Tag: women helping women

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What people watching teaches you

Sitting in the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport, a bustling hub of international travel, recently, I carved out moments to engage in what may be one of my favorite activities. People watching. Favorite not because I’m sizing up who might attack me, rob me, or otherwise cause a personal affront, with sinister motives, nor because I’m a weirdo. I love people watching because people are endlessly fascinating.

Throughout my kids lives, we frequently flew to Orlando to visit family. Once or twice a year I’d board when they were toddlers, holding their tiny hands for dear life. I had the notion that perhaps something sinister was happening and if prone to wander, they’d quickly be taken. Gone in a blink to one of dozens of destinations on the overhead screens. When my son spent a quarter abroad in college, I wanted to, but did not, refrain from warning him not to get taken. I don’t have the skills of Liam Neeson in the movie of the same name. A movie which, though I never watched it, terrified me as a mother nonetheless.

Looking up and around

In the last decade, I’ve travelled regularly for work and pleasure and found myself killing time waiting for connecting flight. Within the terminal, you glimpse a microcosm of American culture. It’s as though we’ve been tossed in a blender and swirled around. Left a little dazed and figuring out what’s happening next. So, to a degree, 90% of us are on an equal playing field. But spend any time truly seeing people and you realize you’re not.

There’s the young mother, traveling alone with an infant and toddler. Perhaps always alone. On her way to where though? A spouse, a parent, a friend, vacation? Or the gaggle of teens who were not only in the terminal but now also on your plane headed to a volleyball tournament (from what I’ve gleaned). Mothers in-tow. Or service members headed to or returning from providing an unquantifiable service to each of us. The young family with at least four kids trailing behind, on vacation. The story I tell is it’s one they’ve saved for years to take.

Looking around and … judging?

People watching may also be tinted with people stalking. To reiterate, no, I’m not a weirdo. But the people who start at your home airport and continue through all your connections. They’re like an old friend, the quick nod of acknowledgment as you pass. Why are they on the plane today? Curiosity sometimes causes me to ask, but not always. I’ll also let my mind wander to the possibilities.

I notice that people watching brings out an urge to not only have curiosity, but also judgement. As in, how can that young family of 6 afford an expensive vacation? Are they going into debt? And I don’t like it. So much so that I diligently work to redirect when I notice judgement rising inside me. Look for the positive side…remarkable the family could take vacation. But I think about the judgement because our judgement of other people is usually an indication of how we judge ourselves.

Judging but looking in

Maybe, people watching and our inner monologue about our observations is a mirror, a reflection to our own thoughts about ourselves? What would be different if you believed that was true? I believe it shows me fears, insecurities, and the narrative of my inner judge. Sit with that thought again. Our observations of others are a mirror of ourselves.

Maybe my efforts to be kind to strangers in my thoughts and deeds are an indication I’m being kinder to myself. That’s not always been the case. I’ve spoken to myself far more harshly than I would to any other person, tenfold. The disdain I’ve shown for clumsiness, body image, mistakes, failures, insecurities, fears, has been unrelenting. Not written to shock anyone, written because it’s true and for a fact I know I’m not alone. But that’s shifting noticeably, as have my observations while people watching.

Looking in and truly seeing

Could you get curious? Use your observations, judgements of others, as a reflection (a projection), of what you observe and judge in yourself? Those judgements we place on others are a projection, so listen carefully to your mental narrative. Unless and until we can truly see ourselves, we will struggle to live our authentic lives. And if we’re a hot mess? Then we can be a hot mess we embrace and love, not judge. Be curious, see yourself and see others. You might find you love what’s right in front of you. Be brave. Lisa

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What happens when you open your eyes

Unraveled, that’s what I thought as I glanced down at the hem of my shirt. For an unknown reason, my new shirt’s hem had decided to let go, unraveling and leaving string hanging for me to see as evidence. And I thought about how that fray may have been present when I bought the shirt, but I hadn’t noticed. What happened when I opened my eyes was that not only was it frayed, any attempt to break the string without scissors resulted in rapid unraveling. Leaving a raw hem for me to contemplate…determining if I liked the shirt enough to fix it. Because that’s how I roll.

