Typically, I love the Jewish High Holidays because it’s a time of joy and celebration. But this year it’s been somber because of everything happening in Gaza, plus, well, take your pick. Instead of feeling helpless and powerless, I’d rather be in the headspace that we all matter more than we think we do. To that end, I’m resharing this post I wrote for the High Holidays in 2022.
As we’re finishing the Jewish High Holidays, I think it’s only fitting to share a concept I learned about recently. In Jewish mysticism, there’s an idea that in every generation, 36 people hold up the world. These lamed-vavniks do not themselves know they are one of the 36, and no one else does either. What intrigues me about this concept is that it makes each and every person important. Basically, you think of yourself as playing a part in keeping the world spinning, and because you don’t know who else is a “righteous one,” you treat others the same.
I like this concept because it also flies in the face of our current reality. These days, there’s a perspective that if you’re not a billionaire, celebrity, athlete, politician, or influencer, you’re not worth paying attention to. In fact, a Bloomberg study found 98% of middle school and high school students would like to be a social media influencer. Some of them already are. Gone are the days of “doctor” and “lawyer” topping the career list for kids. Now they want followers. I understand, I want followers too, but the concept of lamed-vavniks says you can be powerful and important, and nobody would know about it.
Why this photo? Because I was thinking “circle of influence” and a bubble is like a circle and. . .Photo by Alex Alvarez on Unsplash
In other words, even without being an influencer, maybe you already have influence. Elizabeth Gilbert tells a story about how years ago she was on the Midtown bus in New York. It was January, replete with sleeting wind, rain, and rush-hour traffic. The bus moved at a crawl and people were not happy. When the bus reached 10th Ave, the driver made an announcement.
He said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now nearing the Hudson River. I’m going to ask you to do me a favor. When you get off the bus, I’m going to hold out my hand. As you walk past me, I want you to drop your troubles into the palm of my hand. I’ll take your troubles for you, and when I drive past the river, I’ll throw them in. The reason I want to do this is because you all seem like you’ve had a bad day, and I don’t want you taking all your worries and sorrows home to your friends and families now. Because they deserve better than that, don’t they? So, you just leave your troubles here with me to dispose of, and you all go have a wonderful night, OK?”
The entire bus erupted into laughter, and sure enough, one by one, the passengers exited the bus and dropped their troubles into the palm of the bus driver’s hand. They stepped off the bus with smiles on their faces.
The people hearing this story don’t know that bus driver’s name or anything about him, but they do know he made a difference that day. We know he directly influenced the people around him without sending a Tweet. It has me wondering, are you more important than you think you are? Are you someone who is holding up the world in your own way? You can’t know for sure, so why not behave as if you are?
I dream of a world where we all understand the power we have to influence others and make a difference, even if we don’t have a million followers on Instagram. A world where we recognize that sometimes the most ordinary-seeming person is capable of something extraordinary. A world where we understand we’re more important than we think we are.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
A friend of mine is moving to London and I’m cut up about it. It seemed appropriate to share this post from 10 years ago about another friend who moved away.
I’m having a tough time with the impermanence of things. The good things in my life I want to lock in little glass jars and preserve them for all eternity. What’s funny is I have a similar reaction to the bad things. Not that I want to preserve them for all eternity, but rather it feels like they’ll be with me for all eternity. There is no sense that this too shall pass.
I’m experiencing both of those sensations at the moment – wanting to preserve stuff and feeling like other stuff is interminable. A dear friend of mine is moving across the country in about 10 days and I’m really sad about it. I want him to stay here, I want things to keep going like they have been, and at the same time, my sadness feels like a constant companion.
Buddhists would say my pain comes from attachment. I agree, I am very attached, but I don’t know how not to be. I’m a passionate person. I love deeply and commit fully. There is no halfway for me. I’m one of those extreme personalities, although I’m working on learning moderation and the middle ground. How am I supposed to learn non-attachment? Well, I’m not.
It’s OK to be attached. Photo by Loume Visser on Unsplash
My spiritual teacher says, “[N]on-attachment does not mean to leave all pleasures and remain in a state of indifference to the world. It does not mean to leave everything and go to the seclusion of a mountain cave. Those who are truly non-attached do not deny the world (or worldly life); they embrace it, for they feel the touch of the eternal hidden within all the changing forms of their lives. They are with everything.”
