Getting Over the Hump

This was our first big outing together without her parents. We knew when we asked her if she wanted to spend her birthday with her uncle and Auntie at the zoo, that we had entered a new playing field. At the start of the day, we had a relationship that felt familiar, but it had never been tested for authentic closeness. And it seemed only natural that the first part of the day would be marked by her parents’ influence of well-schooled manners. She was tentative and polite and strategically monitored so that her excitement did not become too demanding.

But when she discovered she could feed the giraffes, for the first time all day her reaction brimmed with honest uncontained excitement. It was not hard to pay the extra fee and indulge her in a close encounter with her favorite animal. As its tongue sought the lettuce leaf her little hand offered, I saw her wiggle when its textured wetness left a trail around her wrist. It was the kind of moment I was sure I should have captured on camera for her parents. But every part of me wanted to be fully present with her as she said YES to an experience she would never forget.

Of course, it ended too quickly, and with typical youthful instincts she exuberantly spun around and said, “I want to do it again.” Not an experienced parent, I had no way of predicting that the second encounter would diminish the first. So, I paid the fee for a second time and put her back in queue for another smear of giraffe slobber. Better prepared for what she would experience, she giggled as she moved the lettuce down the length of the fence, trying to maximize her time with a creature that utterly fascinated her. Even with her modified strategy, the encounter ended too soon, and her furrowed brow was the first tell that she was seeking something more.

“How was that?” I asked with an excitement that sought to match hers. Her voice hit a volume and animation that felt liberated for the first time. Her reserved stroll was also swapped out for a joyful skip alongside us. My heart fluttered, as I gained access to her whole personality and finally broke through the surface of social courtesy. Her eyes danced across the horizon, expectant and hopeful for more of these interactive animal experiences.

Just a short distance ahead of us we saw a large dusty corral ringed with a particularly lengthy line of kids.  “I wonder what that is!” With her arm thrust forward like a well-trained hunting dog, her head swung around to search our faces and see if we might allow her another encounter.

“Well, what is it, sweetie?” 

“I can’t tell yet. But I’m sure I will like it. Look how many people are waiting.”  And she dashed forward, adding herself as the newest member of the formed line.

With the kind of logic only an adult mind can produce, I said, “Yes, it does look to be a long wait. Before you get in line, don’t you want to make sure you will really like the activity?”   

I regretted how my words dulled the twinkle in her eyes. Refusing to accept defeat, she craned her neck and attempted to add inches to her height by shifting her weight to her toes. Then suddenly, she squatted and looked through the negative space created by adult hips and knees.

“Oh, my goodness, I think they are camels.” 

Just as she finished her statement, I saw the u-shaped profile of a camel neck enter my line of sight. Within seconds, I noticed a hand holding the end of a harness and guiding the lumbering gait of this durable desert creature.

“I think they are camel rides, sweetie. Do you want to ride the camel?” 

Without any pause, she said, “Yes, yes, yes, please.” 

“Ok. Let’s get you in line. Do you want to go alone, or with me?”

“Alone.”  Again, her speedy and resolute answers were easy to take our cues from.

As the line ebbed and flowed, we drew closer to the platform where the riders would mount the unusually shaped animal. After watching the procedure, she gently tapped my thigh and said, “Maybe we should go together.” 

Aware that her tone had become wary, I met it with an enthusiasm that told her I was excited to join her in the experience. I fumbled with my purse to get the extra cash out as the line advanced us to just second in line.

“I don’t know…maybe I don’t want to do this.”

“Why not, sweetie? What’s going on?”

I looked down and noticed a subtle wince as she watched a child similar in size being lowered onto the camel by the attendant when the reach of his leg came up short in successfully mounting it on his own. The camel’s back was draped in a sun faded and dusty blanket and capped with a padded structure that offered three primitive handles that nestled between its humps.

As the camel started its pace, I watched my niece’s eyes darken when she saw how much the riders’ bodies shifted with each step.  I’m not going to lie, there was a certain slop in the saddle fitting that created understandable concern. Now aware of the fact that we would not be harnessed in and it would be our grip alone that kept us atop the awkwardly shaped back, she grew increasingly concerned.

