Tag: relationships

The Onset of Reality

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“I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.” – e.e. cummings

Recently my kids and I were at my dad’s former church for an Easter event. On the way out, Miss O asked to see my dad’s stone in the columbarium. It’s in a beautiful nook by a babbling little brook surrounded by trees.

Miss O and I like patterns. So we looked at all the stones and saw the ones, like my dad’s, that are offset because their spouse/partner will be added when they die. And then the ones where the name is in the middle because they are by themselves.

Miss O wanted to know about the dates on my dad’s stone. I pointed out his birth date and then she looked at the date of his death and said, “Because everyone comes to their death date.”

Right!

[As aside, this reminds me of one of my dad’s jokes: “There’s always death and taxes; however, death doesn’t get worse every year.”]

She made that death date observation without any gravity or sadness. My kids can envision monsters and thieves but death doesn’t hold any weight for them.

At four-years-old and eight-years-old, they seem to attend to whatever is at hand with very little worry about the future. Somewhere between four and fifty-four, “reality” hits.

Which reminded me that a few weeks ago at bedtime, Miss O told me that she and her friend have been using recess to talk about “big topics.” I couldn’t wait to hear about these so I snuggled in next to her and asked, “Like what?”

She replied, “Puberty and reality. Puberty was my friend’s topic and I brought up reality. I can’t believe it starts in three years.”

I asked “What starts in three years?”

She replied, “Reality. You know. Middle school.”

I’m laughing, but perhaps that’s when it does start. The planning and preparing, setting the expectations for what life should be.

Thank goodness there’s death as an antidote. For me, being periodically reminded that “everyone comes to their death date” is helpful.  Not knowing when that will be prompts me to lay down my plans and to live.

(featured photo is mine)

Speaking of great reasons to write down our stories before we meet our death date, Vicki and I talk with author, publisher, podcaster, and former radio producer, Rick Kaempfer on our podcast, Episode 62: The Loop Files with Rick Kaempfer. He tells some incredible stories about the most outrageous radio station ever. And does an amazing job at poignantly describing one of the reasons we write.

Search (and subscribe!) for Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon, Spotify or Pocket Casts. Or click through to the link above to see the video excerpts from that podcast, the link to listen in browser, plus all of Rick’s links.

The Art and Science of Making Friends

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“There’s not a word yet for old friends who’ve have just met.” – Jim Henson

This was originally published on 3/15/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.

This past Saturday night I was over having dinner at my friends’ Rachel and Karl’s house. As our kids happily played together, we talked about technology, philosophy, and their recent vacation to Mexico and I marveled at how much I enjoy their friendship. It started because their daughter and mine were in a preschool co-op class and we often worked in the classroom on the same days.

When I had kids at age 46 and again at 50, I essentially started a new phase of life that was out of sync with my friends. None of my friends from before I had kids have kids as young as mine. So I needed to expand my circle of friends if I wanted to have friends that were experiencing the same things as I was.

I found establishing friendships with people that have young children to be hard. First off, everyone has just expanded their family and is all hands-on-deck with supporting new life. Secondly, having young children doesn’t mean we have anything else in common. And thirdly, research shows that we typically have the most friends at age 25 when we are establishing our identity and from there, our friend networks get smaller, often with a focus on fewer but more in-depth friends.

A recent study revealed that only 50% of people report establishing a new friend in the last year.

[I’m going to insert a big aside here. I think this might be a much different number in the blogging community where we are “introduced” to new people regularly and form some of what I think are great blogging friendships, or as my friend Betsy calls them, Blog Buddies. The research I mention here was focused on the broader population.]

Listening to a Ten Percent Happier podcast with psychologist and professor at the University of Maryland, Dr. Marisa G. Franco who has recently written a book called Platonic, made me think about the parenting friendships I’ve established in the seven years since I’ve had kids. It’s taken some time but I’d say that I’ve established a handful of close ones.

Here are some of the things I’ve found helpful in creating new friendships interspersed with some of the wisdom from Dr. Franco.