To me, that means non-attachment is seeing things in their true form: as an expression of the divine, which is eternal. Non-attachment means enjoying things while they’re around and remembering they are not the source of my enjoyment. I may love a person, but love doesn’t die when they leave. Non-attachment means I love God in the form of this person, but ultimately, I love God. Again, it comes back to ascribing God-hood to everything.
I’m not saying I’m no longer sad about my friend moving, because I am, but I do feel a little better because I’m reminded of what’s constant, of what’s eternal. I’m also reminded of my source for everything. My higher power will always bring me who and what I need. In fact, a few weeks ago, I rode the bus home from a meeting when normally I hitch a ride, and I ran into someone I knew, whom I had just met a few days before. It felt like a message from my higher power saying, “Your friend may be leaving, but that doesn’t mean you won’t make new friends and that your community will disintegrate. I am your source for everything; remember this all comes from me.”
I dream of a world where we remember for better or for worse, everything is impermanent. A world where we understand what’s actually constant and eternal. A world where we enjoy what’s in front of us but also practice non-attachment because we catch a glimpse of the true form underneath.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’m not really sure what to share this week. I’m still in the chrysalis, but/and I can’t force transformation. I can’t be somewhere I’m not and no amount of urging or desire will bring me there. These things unfold in their own time, as much as I wish they followed my timeline instead. What I’m noticing, though, is I’m grateful for co-travelers and so this blog from October 2017 feels appropriate.
What a week. Lots of grief on a societal level, but also a personal one. I’m reminded of how human we are. Of how we’re all in this together. As Ram Dass says, “We’re all just walking each other home.”
In times of trauma and grief, I want to do something. Sometimes there are actions to take, but sometimes all we can do is hold each other while we cry.
With painful feelings, I’ve often wanted someone else to take them away. To siphon them off like sucking water through a straw. I wanted someone, anyone, to make me feel better. Speaking as someone with loads of experience trying to escape her feelings, I can say without a doubt the answer is, “That’s not possible.” No one else can cry my tears for me. No one else can take away my pain. Other people and things may distract me for a while, but just as with storm clouds, they darken the sky whether I acknowledge them or not.
I hope you always have a walking companion. Photo by Beth Macdonald on Unsplash
Ram Dass’ quote reminds me that no one is supposed to take away my pain and sorrow because we are all humans. We are not machines. We can’t write a code that says, “We will never feel sad ever again.” Furthermore, it’s no one’s responsibility to make me feel better. We are fellow companions on this path. We are pilgrims going on a pilgrimage. There may be times I sprain my ankle and have to rely on others for help, but the responsibility for forward motion is still mine, and the responsibility to move through my emotions is still mine.
My spiritual teacher says, “[A] true society is like a group of pilgrims who attain a deep psychic affinity while traveling together, which helps them solve all the problems in their individual and social lives.”
That’s us. A group of pilgrims traveling this rocky path together. I’m speaking in metaphors a lot in this post, but what I’m trying to get at is it’s not my responsibility to solve or fix someone’s emotional state, or vice versa. I don’t have all the answers, or any of the answers, really. I can’t tell a person how to live their life or what they should do to feel better. All I can do is say, “I hear you and I’m beside you. I’m walking this path with you as a companion.” And that’s it. We’ll address problems as they arise – blisters, sprained ankles, etc. – but the emotional states? I’ll be with you during them, but the tears are still yours to cry and the steps are still yours to walk. And maybe that’s enough.
I dream of a world where we recognize we are all pilgrims on a pilgrimage. A world where we sit with each other when we’re in pain. A world where we realize all we can do is be there for each other. A world where we remember we’re all just walking together.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I write this blog for myself, but I also write it for others. So they know they aren’t alone. So they can glimpse into someone else’s life and have another reference point other than the “everything is great” highlight reel so often presented via social media. And I write it hoping others will find even a modicum of inspiration.
Last week, I wrote about a portal of transformation. How the grief I’m feeling is changing me into someone new. However, the reality is, I’m not a butterfly yet. Instead, I very much identify with the chrysalis stage.
From Scientific American, when the caterpillar forms the chrysalis, it digests itself, releasing enzymes to dissolve all of its tissues. “If you were to cut open a cocoon or chrysalis at just the right time, caterpillar soup would ooze out,” according to the article. The caterpillar completely dissolves. What it was before no longer exists.
