Courage 2010: The Post Behind the Post

“If one is forever cautious, can one remain a human being?”
~ Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

Little Drummer Boy recently informed me that he is no longer afraid of Pinocchio. He received the Disney classic from G-Mo and Paw-T for his birthday last year. He got several movies as gifts, and it took us a while to get around to watching Pinocchio. LDB didn’t make it far into the story before he decided it was scary. We turned it off, put it out of sight and that was that.

Now, if you haven’t seen Pinocchio lately, let me indoctrinate you. There’s plenty for a four-year-old to find scary, and plenty to get me kicked out of the Mommy-of-the-Year running. It’s filled with all kinds of questionable activities: wooden boys coming to life, wiley fox hoodlums enticing boys away from school, child labor forced by one-toothed men, child slavery forced by seedy carnival producers, boys turning into donkeys, cigar smoking (sorry with a smile, #17), lying, ferocious ship-swallowing whales, all those tick-tocking clocks while everyone’s trying to sleep, and the word “jackass.” Yep, plenty to instill trepidation.

So, through what I can only surmise was the influence of peer pressure, LDB announced that he was no longer afraid to watch the movie. “I promise,” he said. It sounds like maybe they watched the movie in his preschool class or read the book, and during that process of comraderie, he overcame his fear of growing donkey ears. That’s how it is with Little Drummer Boy. When confronted with a new and somewhat scary situation, his preference is to wait until he’s suddenly ready–until he grows more or forgets more or learns more, until he can partake effortlessly of the thing he can no longer remember frightened him. He just waits for the experience to sneak up on him.

Squiggle Bug is different. I’m not actually sure Bug’s ever been afraid of anything, which makes ME lose a lot of sleep. He’s apt to put his whole tiny being into whatever presents itself, and caution has never been a barrier for him in making the experience completely his own. When we’re watching Pinocchio, there are a few parts that cause him concern, but they are often overcome by his desire to dance during the musical numbers that surround them. He might get up from his chair and run to the edge of the hallway, peeking around to see the upcoming scary scene from a safer distance. Or, he may run over and sit right next to me in anticipation of a frightening moment. He always continues watching, though. And, he’s somehow always able to overlook those troublesome scenes in favor of choreographing his dance moves for the next song. It’s courage, I tell you. And, I have a lot to learn.

There’s never been a time in this world when courage was needed more than today. It seems like more humans are in hunger than ever before. More in slavery. More in despair of governments and poverty and disease and court decisions. Yes, adequate courage is indeed wanted in nation building, but I’m realizing that just as profound a courage is wanted in basic human living. Can I really maintain myself as a human BEING if I am forever cautious about the being part? Of all the battlefields requiring valor in this day, perhaps the one most insistent is the battlefield of the ordinary, the daily living of life–living connected and engaged with all that such a life entails. That battlefield is the one where I’m required to BE the human being I am, staking claim to each moment with the courage to live it fully, and rescuing real, meaningful life from the abyss of complacency. No, there’s never been a time in MY life when courage was needed more. And, when I come to the end of it, I want to know that I’ve partaken of that courage and built that sustainable life beyond mere existence.

That’s the crux of my 2010 theme word pursuit. I started it with a quick Tuesday 25 last week, and the concept is in dire need of elaboration in the form of a post that’s been staring me in the face, unflinching, for several months now. Courage. I want to find it, to maintain it, to live by it in this one life with which I’m blessed. I want to apply it where the voids of hunger and hope for something more need filling. I want to adopt it where the constraints of routine need more freedom. I want to employ it where the chills of exposure need more covering. I want to speak with it where silence needs more breaking.

Yes, I have a lot to learn. From Little Drummer Boy. From Bug. From Pinocchio. I don’t want to spend my life waiting for the experience to sneak up on me at a time when I might be prepared to live it. To live a life unbounded requires courage–the courage to sit through the hard parts, to stand through them, to raise a fist at them, to grab someone’s hand through them, to run and hide from them, but to come back, to sneak a peek at them, to ask questions about them, to choreograph them and dance around them. I want to have the sheer audacity to move beyond existence. I want courage.

