computer to write a letter of recommendation for this therapist but got sidetracked with YouTube videos about the 2004 tsunami caught on camera. I watched all eight 10 minute segments and found myself crying with the survivors as they wailed and mourned the loss of loved ones swept away by powerful water. The survivor stories were so compelling, I showed up late for work. But somehow, it was just what I needed to face the day.
The last 2 segments were filled with insights-the survivor's take away from their horrific experience. Some dealt with survivor guilt and found peace in knowing they had done their best to help. Others felt lucky and explained there was not time to think about anybody but yourself and how it wasn't their time to go. One father contemplated his strong relationship he had built with his teenage daughter he'd lost. His wife explained how her husband felt like he was experiencing a tsunami everyday as they dealt with their own survivor's son subsequent addiction to pain medication. After mourning the loss of 5 people she loved, a young Indonesian woman explained it was not a punishment, but a test-to make her a better, stronger person day by day.
One couple that had their 5 year old child torn from their arms explained how the traumatic event changed them forever but their world hasn't changed. They still have to go to work, earn money to eat-survive. They coped with loss by helping other people in honor of their dead, appreciating the smaller things in life, and taking each day as it comes. After finding the body of their child, the mother explained, "One part of your life finishes and the rest of your life begins. Your life is over."
Life as we know it seems to end over and over again. The quality of my life is so influenced by the people in it-the people I care about and who care for me. It is like the tide and crashing surf. Especially if I consider my ever changing, shifting sandy landscape of the people in my life. I so appreciate the indispensable wisdom and perspective from these tsunami survivors. They are words to learn from and live by for little old dispensable me.
To deal with my loss, I sat at my computer to write a letter of recommendation for this therapist but got sidetracked with YouTube videos about the 2004 tsunami caught on camera. I watched all eight 10 minute segments and found myself crying with the survivors as they wailed and mourned the loss of loved ones swept away by powerful water. The survivor stories were so compelling, I showed up late for work. But somehow, it was just what I needed to face the day.
The last 2 segments were filled with insights-the survivor's take away from their horrific experience. Some dealt with survivor guilt and found peace in knowing they had done their best to help. Others felt lucky and explained there was not time to think about anybody but yourself and how it wasn't their time to go. One father contemplated his strong relationship he had built with his teenage daughter he'd lost. His wife explained how her husband felt like he was experiencing a tsunami everyday as they dealt with their own survivor's son subsequent addiction to pain medication. After mourning the loss of 5 people she loved, a young Indonesian woman explained it was not a punishment, but a test-to make her a better, stronger person day by day.
One couple that had their 5 year old child torn from their arms explained how the traumatic event changed them forever but their world hasn't changed. They still have to go to work, earn money to eat-survive. They coped with loss by helping other people in honor of their dead, appreciating the smaller things in life, and taking each day as it comes. After finding the body of their child, the mother explained, "One part of your life finishes and the rest of your life begins. Your life is over."
Life as we know it seems to end over and over again. The quality of my life is so influenced by the people in it-the people I care about and who care for me. It is like the tide and crashing surf. Especially if I consider my ever changing, shifting sandy landscape of the people in my life. I so appreciate the indispensable wisdom and perspective from these tsunami survivors. They are words to learn from and live by for little old dispensable me.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Pick Me Up
This morning I was thinking about my latest Moab camping trip. 2 weeks ago it was the hyperactive boys. This week it was the drama-creating girls. It was emotionally exhausting dealing with the histrionic behavior of one particular child. It's like the proverbial saying, "I've fallen and can't get up." But in this case it was " I'm going to fall, cry out, flail around and wave my arms until YOU help me get up-and when you ignore me or give me a consequence, I will intensify my efforts-a hundred fold." She is extremely intelligent, quite manipulative and will not stop until she gets what she wants. She physically clings to anyone who will give her attention. She constantly cries and complains how everyone "hates" her and doesn't want to be around her. Her peers are actually pretty tolerant and supportive-considering. When writing progress notes, the only word that came to mind to describe her behavior was "ridiculous". And yet if all behavior is an attempt to meet a need, I'm reminded how her extreme attention seeking behavior craves approval and love from both peers and staff wanting someone to care about her, or care for her...Just pick me up.