But what’s also interesting is the transformation process isn’t a chaotic, random thing. There’s some guidance in the form of imaginal discs, like a blueprint of what’s to come. Before hatching, when a caterpillar is still developing inside its egg, it grows an imaginal disc for each of the adult body parts it will need as a mature butterfly or moth. There are discs for its eyes, wings, legs, etc. “Once a caterpillar has disintegrated all of its tissues except for the imaginal discs, those discs use the protein-rich soup all around them to fuel the rapid cell division required to form the wings, antennae, legs, eyes, genitals and all the other features of an adult butterfly or moth,” according to the article.
A beautiful and painful process. For humans anyway. Photo by Bankim Desai on Unsplash
And while the process isn’t painful because caterpillars don’t have those nerve receptors, the final act of emerging from the chrysalis is physically demanding, and crucial for the butterfly’s survival. The physical act of bursting forth from the chrysalis helps pump fluid into the wings, strengthening them for flight. And if the butterfly doesn’t go through that challenging process, its wings will be deformed. It will have trouble flying for the rest of its life.
As I’m going through my own challenges, I take heart in knowing everything I’m experiencing is fuel for something else, something better. And indeed, that’s also something my spiritual teacher says:
“Can we achieve honor, status and other things that we want in this material world without a struggle? And when we consider our aspiration for development and advancement in the mental world, that also cannot be brought about without a struggle. That is why, everywhere, whether in the crude or subtle sphere, struggle is the essence of life.”
I often rail against this because I want life to be comfortable, easy. But, well, apparently that’s not what I signed up for. And if I’m really honest, at my core, I want to advance. I have aspirations to go ever higher and that means clash, conflict, and struggle. To quote my spiritual teacher again, “Whenever there is clash or conflict within any structure, whether subtle or crude, it acquires subtlety. This applies to both psychic clash and physical clash. The more subtle the crude mind becomes as a result of internal clash, the greater its spiritual awakening.”
I recognize every deeply painful process is a part of my spiritual awakening, is a part of my evolution. And while I’m still in the chrysalis stage, I take heart that eventually I will emerge as a butterfly.
I dream of a world where we understand that to become someone new, we have to dissolve who we were. A world where we recognize the process isn’t chaotic and disorganized, no matter how it may look. A world where we understand that challenge is what allows for evolution. And at the same time, we accept that sometimes we have to be in the chrysalis.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’ve been grieving and am reminded of a few things. One, grief is a portal, transporting us back to previous hurts that were not mourned. A dog dying may stir up grief about not only that dog, but childhood wounds of not feeling fully loved because the dog did what parents could not. The event (the dog’s death) is a portal, opening a way to previous losses as well. That’s why grief can feel so overwhelming, so outsized, because often it’s about a mix of things.
This is also true for me, and I have to say, I don’t love it. It’s not fun. And at the same time, I recognize I’m in a period of transformation. I’m letting go of old beliefs, outdated ways of behaving, and becoming someone new.
As if to underscore this point, the other day I had a strange dream. There was something stuck in my teeth and when I used my finger to pick it out, what emerged from my mouth was a fully formed, still alive, monarch butterfly that flew away. There was still something in my teeth so I again tried to pick it out and again what emerged was a fully formed, still alive blue butterfly.
The butterfly looked almost identical to this one. Photo by Erik Karits on Unsplash
I asked ChatGPT to interpret my dream and it said the following:
Butterflies in dreams are classic symbols of transformation, renewal, and the soul. They represent something beautiful and alive emerging after a period of constriction or gestation. The fact that they were in your mouth is especially meaningful:
- The mouth is about communication, expression, and speaking your truth. Butterflies flying out could symbolize words, truths, or parts of your authentic self that have been trapped or silenced—now ready to come alive and take flight.
- Something was “caught” in your teeth — a feeling of being stuck, caught between holding in and letting out. When you finally touched it, instead of decay or debris, life and beauty It suggests that even what feels clogged or heavy in you (your grief, longing, sorrow) holds something transformative.
Colors matter:
- Orange butterfly: Often linked with vitality, creativity, joy, it could represent life-force returning through expressing your emotions.
- Blue butterfly: Blue is associated with peace and clarity. A blue butterfly flying out of your mouth could symbolize your voice being freed, your truth finally spoken, or words of healing coming through you.
Putting it together:
Your psyche may be showing you that even though it feels like you’re drowning in rubble right now, the very act of giving voice to what’s inside you—the tears, the grief, the raw truths—will lead to beauty and transformation. What you’re releasing isn’t ugliness or shame, but life, color, and freedom. Almost like your grief, when expressed, becomes medicine. Your voice, even when heavy with longing, is birthing transformation.
And finally: “It feels like a message that nothing is wasted. Even the painful stuff you’re trying to get out of your system has wings.”