Unraveling in life

The journey from A to Z is rarely, if ever, straight and with certainty I’m sure I’ve taken the most complex path. But over the last four or so years, the pace at which life clicks into place has been rapid, like the unraveling of a hem. In the moment, it doesn’t seem that fast because of the labor pains it takes to get there, but there’s no other way to describe it. When I opened my eyes to what was happening around me, I couldn’t help but see.

Once you see though, you can’t unsee. And it unravels faster than you imagined. The realization that I’d made choice, gone down a path personally that I believed I needed to walk (and honestly, I may have needed those steps) led me to a stalemate was unexpected. And at the same time, the awareness I’d gained about my experience was the result of having my eyes opened. Resulting from clarity around the fuzziness I’d had for years. But as we’re becoming clear, there’s no guarantee those on the journey with us are doing the same. Or better yet, no guarantee that their clarity is the same as yours.

Making daring choices

It seems to me that when your eyes are opened – to whatever the circumstance is in your life that you’d turned a blind eye to – you can’t unwind it. In those moments, you might find that what you believed to be true was only in your mind. And that’s heartbreaking. But if you remain engaged in what you’re noticing, you might find heartbreak is a catalyst.

When you open your eyes, you might not find what you thought would be there. In those moments, you make decisions. Choose to be daring or choose to retreat. I chose daring. And while we’d like to think that we’ll emerge from daring choices with newfound energy and zeal, that’s not always true. You might emerge with your heart in tatters, or your system of beliefs on shaky ground.

Daring to be in the wilderness

And you know what? That’s ok. It is. When you make daring decisions in your life and the result is time in the wilderness, that’s ok. You know who else spent time in the wilderness? Jesus. It could be that the wilderness is where you needed to go to find yourself. To find your own power. To ask yourself what is true…for you. I know that when I’m in the wilderness, I’m never alone. Because I’m there with myself, and I know Jesus is alongside me.

Those daring choices bring you back from the wilderness too. The wrestling you did while you were out there, that only strengthens you. It sparks your inner fire to continue exploring what is true for you. Your eyes are opened in the wilderness.   You find your true self, free from expectations others layer on you. You find freedom.

And you find that you can breathe. Fully in and fully out, without wondering when the other shoe will drop. It already has. I know it had for me. And now, my eyes are opened, and the unravelling, what I thought would end, it hasn’t. There’s so much more I see which I accepted as true and now I find myself wondering why. So it goes when you’re being daring. You lose parts of yourself but find the ones you were always supposed to have.

Where are you finding your eyes opening? Is it leading you to the wilderness? Hey, that’s ok, necessary maybe. But this is a journey we’re taking together. I’m brave, you’re brave – stronger together. Lisa

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Why choose creativity over comparison?

My children’s grandmother is an artist. I mean, an actual artist, as in, makes a living selling her paintings. Naturally when my children were young, I imagined they would be protégés or born with her innate talent to create. As early as it seemed appropriate, we had crayons and colored, I engineered art projects for nearly every birthday party, I wanted to spark the bug within them to create.

Hanging in my guest bathroom for many years was a painting by my older son, Carson. It was precious and, although it no longer graces my walls, I have it, as I always will, because I am a mother. He recently painted an “installation” for his apartment that I love, and it delights me that the creative bug lives on. Is my younger son creative? Yes? It’s demonstrated through his passion for plants, their growth, structure and patterns. I will go with that as his creative streak.

But if I compared them to their grandmother…are they artists?

What is creative?

One of the challenges internally with creativity is its subjective nature. Not black and white, subject to the eye of the beholder. What makes it ‘good’ or ‘bad’ is up for debate. While the kids’ grandmother is an artist, is it possible that’s a construct? She paints (beautifully), it appeals to an audience, it’s recognizable, and people want to pay money for it, therefore, we call her an artist.

But what about me? Earlier today, I decided to create a picture for a blank wall in my powder bath and with inspiration from Henri Matisse, a flower-esque canvas was born. Does that make me an artist? I write this blog every week in addition to innumerable other posts and documents, does that make me a writer?