Grace

“We communicate grace to one another by holding space for people when they are hurt or terrified, instead of trying to fix them, or manage their emotions for them. We offer ourselves as silent companionship, or gentle listening when someone feels very alone. We get people glasses of water when they are thirsty.”
~ Anne Lamott, in an interview with Amazon.com

(holding space. thank you.)

Tuesday Twenty-Five: Courageous Acts

Back in December I was trying to decide if I wanted to adopt a theme word again for 2010. If you followed EyeJunkie last year, you’ll barely recognize the concept since I was woefully inconsistent in posting about “harmony,” my theme word for 2009. The purpose of the theme word was to center my thoughts on a single concept I was interested in developing in my life over the course of the year. Lofty goal! And not one easily achieved for a wandering mind like mine. Before choosing something for this year, I was determined that I would commit myself to posting at least once each month on the theme. Good news! I’ve already missed January. (Such is life. What’s it to you?) Laugh with me. Please.

Tardiness aside, the chief determining factor for whether I would go live with the theme word posting pursuit again was this: if I chose a word, WHAT IN THE WORLD would it be? It took me all of five seconds to realize that the word was staring me right in the face, socking me between the eyes with the sheer craving for it in my life. November and December were filled with conversations and current events and mundane activities and life experiences urging me, cajoling me, demanding me to really live, to commit myself to moving beyond existence. To soak up the marrow of my life in all its dailiness and embrace it. Engage it. Pay attention to it. Live it. Vibrantly.

And in this day and age of slow slumber, all that living takes a rousing amount of… (wait for it)

COURAGE.

cour•age
–noun
1. the quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, pain, etc., without fear; bravery. (thank you dictionary.com)

Ta Da! Theme Word 2010 presented itself without so much as one tiny strain on my brain. Yes, courage is needed in abundant supply. If only I had some! So, this year I’m pursuing courage in my mind, in my writing, in my loving, in my living. And, you can hear tell of it here on occasion. I’ll follow up with the “post behind the post” soon enough, but to begin this pursuit, I give you another jumbo-sized Tuesday Ten: 25 Courageous Acts I hope to really act on in 2010. What about you?

Garnering the courage…

1. to speak

2. to feel

3. to embrace difficulty

4. to confront issues

5. to ask the question

6. to take a chance

7. to think

8. to decide

9. to be who I am

10. to stand

11. to let go

12. to hold on

13. to look closely

14. to give

15. to release

16. to befriend

17. to stay

18. to step outside myself, but not away from myself

19. to see

20. to be moved by what I’ve seen

21. to act on what I’ve seen or learned

22. to say no

23. to say yes

24. to wait

25. to live

The Act of Feeding

I’ve been thinking about the simple pleasure of preparing a meal. It’s an activity made even more poignant by the situation in Haiti this week. The earthquake calls into sharp focus just how devastatingly fragile the physical world is and how common our basic human needs are. In so many structures in Haiti, where there are no longer tables and chairs, or cabinets and walls, the simplicity of bread and water is magnified to a king’s meal. Why isn’t it so with every meal, especially those prepared in comfort? Yes, it’s hard to think about pork chops and placemats in the light of such a tragedy. Still, the simple pleasure of offering food around a table to ones dear to us is so much more astounding as I’m reminded of the multitude of neighbors in our hemisphere for whom that luxury has been displaced.

I usually like to cook. Sometimes it’s a quick, easy and totally gift-friendly meal of hot dogs, chicken nuggets, spaghetti or some other favorite that allows me to get in and out of the kitchen quickly. In my mind those meals offer only a nod of the head at cooking, but the experience is elevated simply by the presence of those around me. At other times I enjoy making a selection of dishes with more presence, ones based on special recipes or made from “scratch” rather than from some combination of boxes and bags. Those are the kinds of meals almost everyone has in some form or another. They are ones that say home or celebration or culinary success, birthed from familes and traditions, experiences or locales.

Some meals have “place”–like the one from Wednesday night that was unmistakeably Southern from its inception. Although they may have been modernized, the dishes have a context in memory or cooking method that speaks to my life in Mississippi. Corn bread was the first thing I made. My grandmothers made it in large iron skillets heated in the oven first and with handfuls of ingredients tossed and stirred without thinking. I make mine from the recipe on the Martha White Cornmeal package in a square metal pan. I could probably do it from memory if pressed, but I’ve never tested the theory. And, you barely miss the skillet’s influence when it’s warm with a dab of butter.