Oh man. Even the painful stuff I’m getting out of my system has wings! How beautiful is that? So often, we think of releasing pain as something toxic, something to be rid of, to walk away from. But what if it’s not? What if the painful thing has wings? What if it’s actually something beautiful and sacred?
As a writer, I alchemize pain and turn it into art. The negative experiences I’ve had fuel my writing. I place it on the page so that others feel less alone. In my spiritual tradition, we talk about the power of art to inspire and transform others. My spiritual teacher says, “People seek deliverance from the whirlpools of darkness; they aspire to illuminate their lives and minds with ever-new light. In all their actions, in all their feelings, there is an inherent tendency to move forward; therefore, if at all they are to be offered something, the creator of art cannot remain idle or inert.”
Rather than being idle or inert, I’m taking all of the pain, all the grief, all the disappointment, and letting it transform me, and perhaps inspiring others along the way.
I dream of a world where we understand grief is a portal, opening the door to the past. A world where we recognize pain isn’t necessarily something toxic to run away from. A world where we understand sometimes pain can turn into something beautiful and transformative.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I read a letter on Facebook the other day from E.B. White (the author of Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little) to a man who wrote to him in despair over the bleakness of the human race. It was written in 1973. I can’t say for sure why the man, Mr. Nadeau, thought the world was so bleak, but it could be because he witnessed the horrors of the Vietnam War. Regardless, I loved White’s response and I’m tweaking it so the language is more gender neutral:
North Brooklin, Maine,
30 March 1973
Dear Mr. Nadeau:
As long as there is one upright person, as long as there is one compassionate human, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.
Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society — things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people, we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. People’s curiosity, their relentlessness, their inventiveness, their ingenuity have led them into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable them to claw their way out.
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
Sincerely,
E. B. White
These used to need winding. Photo by Ales Krivec on Unsplash
I’m reminded of a related story about how things can change quickly. I learned recently that Romanian dictator Nicolae Ceausescu’s regime ended very quickly. He reigned for 21 years, and then in the course of two weeks, that all crumbled. This BBC article gives the whole story, but the abbreviated version is this: protests started mid-December 1989 in Timisoara, which Ceausescu quickly and violently quelled. He gave a live speech on December 21, 1989, where he blamed “fascist agitators” for the Timisoara protests, but the crowd wasn’t having it. The national broadcast was abruptly cut from the airwaves. He and his wife tried to flee the country, but they were captured and promptly executed by a firing squad on Christmas Day.
I mean, I don’t love that they were executed by a firing squad, but nonetheless, this reign of terror that lasted for 21 years did finally end. Because people were relentless. They said, “No, we aren’t having this.” The change didn’t happen overnight, but it did happen, and quickly.
It can feel easy to fall into despair, to lament the state of the world and think nothing will ever change, but what’s more true is that we have evidence over and over again that it does. There is always a break in the clouds and the sun shines again. There are more compassionate, upright moral people in the world than the opposite, even if the news tries to convince us otherwise. We cannot control when or how positive changes will occur, but we can keep “winding the clock.” And that’s exactly what I plan to do.
I dream of a world where we remember tomorrow is another day. A world where we understand there will always be a break in the clouds and the sun will shine once more. A world where we recognize things can, do, and will change. A world where we hold onto hope and do our part by winding the metaphorical clock.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
It’s amazing how this post from exactly five years ago is still relevant. It was in the middle of COVID, but the same issues remain.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about fairness, or rather its opposite. How it’s not fair that people we love die. Or that fascist leaders are calling the shots. Or that the world literally and figuratively burns so a few companies can increase their profits. It’s not fair.
If you’re anything like me, in response to, “It’s not fair,” someone invariably says, “Life isn’t fair,” as if that makes the situation better. The inherent message behind “life isn’t fair” is “deal with it.” But what if I don’t want to deal with it? What if I don’t want to toughen up and accept the unfairness of it all? What if I’d rather curl into a ball and whimper like a wounded animal? Can I do that instead?
This year has been absolutely gut-wrenching for numerous reasons. NUMEROUS. I’m over this year. I want something new, and yet wanting isn’t enough. As they say, faith without works is dead. I’ve also heard that pain is the price of admission into a new life. Ouch. Say it ain’t so, but it is.
When I think about creating something new – art, a business, a life even – there’s often an element of pain, or at least hardship. Rarely is the creation process smooth sailing from start to finish. There are usually obstacles to overcome, hurdles to clear. Maybe this period we’re in, maybe this year, is the admission price we’re paying for a new way of life.