As the attendant approached us for our entrance fee, I was keenly aware my niece was experiencing trepidation, and I struggled to find the appropriate response. I encouraged the people behind us to go ahead, so I could give her a little more time to watch and decide. My heart ached as I watched her knees visibly quake and her eyes longingly look upon the opportunity awaiting us. I could feel every bit of her internal struggle. She wanted the experience as much as she feared it.

“I will be right there with you. I can even hold onto you from behind if that would feel better.” 

“Ok…” Her tone was laced with uncertainty and anxiety.

I paid the attendant and started to express my excitement and encouragement in equal measure. As soon as the attendant started to make change, my niece once again shook from her core down to her knees and said, “No, no, no, I don’t think I can.” 

Attuned to the situation, the attendant kindly handed my money back to me with no words exchanged. Wanting to cajole, I once again invited the people behind us to go ahead. I squatted down so I could meet her eyes directly and bridged the space between us by hooking my arm around her trembling torso.

“Talk to me. What is your head saying to you right now?”  

“I’m going to fall off.” 

“Ok. I can see how scary that would feel. But have you seen anyone fall? We’ve been in this line a long time now, and we have watched a lot of people ride the camel and happily move on to the next fun thing, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“If your head hadn’t said that to you, does the idea of riding the camel still seem like a fun thing you want to do?

“Well, yes!” she said with a slight edge of irritation, giving me a glimpse into her potential adolescent future. Her eyes fought to match the conviction of her voice and drifted off to watch the next group of folks who gleefully took our place.

“Ok, well, if you know you still want to ride the camel and we have seen with our own eyes that no one has fallen off, don’t you think we should do the thing you want to do and ignore the story your head is telling you?”     

With her eyes now cast downward, and her voice barely audible, she shrugged and said, “I guess so.”

I knew my response would prove pivotal here and I loathed the idea of becoming coercive. I tried to hit the sweet spot between sensitive and encouraging. “I think you will enjoy this and maybe even more so because you pushed past your fear and proved to yourself you can do it. But you get to decide. What do you think…should we do this together?”

With a nod that seemed to gain momentum, she said, “Yes…I think so.”

“Cool! I’m proud of you. It’s good to learn you can feel scared of something and still choose to do it.”  I rubbed her back and placed a hand on her shoulder as I stepped towards the attendant and once again offered her our ticket price. The attendant looked down at my niece and back at me and once again, without words, handed the money back to me. I turned to face my niece and knew her fear was getting the upper hand.

With a gentle tone, I once again knelt to meet her eyes and said, “This should not be something that ruins your birthday, sweetie.”  If this feels bigger than you can do today, we just move on.”

With quiet resignation, she nodded, and we walked down the ramp and past all the eager faces still awaiting their turn, as her disappointment wound its way between us.

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This story is poignant to me for a couple of reasons. First, because I am not sure I got that one right. I knew I handled her feelings in a tender way. But I often wonder if my sensitivity to her fear delivered the wrong message about what to do with it. I often wonder how my sister would have parented through that moment.

The other reason that moment lingers with me is because even as an adult, I have felt the same way and too many times have made the same choice.  The truth is I have a well-honed habit of bowing to my fear and walking away from the things I have most wanted to do. And it is uncanny how willing I am to cheer others towards their own personal triumph while remaining incapable of doing it for myself.

This intersection of desire and doubt is the precise place where we feel into the truth that we are spiritual beings having human experiences. It is here where we intimately know the tension between our ego’s well intended efforts to keep us feeling safe and our soul’s desire for us to expand and evolve.

It has been this inner tension that has defined the last three years of my life. When my husband and I closed our business, I experienced tremendous grief and a profound crisis of identity. I had a niggling feeling that my soul was both poised to integrate all that I had learned as a business owner and prepared to bring an expanded version of myself into the world. But the sense of loss was so profound that my ego concluded I would never allow myself to feel that way again. And I was steadfast in protecting my emotional well-being by keeping myself stuck at the exact same intersection of desire and doubt that my young niece experienced.

After we closed our art gallery and custom frame studio, Ken firmly walked into his best life. He knew he wanted to fill his days making art. And he knew his life would be more balanced when he made more time for friends and service. He found an art studio big enough for him to create both art and community and he admirably walked lockstep with his deepest inner knowing. His only remaining wish was to live somewhere warmer and closer to his family, which he hoped to do when his studio lease expired in three years.