Macaroni and cheese was next on the menu, and although I’ve had my share of experiences with the blue Kraft box, I prefer to make it myself now–mainly because Bug asks for it. There’s nothing like the repeated requests of a 3-year-old to make you feel like a cooking rock star. I make my mac and cheese with a milk and egg mixture rather than a cheese sauce and layer the noodles with whatever combination of cheddar, swiss and parmesan I have available.

Honey-pecan pork chops were the main event, floured and cooked in butter on the stovetop. Yes, it’s about as heart-friendly as a can of Crisco, but still, it’s not every day. The frying recalls the way my Mom cooks chicken tenders or how my grandmother made deer steak as a child–lifting the edges of the meat with a fork to check the brownness, turning at just the right time, scraping the pan with a spatula. After the chops are cooked, the recipe calls for some measurement of pecans and honey which I can never remember. I just throw some in, and I’ve learned through hard experience and very hardened sugar to turn the eye down first. I like to add a splash of Worchestershire sauce in as well to give this semblance of a roulx a more savory taste.

There are a hundred other stories of recipes and dishes, various combinations with the appropriate green elements, sides, bread and fruit. Most moms and wives have them. And, every woman has her own preferred method and ideal environment for cooking for her family–the kitchen, the pots and pans, what happens to the used dishes and egg shells, the proclivity to use measuring spoons and the penchant for interaction. It’s an integral part of the process of feeding a family.

My kitchen is invariably a cacophony of sights and sounds and movement. The sights: A refrigerator and stovetop grease guard filled with children’s photos, finger paintings tucked behind spice racks and collections of utensils and momentos lining the counters in plain view. I just like to look at things while I’m cooking, while I’m living. One wall of cabinets with glass doors affords me the opportunity to see the vessels I enjoy–bowls and pottery, 50s pyrex I love, colorful plates of various sizes. The sounds: A thousand interruptions to start a movie, answer a question, referee a car chase, or retrieve a 15-month-old from the top of a table. Ocassionally there’s an attempted conversation with my husband from the rocking chair my grandmother gave me. The movement: Perpetual acts of wiping my hands on my pants, various dishes at different stages of completion and imperfectly timed to get on the table somewhere between 6:30 and 8:00pm, and always a flurried combination of preparation and clean-up all going on at the same time. The tasks are often accomplished around Baby Girl unloading the plasticware cabinet at my feet. These kitchen sensibilities are the evidences of time spent trying to elevate this ordinary daily activity to the honored place of extraordinary.

I am struck by the power of the simple act of feeding. In all its complicated cacophony, the individuality and habits found in my kitchen can raise that process of eliminating hunger to the level of celebration. If I embrace them. Somehow in that boiling and stirring and place-setting, I’m feeding more than stomachs and strong bones. I’m feeding healthy hearts and hungry spirits for those in my care. I’m meeting a basic human need we all have–nourishment for body and soul.

Birth of Possibility

“Noone ever regarded the first of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.” ~ Charles Lamb

What is it about January that feels new? A new month, a new year, a new day. Although we experience time in close sequence, something about changing the number assigned to our year gives us renewed anticipation that the next day will offer us more promise than the one we’ve just lived. Regardless of one year’s events, when January 1st rolls around, we are filled with renewed hope that anything is possible. Change is possible. Prosperity is possible. Growth is possible. The impossible is possible. Suddenly, new is possible. That’s a lot of power for one little day, one 24-hour span.

It makes me think about the power of beginnings. I have an instigator in my life, #17, who reminded me recently that just the act of defining a new starting point–the turning of a single number–can be the unexpected catalyst needed for change and the resolve required to embrace it. Sometimes that’s all we need. Navity. The birth of possibility.

I’m looking forward to enjoying what 2010 has in store and to paying attention to those new possibilities. I have some new ideas for EyeJunkie and the little writing experiment going on here, and my goal is more intention, more transparency, more reality. In the mean time, I hope you’ll enjoy this month’s desktop wallpaper calendar with it’s reminder of January’s birth of possibility–and the eager hands that embrace it. [Just point clicky on the graphic above to get it.]

Let’s begin.