Openness

You have to be vulnerable. This is a hard one for me because my biggest fear is to be seen as a needy person who can’t do it herself. So I’ve worked hard to open up to people who have earned my trust.

Attachment Style

Dr. Franco has found we have attachment styles that affect our ability to make friendships. There is a lot of room for interpretation in our relationships (e.g. is that person just busy or ghosting me?) and our past relationships can factor in on how we do that interpretation.

  • Securely attached people tend to not to take things as personally and to think people like them.
  • Anxiously attached people tend to cling or lose themselves because they assume they’ll be rejected.
  • Avoidantly attached people don’t want to give others the chance to reject them or use their vulnerability against them.

Dr. Franco says being aware of our styles can be really helpful so that we understand the filter we are using when interpreting new friendships.

This brings to mind a recent situation with a parenting friend. I had made overtures to do things again and again. She always said, “yes” but never made the effort herself. I tend to be the securely attached style but I started to wonder if I was the only one who valued the relationship when she offered up the comment, “Thanks for thinking of this. I have social anxiety and often forget to reach out.” Ah – awareness matters.

Continuity

What often falls off my radar is my existing friends. I confess to being not very good at planning things with my pre-parenting friends. Life feels busy and that falls into “me” time that is hard to set aside. So I’m always incredibly grateful when they reach out and suggest get togethers. I do my best to tell them I appreciate it!

On the morning after that lovely dinner with my parenting friends, Rachel and Karl, my best friend from when we were seven-years-old, Katie, came over to hang out with me and my kids. Friends, from all phases of life – what a blessing and well worth the effort.

(featured photo from Pexels)

Extending One’s Self For Love

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“I define love thus: The will to extend one’s self for the purpose of nurturing one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.” – Dr. M. Scott Peck

I was telling my dear friend, Katie, the story of traveling home from New Orleans with my kids a few weeks ago. Miss O and I checked out bags. Then Miss O pointed out to Mr. D the really cool way our bags were traveling down the conveyer belt.

Mr. D wanted to check his bag then too. “No, “ I insisted. “That costs $30.” Which is a stupid argument to make to a four-year-old. So we sat down on the floor or the airport to have a family meeting. When nothing I was saying was working, I finally said, “Mr. D, I’ll give you $5 to NOT put your bag on the conveyer belt.”

Deal!

And then he gave me the $5 back about two minutes later.

Katie responded that I was a nice parent. Which made me think. I’m not sure if I approach it this way because I was raised in the era of “behave well – we don’t care what you feel” so I’m doing the opposite. Or out of necessity because most of the time I’m outnumbered. In this case, I simply didn’t have the strength or number of hands necessary to carry my backpack and a screaming kid through the airport.

But I’d also say that parenting has changed me. Now I’m really interested in helping little people through their emotions. In my negotiations, the answer never changes – my kids still have to go to school, not check their bags, and respect bedtimes. But I’m happy to work through how they feel about it.

Like when after three years of having no problems at pre-school drop-off, Mr. D started balking at the door. There have been lots of personnel changes and that seems to be the root of the reluctance.

I tried just leaving. I tried making deals. I tried going to Starbucks to talk about it. I tried using little plastic people to act out why.

And then I landed on riding bikes to school. Miraculously, it worked. It made it so that he didn’t have any problem going to school and his entire day was better. Then I started playing with the how. Driving eight-year-old Miss O to school so she didn’t have to ride every day. Then running alongside Mr. D as he rode his training wheel bike.

I’ve adjusted the length and we’ve tried scootering instead of biking. Even a .4 mile scoot works.

Sure, I’m showing up at work sweaty and late from running alongside and then back to the car again. I needed more exercise anyway. And it works. It changes his whole day because we’ve figured out how to move the energy that was blocking him.

Dr. Peck’s definition of love at the top of this post resonates with me. There are so many ways that people extend themselves in love. Working through feelings happens to be mine for this phase of life, born out of necessity and time. It’s had extended benefits in the patience I have for other areas as well – work, friendship, and pet ownership.