Why comparison enters the picture

Because we desire to add definition to our activities, we compare to others. I may look at artists and evaluate my creation compared to theirs. Is it as good? Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Am I an artist? The same comparison exists for writing, or any other creative endeavor.

And the unfortunate result is that we subconsciously stifle ourselves. Because we determine that whatever it is that we’re doing is ‘less than’ what someone else has created. Why do we have this insatiable desire to put a label on it at all? When we do, we’re missing the point. Creativity is subjective. It’s not up to you to determine if I am an artist, or a writer, that’s up to me. Determining if you’re an artist is up to you and you alone.

Which is easier said than done.

Wholehearted living lets go of comparison

Truthfully, I’d like to say I don’t compare myself to anyone. That I believe I’m an artist and a writer. That would be a lie. In real life, I hesitate to use those labels. I compare my ‘art,’ my ideas, my vision (because creativity is far more than visual arts) to others to determine the good/bad factor. The Wholehearted Living Guidepost capturing my attention this month is choosing creativity over comparison.

Comparison needs to stop. Do you know one of the reasons I’ve continued to exercise my creativity? Because it brings me joy. I love writing. I love painting, or creating, or dreaming up creative solutions, or schemes or ideas. When we compare, we look at another person’s exterior, at their finished product, and think we’re seeing the entire picture.

We only have the full picture of ourselves

We’re not seeing the whole picture. Each person projects the part of themselves they want others to see. Including us. We show the world around us what we want them to see. Maybe it’s only the best pieces of art, or pictures, or selfies, or writing, or we filter our ideas, our suggestions, our creativity. We run it through our internal comparison meter first to determine if it’s good enough for others to see.

That’s what they’re doing to. Wholehearted living requires us to stop comparison. Let the creativity flow. Encourage it in yourself and others. Know that we may be on this journey together, and our paths may be crossing, but our footsteps are not the same. We need every single one. Together, we complete the picture. You’re creative, you’re an artist, you’re brave, my friend. Sending you love. Lisa

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Why we need to question the truth

As infants, we are nothing if not great observers. Helpless, we soak up the words, emotions, actions of our caregivers. Our decision-making defaults to what we’ve been handed through our genes, through Epigenetics, and childhood experiences. Since our parents are ‘without fault’ we trust and rarely question the ‘truth.’ But what if that truth is tainted?

Because it is.

Irrespective of who your parents are, or the parent you are to your children, the ‘truth’ we are taught and pass down is tainted. It’s inherited, and perhaps refined through the generations, but it’s based on a history of beliefs and how we’ve experienced life. We’re taught, and teach, what we’ve been programmed to believe, which can be positive or maybe not. Think for a minute about the first time you chose a political party. Republic, Democrat, Libertarian…lots of options these days. And for a barely legal adult of 18, whose brain is not yet fully formed, let’s be honest, the simplest option was to go with what Mom and Dad chose.

Which works, maybe forever, or maybe not. The point is not your political party, it’s the immense influence how we were raised has on our decision making, our evaluation of good and bad.

Where our ‘truth’ come from

I was primarily raised in Yosemite National Park. This is not a headline to anyone who has read my blog. Visitation was seasonal, with the majority of people flooding into the park in the spring, summer and early fall. Winter was crickets. Thus, the workforce fluctuated similarly, with around 800 additional employees, at that time mainly college students, arriving for the summer. As children, those of us living in the park saw those people, visitors and employees, and didn’t think much about them other than ‘will they buy lemonade from the stand I set up in my yard?’

While there wasn’t tremendous diversity in the ranks of those living in the park year-round, nonetheless, I don’t know that I could even detail it for you. Because, in my recollection, it was never a topic. Similarly, when my left foot was amputated at 4 while living in the park, it was not a topic. I started school that fall with the same friends I’d played with since moving to Yosemite and have zero recollection of it ever being an issue. Irrespective of race, disability, or sexual identity, honestly, my memory of that place and those days did not include conversations, about race, disability or sexual identity in a) my home from my parents, or b) in the community.