It seems to me humanity is being forced to change on numerous fronts. It’s become clear we cannot maintain the status quo because doing so equals death and destruction. Change isn’t easy, and honestly, sometimes it sucks, but I have to believe everything we’re enduring is leading to something better. It’s the only way I can keep going, to continue putting one foot in front of the other. I’m also choosing to believe my spiritual teacher who said, “[A] bright future awaits you. Your future is glorious, your future is luminous, your future is effulgent.”
He describes himself as an incorrigible optimist and also said, “Human civilization now faces the final moment of a critical juncture. The dawn of a glorious new era is on the one side, and the worn-out skeleton of the past on the other. Humanity has to adopt either one or the other. You are the spiritual soldiers; you are the worshippers of life divine. Hence, I call upon you to adorn this crimson dawn deluged with glorious light. Victory is surely yours.”
We’re not on the other side of the fight yet. The world remains unfair, but slowly, in certain places, we’re moving in that direction. For instance, in Portland, companies must pay a 10% tax surcharge if their CEO earns 100 to 250 times more than the median-paid worker. That number jumps to 25% if the CEO makes 250 times more than the median-paid worker. The law only applies to Portland, but other places like San Francisco are considering similar laws. Laws like these are a start and show me if we keep striving for a fairer society, eventually it will happen.
I dream of a world that’s fair and just. A world that considers what’s in the best interest for the planet as a whole. A world where we realize the impact of our actions and adjust accordingly. A world where we understand that sometimes the price of admission into a new life is pain.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I’m deep in grief at the moment, and while talking to my therapist, she encouraged me to let Love hold me. To let it act as a container. It reminded me of a post I wrote exactly 12 years ago. Enjoy.
When I ride the bus, it exposes me to people and situations I might not otherwise encounter. On Wednesday, I rode the bus and felt like crying hearing the stories around me – the snippets of people talking about being addicted to weed, the demeanor of the woman who looked ready to punch someone, the unhoused people camping out at bus shelters. My heart broke a little because I care so much. I care so deeply. Yes, my sensitivity is probably over the top at the moment, but I can’t help that.
As tears started to leak from my eyes, a woman walked on the bus and sat in front of me. Her shirt said “love” down both sleeves. In that moment, I cried even harder because it struck me that love is the container for all things. Even while I was crying, love was still there; in this case, literally. Love means it’s safe for me to cry, safe for me to be angry, safe for me to feel whatever I feel. All of my emotions, all of my everything, really, are held in the container of love.
We are held by love similar to this candle lantern. Photo by Cathal Mac an Bheatha on Unsplash
Often, I think love is separate from icky emotions or things I cast judgment upon. I think there is love and then there is everything else. What I’m coming to realize, however, is that’s false. Love is not outside of all these things; love IS everything; it’s omnipresent.
Nothing escapes the purview of love; nothing is outside of love. There is a Sanskrit mantra that I sing every day, and one translation is, “Love is all there is.” For the longest time, I couldn’t wrap my head around that definition and preferred the longer version: “Everything is an expression of an infinite, loving consciousness.” But today I finally “get” it. Love holds everything, even war, disease, famine, and poverty.
Even when we think it’s not, love is there. It could be in the smile of a stranger, a call from a friend, or a feeling deep within ourselves. We are held in love even when we think we’re not. Even when the world is on fire, politicians are running amok, people are dying, and our lives are in chaos. Love is still there. This concept transcends language so to really understand what I mean, I invite you to pause, breathe, and try to feel the love that is already here, holding you.
I dream of a world where we remember in good times and bad, love is here. A world where we understand we are never abandoned by love, even if it may seem like it. A world where we let ourselves feel whatever we feel because we know that we are held by love.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This is the most unusual post I’ve written in the 17 years of this blog because instead of discussing spirituality or a lesson I’m learning, I want to tell you about my new favorite TV show.
First, some context. I’m not a guts and gore type of person. I’m squeamish at the sight of blood, I can’t handle graphic violence, and I don’t enjoy shows where people behave badly. “Game of Thrones” is not my jam. But neither is “All Creatures Great and Small,” which is a show that many people like and suggest because it’s heartwarming and adventurous. (For the unfamiliar, the series chronicles the tales of James, a young country vet who lives and works in Yorkshire in the late 1930s.) I don’t like to see animals suffer so I can’t watch that show either.