Here’s to everyone doing the hard work of love in whatever way works for them.

Stories Matter

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“I began to realize how important it was to be an enthusiast in life. Embrace it with both arms, hug it, love it and above all become passionate about it. Lukewarm is no good. Hot is no good either. White hot and passionate is the only thing to be.” – Roald Dahl

This past Tuesday, eight-year-old, Miss O was working on a school project and announced “Volcanoes are boring.”

I harumphed thinking about all the beautiful, scenic, and climbable volcanoes in our vicinity. “I love volcanoes,” I said.

She shot back, “I bet you could make volcanoes interesting.”

So at bedtime that night, I told her and four-year-old Mr. D. about when I was 11-years-old and living in Spokane, Washington. We were driving home from church on a Sunday afternoon in May, 1980. We stopped to talk with a neighbor who told us that Mt. St. Helens had erupted. Mt. St. Helens was on the opposite side of the state from us. The eruption blew the top 1,300 feet and the north side of the mountain off. We nodded with interest and went about our day as usual thinking it had no bearing on us.

As we drove home from a playdate four hours later, the sunny May sky turned gun metal gray and ash started falling. We carefully drove home with our windshield wipers pushing the dusty pile off our windshield.

In Spokane where it snows usually from October through March, school is never canceled because of weather. But after Mt. St. Helens blew, they told us to stay indoors, and school was canceled for a week. Everyone tried to figure out what to do with Mt. St. Helens ash. We collected it to polish silverware. Others used it to make ceramics. My friend, Jiffy and I used it to build sand (ash?) castles. When we drove across the state on vacation that summer, we stopped on several occasions to watch impressive ash dust devils form in fields across the state.

Then I told my kids about how, in the year 2000, twenty years after it erupted it, I climbed Mt. St. Helens for the first time. It’s hard to get permits to climb in the summer. The park service limits traffic to help the flora to grow back. [And here I may have embellished a little side story imagining how excited the scientists were when they discovered the first flow to grow back after the eruption. “Look, look, the first tiny flower has come back to St. Helens!!”]

In order to bypass the permit lottery process my friend, Jill, and I climbed in the late spring when the traffic is low so it’s easy to get a permit. We climbed up 6,000 feet on a sunny April Saturday to look over the rim. Even though it wasn’t very high (any more) was a long one-day climb.

The view over the rim of Mt. St. Helens to the little pot-belly lava dome in the top center.

And the rim? Well, it was fascinating to look over the edge into gaping hole below with a little pot-belly lava dome in the middle. And then to have a sense of surreal shock that nothing was below us.

The rim of Mt. St. Helens 20 years after the top and half the mountain blew off.

For as exhilarating as it is to stand on a mountain top, it’s a little dizzying to stand on only half of one.

This bedtime story session was on Tuesday night. By Wednesday afternoon, Miss O was telling me facts about volcanoes. “Mom, did you know there are three types of volcanoes?”

I didn’t even try to hide my glee.

This theme shows up for me again and again. When we share our stories – it matters. Our authentic voice telling our experiences are more than just a bedtime story. It’s the passing on of energy, passion, and warmth.

(photos in this post are mine – the featured photo is my favorite volcano, Mt. Rainier)

And speaking of authentic stories, Vicki and I talk with writer and blogger, Cheryl Oreglia on our podcast today about her experience at the San Francisco Writer’s conference. She sells us the idea that not only are we the only one to tell our stories – we might be obligated to. It’s such a great episode. Please tune in by searching for (and subscribing to) Sharing the Heart of the Matter on Apple, Amazon, Spotify or Pocketcasts

Or click through to the show notes Episode 61: The Writers Conference with Cheryl Oreglia for the link to listen on Anchor on whatever device you are using.

Faith in Foxholes

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“In faith, there is enough light for those who want to believe and enough shadows to blind those who don’t.” – Blaise Pascal

We have a family story that has always fascinated me. When I was in my 20’s, my dad’s mom, Nana, told me the story of my dad’s first two years and how she prayed for his life.