Was I naïve to it? Maybe. But that sense of inclusion carried forward into adulthood.

So, when I see people in any of those or other marginalized communities being treated differently because of a factor they can not change, I don’t understand. Or, I used to not understand. But as I’ve studied and come to understand that not all, in fact many people do not share my lens, my gratitude for a childhood experience that did not include discrimination swells. Was it there? Again, maybe, but not from my lens.

As I learn more from people different than me about their life experience – which is essential – my heart breaks a little more each time. I see the privilege automatically bestowed on me as a straight, white, woman. Factors that would never enter my mind as prevalent for many. I am also fortunate that the ‘programming’ I received from my parents was not exclusionary.

We must question the ‘truth’

But I have found, as you may have, myself in groups that are exclusionary. Subtly at first until I noticed it, and then it smacked me in the face, and I couldn’t unsee it. When you know that people you love would not be allowed to fully participate, the place you’ve chosen is no longer your place. This is when you must take a stand and question what has been said to be ‘true’, which is not easy. Because within the group you have belonging. And though you may only appear to have adopted their belief system, your belonging is dependent on it. So, when you begin to question, to wonder out loud if beliefs could be different, you risk your belonging.

Which none of us want to do.

But we must. If we find ourselves within a group or system that does not love, accept and celebrate all people, our belonging is not worth it. And I will tell you friends, that sucks. I won’t pretend it doesn’t. But our integrity is worth it. Belonging based on standing outside ourselves is nothing but hustling for our worth. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather standalone than hustle. If this is your journey, hang in there. It’s not easy, I know it’s not easy, but we must. We are brave. We have each other. Sending you love.

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Accepting help brings us closer

Miracle of helpingDeep breaths. Last words I heard the anesthesiologist say to me shortly before I drifted off to la-la land for surgery. Anesthesia is the closest thing to time travel we have these days. One minute you’re in an operating room and the next? You hear your name through a fog, slowly clearer and clearer, until you’re wide awake and looking at the aftermath. I’ve had a few surgeries throughout my life and remember the fading off and waking up from each. Something cemented in my mind.

You listen to your discharge instructions, yeah, yeah, got it. The implication of “non-weight bearing,” only sunk in after I got home and realized the full scope. Particularly in light of the fact I can’t balance on my other leg. I had the uncomfortable feeling of being helpless. Not completely, but most definitely dependent on others. There’s only so much you can do when you’re told to not have your foot unelevated for more than five minutes at a time. Five minutes? Two of those today were spent brushing my teeth! Three more isn’t enough to do much of anything.

So, I have to ask for help. There’s something that happens when we ask for and receive help, for us and the other person. It’s disarming, neutralizing. Especially when the help is needed for physical assistance. Whatever baggage might exist between you and the other rapidly fades as you work together towards a common goal. If you had a conflict, it fades in favor of peaceful co-existence.

But why? If we can erase, or at least diminish, conflict with another person when they are helping us or visa-versa, why won’t it come sooner?

I don’t suppose to have the magical answer, but there’s a common interest, a shared humanity, when you’re in the situation to help someone. Particularly if you both lean in. Being in a position of needing help is a vulnerable place, one where the mere act of asking itself is courage. And when you’re meeting another person’s need for help when they’re in that vulnerable place, you see them differently.

You’ve moved in.

That’s when we see people. In the moments of vulnerability. No masks, no pretense. Raw. Open. Unguarded.

Which may not be what we normally see. We’ve been programmed to be tough, to handle our own challenges. So, when we can’t, it might be a different side of us than people are used to. It’s your authentic self showing up. But those can be the best moments. With someone you trust, sharing an experience.

What if we could recreate the feelings that arise when we’re helping or being helped in everyday life? If we could see people as their true self? Unmasked and leaning in. We’d find ourselves in deeper relationships and healing hurts that keep us apart. That’s where we’d find a miracle. One worth seeking in this journey of life we’re navigating through. Day by day. Moving in to closer relationship. You may not need the help I do right now, but please, let your authentic self be seen. It’s worth the risk. You can do it, your brave my friend, and we’re doing it together.