Reminds me how I was greeted by my glamorous Himalayan neighbor cat when unloading my camping gear at home. She cries out for attention and I am compelled to pick her up. She almost not a kitten anymore. She purrs so easily as I pet her though she really doesn't like to be held. She wants what she wants on her own terms. As I pet her I tell her how I love her but I can't feed her or let her in my house. I don't want her to depend on us for survival, especially when I believe her owner still cares for her. I haven't seen mother cat lately-she use to be the one craving attention. This little one seems a bit abandoned by everyone-at least she acts like it. I sometimes cheat and let my daughter give her a saucer of milk. I do love her and at times I even identify with her.
My own histrionic behavior caused me to lose sleep during our camp out. I was attention seeking and craved love, approval and connection. I felt like someone picked me up for a second, rubbed me behind the ears until I purred then gently set me down. It was just a little bit of kind attention-some very innocent well wishing. As I theoretically followed him back to his house I was met by the closed door of his lovely home. I was in such a rush to get out my own front door for my camping trip that I didn't have time to even see if this guy was married. So my mind played all sorts of tricks on me as I dealt with my little drama queen campers. Once I returned home and could do the necessary leg work I felt guilty for even wishing. However, I was filled with my own well-wishing for this sweet, strong couple who have dealt with their own challenges and valiantly raised their children.
As I think back on my emotional journey, I am surprised with how little it takes to do a 360 ° How one little kindness can literally change my life and fill me with resolve to the kind of woman deserving of such fine attention. A change in my circumstances is definitely motivating, but why should I have to wait for something to "happen" or fall from the sky to make necessary character changes. Why should I flail around on the ground expecting others to help me get up? Instead of thinking how "this" can change everything, how about changing everything without "this". What is "this" anyway. Perhaps it was a much needed "pick me up"-to change my heart continually.
Reminds me how I was greeted by my glamorous Himalayan neighbor cat when unloading my camping gear at home. She cries out for attention and I am compelled to pick her up. She almost not a kitten anymore. She purrs so easily as I pet her though she really doesn't like to be held. She wants what she wants on her own terms. As I pet her I tell her how I love her but I can't feed her or let her in my house. I don't want her to depend on us for survival, especially when I believe her owner still cares for her. I haven't seen mother cat lately-she use to be the one craving attention. This little one seems a bit abandoned by everyone-at least she acts like it. I sometimes cheat and let my daughter give her a saucer of milk. I do love her and at times I even identify with her.
My own histrionic behavior caused me to lose sleep during our camp out. I was attention seeking and craved love, approval and connection. I felt like someone picked me up for a second, rubbed me behind the ears until I purred then gently set me down. It was just a little bit of kind attention-some very innocent well wishing. As I theoretically followed him back to his house I was met by the closed door of his lovely home. I was in such a rush to get out my own front door for my camping trip that I didn't have time to even see if this guy was married. So my mind played all sorts of tricks on me as I dealt with my little drama queen campers. Once I returned home and could do the necessary leg work I felt guilty for even wishing. However, I was filled with my own well-wishing for this sweet, strong couple who have dealt with their own challenges and valiantly raised their children.
As I think back on my emotional journey, I am surprised with how little it takes to do a 360 ° How one little kindness can literally change my life and fill me with resolve to the kind of woman deserving of such fine attention. A change in my circumstances is definitely motivating, but why should I have to wait for something to "happen" or fall from the sky to make necessary character changes. Why should I flail around on the ground expecting others to help me get up? Instead of thinking how "this" can change everything, how about changing everything without "this". What is "this" anyway. Perhaps it was a much needed "pick me up"-to change my heart continually.
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