Meanwhile, I cried and raged about what felt like a complete annihilation of ME. I was self-compassionate enough to take advantage of the time available to explore interests and get to know myself better. But our culture’s incessant focus on employment-based identity made any gains in personal knowledge feel fleeting when every social interaction reminded me that I still played no gainfully employed role in the larger world. The truth of the matter is this. The last 36 months was necessary…and I learned a lot; but not without a cost.

Knowing Ken’s desire to relocate, and the time frame in which it would likely occur, I was convinced I would ultimately be leaving the only place I had ever considered home, and all the friendships that made it feel that way. With designs on protecting me from experiencing any greater sense of loss, my ego convinced me to spend the next three years doing personally insignificant things. I had no idea I had begun a soul fight.

I enthusiastically told people “I was excited to ‘just have a job’ where I didn’t have to feel responsible for everything!”  But when work environments insisted on rule keeping rather than talent sharing, I felt personally diminished and left. I joined writers’ groups thinking sharing an enjoyable hobby with others would be a terrific way for me to develop a different kind of social connection. But when members found “creative” ways of undermining my writing rather than support it, I once again took leave. I tried to stay connected to the art world and repeatedly found closed doors.

In truth, I have been spiraling like a tetherball around the discontent my ego manufactured and the fear my soul has been asking me to overcome. In my mind, I had developed a plan that protected me so I could join my husband in the next step that would make him happy. AND, I would have pointed at this strategy and called it a generous expression of my LOVE. But by willingly resigning myself to the sidecar of Ken’s life, I had effectively abandoned my own. And I learned a far more painful lesson in the process.

Blocked energy is destructive energy. My decision to avoid difficult emotions simultaneously blunted the good ones. My consistent choice to deny my desires, deadened my ability to feel desire for anything. When Ken and I found ourselves in an uncharacteristic cycle of fighting, I learned the hard truth of what happens when we dim our own light.

Having recently developed nocturnal panic attacks and unprecedented anxiety; Ken hit a breaking point. With a grief constricted throat and unrestrained tears, my husband sat across from me utterly dejected choking on his words, “Do you have any idea how terrible I feel that my choice to retire has caused you so much unhappiness? Honestly, it is unbearable to watch you struggle. And for months now, I have no idea which would be better… to leave you or to end my life. My husband is not at all prone to drama, this was real. And I was devastated that my well laid plan got us here.

Love your neighbor as yourself. We have all heard this simple guidance, and it houses an assumption that the challenging part is loving our neighbor. But absent of a healthy self-regard, what are we truly offering? Ken’s frustration named it. In abandoning myself, I abandoned him and the world at large.

The world needs all of us. ALL of us and all of US. For as long as I can remember, I have always been drawn to conversations and storytelling. This is going to sound silly, but I remember watching Montel Williams as a child and wanting to someday be capable of eliciting these kinds of moments of profound truth telling and emotional catharsis. I wanted to inspire people to come out of hiding and live lives they would be proud of. YOU.logy is just one small facet of what my soul has been pleading for me to walk towards and usher into the world. And the truth is, right now, I am the very person my soul is desperate to help.

For a long time, I have told people I am not great with endings. The truth is I am not sure it is the endings that are so difficult. After all, endings hold the stories of our lived experience. They include our triumphs and challenges. They reflect our passion and concrete proof that what we do matters. Endings are just the precursor to the thing I actually struggle with. New beginnings hold discomfort because there are no guarantees and because that is where we meet our ego’s earnest effort to keep us small.

As Ken and I mend our wounded hearts, we are learning daily to choose our own happiness and to share it generously with each other. I have recently made the decision to enroll in a training program that is designed to help me find my way through my own messy, self-sabotaging transition period.

Although this program could ultimately lead towards certification in helping others; I chose this program because the greatest amount of time will be spent helping me find me. I am hopeful this simple step will move me closer to my soul’s desire, and I will someday be able to use my own lived experience to help others.

As things unfold, I hope to offer one on one sessions with people who, like me, have lost touch or blocked their own soul’s mission and need help reconnecting. I also hope to offer small group workshops designed to provide the kind of attentive listening and personal prospecting that each of us need as we travel through all of life’s transitions.

I know this experience is not unique to me.  I suspect it is universal. By sharing about it, I can only hope others rediscover some lost part of themselves within it.