Following his birth, my dad contracted dysentery at the hospital and was sickly for two years, eventually resulting in rickets.  All 13 bottle-fed babies born the same week as my father contracted dysentery because the machine for sterilizing the bottles was contaminated. My dad was the only baby to survive.

Finally, at the end of his second year, Nana was exhausted and worried. One day out in the back yard in the weak Seattle sun, trying to get my dad to soak up some Vitamin D, she made a bargain with God that if He would save him, my dad would be HIS for a life time.

My dad got better. And amazingly, he did go on to become a Presbyterian pastor. But not because of any overt influence from his parents who were not church-goers or in today’s parlance, even particularly spiritual. In fact, my grandmother didn’t tell my dad about her prayer until he was almost done with seminary.

I only heard the story because my grandmother told it to me. Whenever I brought it up with my dad, he’d always chuckle about it but he never seemed to give it much credence. Finally my mom added to my clarity about what she thought of the story when she said, “It was faith in a foxhole.”

She meant that my Nana only prayed because her back was up against the wall, not because she had any great faith. And for people who were incredibly dedicated to their faith as my dad was and my mom still is, I think my grandmother’s one-off belief seemed silly.

Mahatma Gandhi said about prayer, “Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is a daily admission of one’s weakness. It is better to have in prayer to have a heart without words than words without a heart.” And as someone who meditates daily, I agree that having a practice keeps the channel open and the sense of possibility alive.

But I also think that the Divine shows up whenever we bother to look. And the fact that some people look more often than others doesn’t make it less real or miraculous. God is in the foxholes and then it’s up to us to connect the dots when we get out. As the 12th century Jewish philosopher Maimonides said, “We are like someone in a very dark night over whom lightning flashes again and again.”

What about you – do you think faith in foxholes is real? Or is it only real if we consistently work at it?

(featured photo from Pexels)

My book about my journey to find what fueled my dad’s faith, spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith.

A Peak Behind the Lens

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“Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the impossible.” – Albert Einstein

When I trekked to Everest base camp in 2001, we flew a fixed wing aircraft from Kathmandu to a dusty hilltop in the Himalayas. Then a helicopter swooped in and flew us to Lukla at about 10,000 feet of elevation. And then we trekked about 30 miles to base camp from there.

Base camp, which sits at an elevation of about 17,600 feet, was a small city with each team having a dozen or more tents around a central dining tent and communications tent.

A small section of base camp from my photos taken in 2001.

I recently watched two Everest films. The Man Who Skied Down Everest recommended by Dr. Gerald Stein. It’s a Canadian documentary filmed in 1970 and won the Academy Award for Best Documentary in 1975. Six sherpa were killed during the expedition in a collapse of the Khumbu icefall.

The second was Everest recommended by Vicki Atkinson.  It was a Hollywood film production released in 2015 about the 1996 Everest blizzard that killed eight people.

In the 1975 film, it took a team of 800 people to support getting the supplies the expedition needed to the mountain. But there were very few other climbers on the mountain.

In the Everest film, they got to the mountain much like I did and there were so many more climbers. Teams tried to organize the summit attempts so that climbers weren’t slowed down and freezing while waiting for their turn at choke points like the Hillary Step. In that film, they attributed the change in the number of climbers to Rob Hall, the incredibly infusive and strong guide from New Zealand who died in the storm, being willing to guide amateur climbers up Everest.

In a lot of climbing circles, it’s believed the trend actually started when Dick Bass (who owned Alta ski resort in Utah) and Frank Wells (who was President of Disney) dreamed up the project to climb the tallest peak on each continent, The Seven Summits. Dick and Frank then they hired people like my friend, Phil, to guide them up the mountains.

Regardless, there is no doubt there are challenges climbing Everest today that come from overcrowding and general human behavior like selfishness, ego, and disregard for nature. It’s not hard to imagine the Everest challenges as a fitting allegory about our world overall.

Thankfully, there are also heroes in the story.

