Month: October 2023

When I was little my sense of self was so great that when my sister told me I was a human being I stamped my foot and said I was not a human bean. I was a Polly. I knew in my marrow no matter how much she taunted me that spring day she was wrong.

We had climbed onto our front gate’s stone post to taste the honeysuckle. I picked the blossom and pinched its end, then pulled out the single stem with the gold head, pushing a tiny bead of clear nectar towards the narrow opening where I would catch it on my tongue. My sister and I nibbled away at a dozen or so flowers, comparing our harvest. I could tell the way the blossom resisted whether the drop would come out heavy and sweet or if the funnel end was too wide and the stalk would yield nothing.

Earlier, I had gazed into bright daffodils, filling myself in their glow, the delicate brown paper covering the root of the bloom like a napkin. The sky was blue and the air was crisp and I was in all of it, feeling the world with pleasure, as if all the world was alive for my enjoyment. I was the master of the world, complete in my sense of belonging.

My sister was the fool, telling me I was a human bean, but she was older and I was used to believing her, believing that she might be right and I wrong. But in this case I knew she was mistaken. I was a Polly through and through and nothing could change that ever.

Or so I thought.

The world had become a frightful place

It wasn’t too long after this exchange, no more than a year or so that my sense of self was shattered, only I wouldn’t remember the details of why until I was in my fifties. I forgot who Polly was and chose instead to hide. The world had become a frightful place full of barking dogs and forests of bewildering density and scope, dark spaces full of decay and rot, logs full of insects and spiders, puddles coated with slime. I was expected to walk through these woods to get to school for first grade after my sister and brother showed me the way.

Something had happened. Something I wouldn’t remember until nearly fifty years later. My sense of Polly was shattered. It was best not to know myself, to hide a part of myself because I would die if I remembered. A dear family friend who wasn’t so dear after all. My fear had become great.

Afraid of life, I hid.

Last week I was in San Antonio for a public speaking engagement. I was telling my life story to a group of people who have been adversely affected by someone else’s sexual behavior. Leading up to the talk, I worried that what I had to say was self-serving and egotistical and would help no one, fearful about how I would be received, that my story was too shameful.

That was egotistical of me. Why?

Because….

The event wasn’t about me!

The event was about people sharing and learning from one another. My being there was not about glorifying myself. It was about being of service. I understood that in hindsight with prayer and a change of attitude.

After my presentation several people congratulated me and said I’d done a great job. One attendee said, “That’s one of the best talks we’ve had for this event.”

I said, “Thank you,” but thought, Not the best? As if because there were other talks as good as mine, mine wasn’t good enough. Now, to me, that’s shameful.

I think it’s a matter of faith and habit. My Higher Power placed me in that room of damaged people because She knew I had something to say that could help them. How I helped was not up to me. How was in God’s hands. Several people came up to me afterwards and said, “That bit about [blank] I really related to,” or, “I’m so glad you said that because I thought I was the only one.”

Words take on meaning for the listener or reader

My presentation was about all the people in the room, not about me. And that’s what any speech or writing is about. An author’s words take on meaning for the listener or reader. That’s what makes the work valuable, not the author.

Now I realize that in my nervousness and self-doubt I was second-guessing God. In my journey as a writer and public speaker I hope never to second-guess God again. I am but a vessel, sharing my experience, strength, and hope. In the future, I shall perceive public speaking not as self-aggrandizement, but as an opportunity to do God’s will.

By waiting, and holding my tongue, I experienced good fortune. My husband recently invited me out to dinner with his colleagues. I turned him down. Not because I didn’t want to go. The date conflicted with my women’s group ritual. I’ve been a member of that group for 30 years, and, having moved out of state can longer attend in person. They were planning a hybrid meeting just for me, so I said no to my husband, but thanks.

It turned out that my friend hosting the ritual (lighting candles, honoring the four cardinal directions, speaking our spiritual truths) canceled. I forgot to tell my husband I was now free. While winding along the Blue Ridge Parkway above Asheville on our way towards a trailhead, he mentioned his dinner the following night. I perked up.

“I totally forgot,” I said. “Moon Group was canceled. I can go with you now.”

He looked irked. “It’s probably too late,” he said. His boss had already made the reservation, etc.

I thought to myself he could ask anyway couldn’t he? Certainly, one more in attendance wouldn’t be a huge inconvenience. But rather than suggest this I kept my peace.

I announced I needed a beak

We parked the car and huffed up the trail with our two black rescue dogs, surprised that at their advanced age they were doing better than we were. We hadn’t been out on a trail with them for a long while for a variety of reasons.

About a mile and a half in, huffing and puffing up wooden and stone steps built into the mountain curtesy of a conservation team, I announced I needed a break. While our pups lapped water from a doggie bag, my husband pulled out his cell phone. Thanks to towers even at 5,000+ feet he was able to leave a phone message.

“Hi Jenny. Is it too late to include my wife for dinner tomorrow night? Her event was canceled.”

I smiled at him. He smiled back. I figured he’d get there eventually. My telling him to call his boss would have irritated him and done nothing for my sense of wellbeing.

I like to think it was Higher Power’s way of taking care of me. I got what I wanted and needed most. Keeping ties with my old home group is important, but so is going out to dinner and meeting people here in my new hometown.

And my husband figured out his priorities on his own.

Me!