Thursday, January 1, 2015

For the Love of the Tears

A few weeks ago, I whizzed around Whole Foods, basket on my lap, sunglasses still on my eyes, unconcerned with anything other than the next item on my list, and stranger walked right up to me, put his hand on my shoulder and asked, “How do you keep moving forward even though your life is so awful?”.

I sat stunned and speechless. My cheeks felt hot and red and my hand trembled when I reached to remove my sunglasses. I pulled off the glasses, looked this stranger right in the eyes, forced the corners of my mouth to form a huge, toothy grin, and replied, “Well, I just choose not to focus on the awful parts. I am so late, I need to run.” And with that ridiculous response, I found the closest check-out line and sped out of the store.

His question threw me. But, even more so, my answer infuriated me. I grasped the hand controls in my car, pulled out of the parking lot, and waited, in a daze, at the stop sign until another car honked at me to move forward. My skin crawled and my heart raced. Tears seeped through my large, protective eye wear. Not even my giant aviator glasses could protect the affect his question and my nonchalant answer had on me. 

As I continued to drive, I watched a memory play out so clearly in my mind it was like a movie on a gigantic screen. I watched as I sat in a hospital wheelchair, not the sleek, light as a feather version I have now, but the heavy, awkward, metal version hospitals use, and I wore pajamas and a hard, plastic, turtle shell brace over my t-shirt. My friend stood next to me and we waited for an elevator to arrive. The top of the brace encroached on my neck and I reached up to push it down. The small force of this adjustment caused me to wince in pain because of the pressure the shift put on my broken ribs. I clinched my fists, closed my eyes, and took a long, deep breath, my new method to overcome these new and sudden urges of excruciating pain. My friend leaned forward, placed his hands on my wheels, and, with great concern, asked, “Are you okay? Are you sure you want to go outside?”. “Yes.”, I replied. He stood back and then said, “You know, I am really impressed with how you are taking all of this in stride.” I blankly smiled, and pretended to agree.

I knew I didn’t agree with his comment, but to be fair, it is what I allowed everyone around me to see. I acted like all of the pain and the heartache were just fine and I was fine. Fine, fine, fine. It became my favorite word. I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s all fine. The truth was and is though, it isn’t fine, it isn’t all okay, and I am not fine all of the time. Just as a I lied to my friend in that moment at the elevator, fourteen years later, I lied to the stranger in the grocery store. With my flashy smile and hurried attitude and brisk answer, I basically lied again and said, “Yes, I am okay, just fine.”

I cry a little bit each day. Still, after all of these years, there are parts of this life I can’t handle or take in stride. I know enough now, though, to know these moments of sadness aren’t shameful or scary, they are just part of the adventure. The definition of the word adventure when used as a noun is an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity. And as a verb, adventure means to engage in hazardous and exciting activity, especially the exploration of unknown territory. A word carrying this much weight and this much of the unknown and uncertainty, certainly doesn’t require a taking it all in stride attitude. This kind of life challenge requires tears and scrapes and bruises and falls. Adventure requires the tough stuff, the vulnerability of the tears and the awe. Adventure requires resilience and an intimate relationship with fear in order to venture forward on the long, hard walk through the woods of the unknown. When the night sky is black, the adventurer relies on the glowing light of the moon, and knows enough to continue on until the sun kisses the edges of the horizon and lights his way again. 

Each day is like this walk through the woods of the unknown. There are awful parts and really great parts. Fear grasps my spirit and instead of running from fear, I allow fear to pass through me and really feel fear. I can’t conquer fear until I know what it feels like. I can’t wipe the tears until I allow them to flow. Feeling my feelings, really feeling the sadness as much as I feel the joy, is what gives me true freedom. Taking it all in stride is just an avoidance of these feelings. I don’t need to be the girl who feels nothing to be brave. I am the girl who feels everything and is brave because of it. I face the tears with as much enthusiasm as I face the laughter. Both extremes feed my soul and propel my spirit. The exploration of the unknown, for me, is a bath in the pool of vulnerability and realness. I don’t want to live in a world anymore where I am afraid to feel. I want to be able to say to that stranger in the store, “Yep, my life can be awful at times, maybe even for a whole day or an entire week, but it can also be really, really great at times. And the best part is I am on board for all of it. I am okay with the awful. It’s my life, my adventure, and the awful comes along for the ride. Don’t feel sorry for me though. You have a little bit of awful in your life, too. You will discover your unknown. Your tears will wash your stride away and teach you dance along with all of the rhythms of life. You will fall. You will get up and you will keep going. You will know your awful and you will learn to love it because it is just a part of your adventure.”


Happy New Year. I resolve to see my tears as marks of beauty. I hope you will too.


This photo was taken the week before Christmas as we headed out to celebrate a dear friend’s birthday. It’s the perfect juxtaposition of the awful and the great. Putting on boots or any shoe can take so much time out of my day. It really is awful to have something that used to take seconds take upwards of twenty minutes. But, it also really great to rely on my leftover dancer flexibility to help speed up the process. I might end up zipping the bootie in the car, on the way to dinner, but I rise to the challenge. One more bump in the road, one more tear, and one more smile. It’s just all part of the adventure. 