When Beck Weathers needed to be helped down the mountain, filmmaker David Breashears and climber Ed Viesturs tied him in between them and basically walked him down as far as they could. David and Ed were up there along filming an IMAX film with Jamling Norgay, the son of the Tenzing Norgay. Tenzing was the Sherpa that successfully achieved the first ascent of Everest with Edmund Hillary.

I am in awe of the filmmakers who capture this incredible climbing footage. In an interview, I heard David Breashears describe how he practiced loading the IMAX film in a special cold room. He had to do it without gloves on because a speck on that film would look enormous on an IMAX screen. Each roll of film only captured 90 seconds of footage.

Filmmakers like David Breashears and Jimmy Chin (Free Solo and Meru), do all the work to film it, manage the extra weight, and execute their creative artistry while they are also doing the hard work of climbing. When they do it well, they make it easy to forget that they are climbing too.

In 1996, when the blizzard hit, the IMAX team was at base camp. They’d seen the crowds and had decided to delay their summit bid. When they heard that people were in trouble and dying, David Breashears told rescuers they could take any of the IMAX team supplies like oxygen tanks, batteries, and food stashed on the upper mountain they needed.

After David and his team offered their supplies and helped evacuate injured climbers, they still managed to summit Everest a couple weeks later and complete their project, albeit with very heavy hearts. The resulting movie Everest (same title as the film above but released in 1998) is the highest-grossing IMAX film.

I was writing this post about the differences on Everest from these two movies when I learned that mountain-climber Lou Whittaker died at age 95. So I switched to writing the post, The Lingering Effects of One Good Person. In the process, I learned that David Breashears also died in March of natural causes. He was 68-years-old. In recent years, David Breashears started Glacier Works, a non-profit highlighting changes to Himalayan glaciers.

(featured photo is mine of Everest, the dark peak in the back)

The Lens We Look Through

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“Gotta move different when you want different.” – unknown

The other day on a weekend I was trying to get my children out the door to go to the zoo. I looked over and both my children were lying on the floor near the back door looking at a lady bug.

When was the last time you laid on the ground to look at something? My dad used to joke that he knew he was getting older because he’d bend over to tie his shoes and look around for anything else he needed to do when he was down there.

There’s a scientific reason that adults aren’t usually found on the floor looking at insects and children are. According to Dr. Alison Gopnik, a professor of psychology at UC Berkeley, young brains are wired to be attracted to the things that can teach them the most. Adult brains are wired to be attracted to things that reward them the most. And unless you are an entomologist, you probably aren’t rewarded for studying bugs.

But there are times when the adult brain gets stuck. In our grooved pathways that Dr. Gopnik likens to boulevards, adults can cruise back and forth much quicker than children but we don’t always rethink how we got there. Kids brains have neural pathways that look more like the streets of Old Paris. Windy, slow-going but able to approach something from many directions.

Getting stuck might be in a mindset or unable to solve a problem. We can be in a rut in a relationship or unable to see the other side of an argument. Or we can just be downright bored and completely unable to see what it could take to change it.

And that’s when we need to do something entirely different.  When we are stuck, the best advice is to do something else. We can go for a walk. Or we can learn to play. Or we can travel. We can even get down onto the floor with some kids. Doing something different will help us come back to what we are doing with newfound perspective and energy.

The other day, my first reaction to seeing my kids on the floor looking at the ladybug was frustration. I was stuck in my mindset of getting us to where we wanted to go efficiently. But after a moment I relented and got down on the floor and looked at the lady bug too. There was awe to be found in a tiny bug spreading her wings and twitching her antennae in a pool on sunlight.

There was also irony that I didn’t want to take time to look at a living creature because I was too busy trying to get us to the zoo. We ushered the lady bug out the door before leaving ourselves, still awash in the wonder of when you do something different.

(featured photo from Pexels)

The Longer I Live, The Less I Know

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“One filled with joy preaches without preaching.” – Mother Teresa

A few weeks ago, an author replied to a comment I’d made on their blog post about meditation. It was something along the lines that I practice more than I preach. It was a genial comment totally appropriate for the conversation.