What am I left with?!? It’s a great question, especially as I consider that what I consume with my eyes and ears is just as important as what I consume with my mouth. The food we eat affects the body, and the media we consume affects the mind. How do I want to affect my mind? A sensitive gal like me needs something uplifting.
This picture will make sense in a minute. Photo by Taylor Heery on Unsplash
Many people would say, “The Great British Bakeoff! That’s the show for you!” But it triggers my eating disorder so I can’t watch that or any food shows in general. What I’ve discovered is “The Great Pottery Throw Down.” Here’s a description:
Follow the trials and tribulations of an exceptionally creative group of contestants as they transform ordinary lumps of clay into pieces of glazed glory in this one-of-a-kind test of pottery prowess. Each episode sees contestants vying for the “Top Potter” title as they tackle mammoth challenges, hoping to showcase enough skill, technique, and originality to avoid elimination. With the art form’s rich heritage, intriguing technical language, and potential for magical transformations, “The Great Pottery Throw Down” brings the messy and marvelous world of pottery to life.
Also, here’s a trailer:
I love this show. I love this show because everyone is nice to one another. I love this show because there’s still drama due to not only the competition but also whether the pieces will turn out the way the potters hoped. Will they break in the kiln? Will the glazes work? The show has enough drama to keep it interesting but not so much that I’m upset and activated. Plus, the potters make something. It’s tangible and creative and inspires me to make something too. (Not pottery, although maybe.)
When our world is filled with so much chaos and heartbreak, I want to watch something beautiful. That reminds me life is sweet and people are kind to each other. “The Great Pottery Throw Down” is that show for me right now.
And because this is already an unusual post, instead of ending in my usual way, I’d love to hear from you. Is there a show you love that you wish more people knew about? What do you watch when you need to feel uplifted? And if you start watching “The Great Pottery Throw Down,” let me know and we can geek out about it together.
As a final note to end on, I’m wishing you ease and gentleness. May you remember there is good in the world and that another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
It’s been truly strange around my neighborhood for the last few days, and I’m not reacting the way I thought I’d react – or the way other people are predicting I’d react. On Thursday, my friend Michael was standing in the doorway and said, “Do you know that guy?” A young man was hopping the fence that separates my apartment complex from my neighbors. I didn’t know him. Michael confronted him as he hopped the fence on the other side.
A few minutes later, police officers drove down the street, and Michael notified them about the trespasser. I thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t. The police officers kept coming. And so did two helicopters. And then U.S. marshals. Around 40 police officers and U.S. marshals blocked my street and patrolled with assault rifles drawn. I went grocery shopping in the middle of this and they wouldn’t let me walk back to my apartment without a police escort. Some of my neighbors weren’t allowed in their homes while the officers looked for the guy who hopped the fence.
I read in a news article later that the guy who jumped my fence was armed and the U.S. marshals were looking for him along with two others who were involved in a robbery. One of the culprits violated his patrol. This search and lockdown continued for hours. The two helicopters circled right above me for three hours straight. Police officers literally blocked my driveway.
You can do it! Photo by Stijn Swinnen on Unsplash
When I tell most people the events from Thursday, they respond with, “Wow. That’s so scary.” But here’s the thing: I didn’t feel scared. Even though I saw the person they were after. Even though there were guns drawn. I was annoyed. My nerves were frayed from the constant noise and stimulation. But I wasn’t scared.
Then on Saturday, I was without power for 11 hours. I knew it was coming – the electricity company needed to work on a utility pole. Friends remarked how annoying that would be, how unsettling. But I didn’t really mind. It was quiet. I couldn’t even hear the hum of a refrigerator. And it wasn’t so bad because I have a gas stove and could still make myself food. Plus, I just returned from traveling so my tablet was filled with downloaded movies and TV shows. It was fine. I was fine.
My reactions remind me of a quote by A.A. Milne, author of the Winnie-the-Pooh series, who said, “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know.” I am strong, and brave, and resilient. I don’t operate with the same amount of fear anymore – even in situations where people expect me to be afraid, I’m not.
Essentially, I’m stepping into my power. I’m owning what I’m capable of as I am, right now. Not the me of 10 years ago. Not the me people think I should be, but the me of here, and now. The me who meets challenges over and over again. The me that says, “I’m scared but I’m still facing this.” I know that’s not true for everyone but even still, maybe you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know.
I dream of a world where we see ourselves clearly. A world where we stop selling ourselves short. A world where we understand we are capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for. A world where we take care of ourselves over and over again and realize that’s exactly what we’re doing.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.