14 comments:

  1. I'm 35 years old, and by this point, you'd think I'd learn to not be surprised by the things that people will say, but hearing things like that still takes my breath away. But your thoughts on this situation and this person are spot on. We all have awful (And because this person would say such a thing to someone they don't even know, maybe they have a lot of awful going on in their life right now). The awful is hard but at some point we all have to accept that it's part of our journey. Easier said than done though! Anyway, so glad to see a new blog post from you today. Hope to see more soon. Happy New Year, Sarah!

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    1. Gina, I totally agree about eventually learning to hear shocking statements from others and not feeling shocked. Usually, most people, are more than kind. He seemed to feel concerned and genuine and I am assuming his words just came out wrong. Either way, it hit a nerve and a nerve that needed to be hit. You are right...we take the good with the bad. It is just the way it is. I hope you had a wonderful holiday and a very Happy New Year! Always so nice to hear from you! Sarah

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  2. Wonderful post, Sarah! The definition of "adventure" woke me up to a word I had taken for granted and used blithely - you are a gifted writer to make us see the world in a way we don't usually notice. Blessings to you in all of your adventures this new year!

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  3. You never fail to amaze me with your grasp, not only of words, but of realities. These are the ones that we, as parents, never want our kids to experience, the other side. You have found a truism, that all people have their challenges. This doesn't minimize yours; there is no comparison. But each day is a gift that we all have. We can make out of it what we choose. And yes, sometimes, we are aware that it just sucks. It just does. Other times, we see little Belle, with her adoring eyes and total unselfish love and you experience the small miracles that are everyday.
    You have a gift Sarah. You are really good at connecting with feelings and letting us in on them....without sugar coating them...without worrying who am I irritating...who am I making feel uncomfortable. This is me. This is Sarah. Thank you Sarah, for letting us in. And you look so much like your mom when I first met her in our early 20's. She was beautiful then and now...inside and out. Just like you.

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    1. Thank you, Elly, for this comment. Your words are exactly my purpose. To just be who I am, little joys and big upsets. We all share these extremes, whatever our circumstances. To share them makes me feel so much more connected. Thank you. Love, Sarah

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  4. Firstly, Happy New Year to you, Sarah! I have been reading your blog since you were first introduced on Enjoying The Small Things. I hope that 2015 is a fantastic year for you, full of amazing and beautiful moments.
    Secondly, that guy is/was a total jerk. I don't know or care what he thought he was doing by speaking to you like that, but a person would have to be spectacularly naive (and that's being generous) to think that it was in any way appropriate. Or needed, or required. I guess some people just have zero filter between their brains and their mouths and in some way you have to feel sorry for them that quite clearly they can not and do not have any of the range of sensitivity and perception that other people enjoy.
    However, you, as ever and always, have found the silver lining, have turned the hurt into an opportunity of growth and discovery, and then have shared this deeply personal experience with us. You are an amazing, luminous person,and that guy doesn't know it but his clumsy communication has sparked a beautiful firework of inspirational words for us to enjoy and benefit from. So I guess I can grudgingly thank him for that. (Grudgingly though).
    xxx

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    1. This comment is spectacular. Your generosity of words is greatly appreciated. I always say, please just have a filter, but sometimes I guess it sparks a fire in us when people fail to adhere to this request. I think we are who we are...no filter or filter. And what we do for others, whether we mean to or not, is our gift to the world. Even this man gave me a gift. He helped heal a part of me that was longing for the salve. I can't thank you enough for your summation...spot on. Thank you.

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  5. PS You look like a model in that picture! Great pic x

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    1. haha! Thank you! Ashlea's husband took it in the dark car with his flash on his phone and I can't believe the lighting! I think he should go into business! ;)

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  6. Happy New Year. Just wanted to say that you are stunning; that is a beautiful picture.

    All the best.

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    1. Thank you so very much and Happy New Year to you, too!

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  7. You have this way of writing words that express exactly how I am feeling but cannot express so succinctly. "each day is like this walk through the woods of the unknown..." My life. Right now. A breakup happened and I am floundering in this big world, feeling all alone and scared to the core of my being. I know what you write is true: "I can't conquer fear until I know what it feels like..." Like you, I need to FEEL it all and only then can I let it go and be free. Thank you for your insight and bravery in throwing the words out there for us all to drink in.
    Stunning picture of you, BTW. Simply stunning.
    Happy New Year, Sarah, my best wishes to you for a fantabulous year!

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    1. Yes, Cindy, feel the fear and the loneliness. I find when I actually allow the feelings to come through me, rather than avoid them, I am suddenly calm and left with a knowing that all will be well. Change and endings are scary, so scary. But, you will make it through the darkness to the other side. One day at a time and there isn't a right way, only your way. I heard Pema Chodrin say in an interview that she once felt extremely lonely. She picked up the phone and called a friend and when she hung up the phone she still felt lonely. She tried to escape the feeling, but, instead of running, she decided to sit in silence and feel lonely. Pema then said all of her loneliness left and she knows when she feels lonely it isn't a real. It's simply a call to sit in silence and be still. From this practice she knows she is never alone when she trusts herself, trusts in her own power.
      My hope, too, is to trust that I am just fine and all will be well. I wish the same for you!
      And Happy New Year to you too! And thanks for the sweet comment about the picture! Lots of love and peace to you! Sarah

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Thank you for commenting. I appreciate all of your words.