But it set me back on my heels. Do I come across as if I’m preaching? Heck no, that was my dear father who had the credentials, platform, and audience who asked for it.

It sparked some introspection. I feel some sensitivity in claiming to be an expert in anything. Even in my career that I’ve done for 30 years and have achieved some external accolades, I tend to play down my credentials.

When I think about what works for me, specifically meditation, I know how personal it is to me. My conversations with my beloved dad about his faith were all about how my expression of faith and his differed. Those conversations taught me much – including that I’m more comfortable with working out what works for me, and less comfortable assuming I know what works for others.

Writing has provided me the opportunity to mine a deep well of stories about my children. I consider my children as the experts at being unapologetically human and naturally close to the Source, especially in these younger years. I write to capture what they teach me and the ever-present challenge it is to love well and keep growing.

If I had to name what I’m good at, I’d say it’s having a willingness to try. In the last ten years, and I credit both meditation and my children, I’ve been able to cultivate an openness to others and to life that has helped me learn.

So I reached the ironic point in my introspection, because I think the more I practice, the less I preach. The more that meditation helps to create space between me and my ego, the less I need to control. The longer I do it, the less I know, but the more I believe.

When I screw it up, like a dozen times a day, I get to practice returning. But when I’m in that flow, it improves my ability to listen to the Divine. It’s solidified my goals to love bigger, show up more vulnerably, and help more.

Is that preachy? I hope not.

My book about the conversations and my journey to find what fueled my dad’s indelible spark and twinkle can be found on Amazon: Finding My Father’s Faith

(featured photo is of my dear dad at a speaking engagement)

Hurrying Never Helps

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“God did not create hurry.” – Finnish Proverb

We’ve been riding bikes to school this week. Primarily because it makes four-year-old Mr. D happier to do drop off at his school. Why that is, I’m not sure. Because we get the endorphins flowing? Because it makes him feel strong and successful? Perhaps. It seems that right now he’s realized the world is big and he is small. His inclination is to want to stay home in his safe space. But when we ride bikes to school, the threshold into his classroom doesn’t seem like that big of a deal and he has a great day.

Anyway, the hero of this story is eight-year-old Miss O. She’s been totally game to ride bikes if it helps her brother.

After the first day we did it, I told her it worked to help Mr. D have a great day. She said, “That’s great. But we have to find a different way.” But then she got up ready to ride again the next day.

Sometimes I don’t realize what things are big efforts for my little people, Miss O in particular. In this case, we drop her off first before Mr. D and I continue on to his school. But she rides her own bike while Mr. D rides attached to mine on a third wheel.

We have to get up earlier, it’s uphill for the first six blocks, and she wants to lead, so she’s taking on that responsibility too. It behooves me to remember the things that help me to do hard things: just start, remember to feed and water the body, and to take things one step at a time.

I tend to forget all that if we are running late.

On Wednesday morning we headed off later than usual and Miss O’s bike was rattling. I thought it was just the chain guard pressed against the chain and told her to keep riding. We got around the first corner and she said, “this is really freaking me out.”

I did not want to stop. We were late! But I had her get off her bike and found a section of the chain guard that had bent and was clipping the chain at every turn.

We got back on the bikes. About six blocks later when we’d finished the uphill, Miss O said, “I need a break.”

Oh holy cow, my inner voice demanded. You’ve got to be kidding me. But I remembered the things that help to do hard things and edited that voice before it came out. “Okay, Sweetie. How about a swig of water?”

The number one thing I need to do in order to help myself and my kids try hard things is to try not to hurry. If I don’t add time pressure to whatever else it is we’re trying to do, including the things I do solo in the day, it always goes better. I am more patient with others, I have less tendency to want to jump in and do it myself, and specific to my kids, we can enjoy more of their lantern brain where they see and observe everything around them. Like on this ride when Miss O heard a woodpecker in a tree somewhere around block four. Such a distinctive and interesting sound.

The number one thing I regularly screw up is not leaving early. Then I have to swallow my own anxiety about being late in order to help them have a positive experience with trying. Fortunately, I managed to do tamp down the time pressure on this ride and we got Miss O to school on time-ish.

Note to self: Hurrying makes life less enjoyable. Keep trying to leave earlier.

Fear and Courage

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“A man with outward courage dares to die, a man with inner courage dares to live.” – Lao Tzu

This was published previously on 3/22/2023. Heads up – you may have already read this.

Before I left for three-hours the other day, I told my three-year-old son that his favorite babysitter was going to come hang out with him. Because he adores her, I was surprised at his answer and the vehemence with which it was said, “This is dumb. I don’t like her. No, you can’t go.”

It took me a second to realize that the last time I left him with her, it was for four days. I started to explain, “I’m just going to be gone for a few hours.”

He replied, “Mama, I’m scared.”

As soon as he said he was scared, his mood changed from angry to calm. It’s like it popped the bubble of fear so that we could move on.

I said, “Right. I can understand that. But I’m not going on a trip. I’ll be back by lunchtime.”

He said cheerily, “Kay. How bout this deal? I play with her and then we’ll have lunch.”

Deal.

“Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear.”

George Adair

I think somehow I missed the memo about acknowledging fear. Growing up in a household with infectiously joyful and confident parents led me to assume they didn’t have any fears. So I’ve blustered through life without admitting my own.

One of the most ironic is that I have a fear of heights and yet I choose mountain climbing and rock climbing as hobbies and tried to just stampede over my fear. I remember a few years back doing a bouldering route at the climbing gym. These bouldering routes 12 -18 feet high and are climbed without ropes in a section of the gym padded with thick mats. I was on a wall that was angled out so I was climbing horizontally, my body almost parallel to the ground, couldn’t see what I was reaching for, and needed to shift my weight carefully to stay on the wall. I was in a position somewhat like I am in the photo below but I wasn’t smiling!

All of a sudden, I felt the full impact of my fear which amped up because I was five months pregnant at the time. I couldn’t move, my arms felt like they weighed two tons, I felt a heat flush all over my body. Then it passed, and I was 10 feet up, completely exhausted and wrung out. I managed to down climb a couple of feet and drop from there, landing on my feet and rolling tiredly onto my back.

I still climb – but not without acknowledging my fear before I get on the wall. It’s like saying “hello” on flat ground so I don’t have to greet it on trickier ground. I also didn’t climb again while I was pregnant. Regardless of all the assurances that babies in utero are fine being jostled, I realized it magnified my anxiety too exponentially.

This incident in concert with becoming more willing to be authentic and vulnerable have led me to understand that there is more room for courage once I let out my fear. That is to say, once I admit I’m afraid, it’s like a full exhale, after which I can take in a deep breath of courage.

“The perfect breath is this: Breathe in for about 5.5 seconds, then exhale for 5.5 seconds.”

James Nestor in Breathe

I bring up the perfect breath as described in James Nestor’s book Breathe because it has a spiritual connection. Nestor also notes that if we recite the Ava Maria or Om Mani Padme Om or the Sa Ta Ma Na (Kundalini Chant) – they all take about the same amount of time of 5.5 seconds.

That ties to the final element to expressing my fear that I’ve found to be at play – the spiritual connection. It isn’t until I own my vulnerability that I can receive help. Sometimes that’s from another person but more often it’s delivered in spiritual and mysterious ways. It’s the element I couldn’t see about my dad – that he didn’t seem to have any fears because he had so much faith.

“Our strength with continue if we allow ourselves the courage to feel scared, weak, and vulnerable.”

Melody Beattie

My lived experience resonates with Melody Beattie’s words. We can’t receive courage until we acknowledge that we need it because we’re afraid. Whether it’s taking on a bully, walking your authentic and individual path, risking to be vulnerable in a relationship, or any of the other million ways we need courage, I’ve found the relief comes much more quickly if we don’t muscle our way through but simply say, as my son did, “I’m scared.”

(featured photo from Pexels)