O Give Thanks

No idea why it struck me anew, this deep sense of gratitude for having just one short hour of counseling with my oldest brother.  Knew at the time it was a genuine miracle.   

For me, it was an unexpected balm, having an opportunity to ask questions & receive answers, to hear the heart thoughts of someone always outside my reach, beyond my ken, getting to soak in the reasons he is outside my reach, forever beyond my ken.

  

Me?

Me, an activist?  An advocate?  ME?  

Nah – that’s my sister, who in the glory days of the mid-‘60s took a summer theater workshop in Greenwich Village’s Circle in the Square, who took an evening math course at Penn in the white hot days of the late ‘60s, who attended a mountain college in the backwoods of Georgia, who traveled Ireland for a month by herself, who was formally recognized by the state legislature of New Jersey for her work with autistic children.  Mim – yes, I could see her as activist & advocate.  

But me?  Surely, you jest!

This time last week, I would have totally scoffed at such an idea.  But that was before Judy Wicks’ Saturday book-signing at the Doylestown Bookshop. 

I have not been reading her book, Good Morning, Beautiful Business, so much as devouring it.  It has been a revelation. 

For decades, I've known about Judy Wicks, the proprietor of  the unintentionally trend-setting White Dog Café (& its sister store, The Black Cat) and as a social activist.  But I always saw my sister as an embodiment of the values & energies that personify Judy, not me, never me.  For years, I saw myself - at best – as merely Mim’s acolyte.

In reading Judy’s remarkable book, am realizing more & more how often I projected my best qualities away from myself & onto my sister.  Not that my sister isn’t  remarkable – she is.  But it’s also true that I projected every best quality of my own onto her.  Strange, very strange.

It’s like I’m discovering myself in reading Good Morning, Beautiful Business.  How bizarre that I never saw myself as an activist, an advocate.  My gosh – just look at my business card, which reads Deev Murphy ~ legacy coach, grannie listener, community builder, aging-in-place advocate.  What does each of those things describe, if not an activist, an advocate?

It never dawned on me that what I hold to be my greatest professional accomplishments were all tied to some form of advocacy or activism.

Professionally, it started in my first year in my first job, teaching in the local elementary school.  The powers-that-be planned on holding back two of my students.  Not knowing the power I had, I strongly expressed my disagreement with the plan, explaining that they could hold back students in any other years, but not in 6^th grade (which I taught), when the rest of their classmates would move to a different campus (Benade Hall, now the ANC Boys School), and not in 8^th, when the class went onto high school.  

Will never forget the principal saying, to my drop-jaw surprise,  “Well, we can’t hold them back without the classroom teacher’s approval.”  

“Well,” I responded, “You don’t have it.”  

The room went silent.  He calmly looked me in the eye & said, “We have to accept your decision.  But know that whatever happens with these two students, it’s on your head.”  

What the principal & the head teacher & others missed was that the two students were quite bright (one was brilliant),  they just learned differently than most.  When they moved on with the class, they were blessed to have teachers who built on the progress I’d made boosting their confidence, going way beyond what I’d accomplished. 

Both turned out fine – no, make that fabulous! But I never saw what I did as being an advocate – I just stood up for two children who faced not only being labeled as deficit in some way, but in losing the friends who helped make school bearable.  Wouldn’t anyone?  

No One Can Say....

... that I was among the countless who disown their personal power. In order to do that - disown it, abdicate responsibility, turn over accountability - a person has to have sensed ownership in the first place.

The thought that I might have any sort of personal power never occurred to me.  Growing up, I didn't see it modeled around me, and certainly not a single soul in my family made reference to such a possibility - not in word, not in deed.  

Which is so totally weird, because by nature, I was totally comfortable with having personal power, a sense of accountability & responsibility to others (just not to myself).  

Dad understood personal power & individual responsibility – he held me, even at a young age, accountable for what I said.  Even as a kid having to deal with the bitter fruits of rashly spoken words, I respected that in him & appreciated the life lesson it taught me.

I might never know if it that sort of lesson was similarly appreciated by my siblings.  My experience of them has always been of people who forget anything that makes them uncomfy or might put them at any sort of disadvantage.  Poof!  It’s gone, accepted by the majority as never spoken.

That drove me nuts, since it modeled the opposite of what I valued.  Sounds all puffed up & “Aren’t I swell,” but the reality is that I always had a sense in the back of my mind that we are each meant to hold ourselves accountable for personal actions.  For me, that meant talking with people directly about situations or problems.

Problem is, my sibs & Mom (Dad died when I was 21) communicate through triangulation.  Hey, it’s a valid way of communicating, but I could never get the hang of it.  To me, for Person A  to expect/allow/give permission for Person C to tell Person B how they (Person A) are feeling or what they want is a personal abdication of power. Sheez!  

For their part, my sibs have made no secret about how insufferable they find their baby sister.  My brother is reported as having told someone that he & my older sister became closer friends when they discovered that neither liked me!  And while one s-i-l had a pretty clear view of my family dynamics, my other one found me insufferably rude at 21 years old, at 45 considered me the most psychotic person she’d experience – who knows how she feels about me at 61! 

But I do get it – finally.  I take after Dad, who was generally direct & open with his opinions & what he valued.  Whereas my sibs communicate via triangulation, Dad was never one to shilly-shally around – he was as direct as they come.  He knew about personal power, he accepted it in himself & respected it in others.  He held himself accountable for his actions, and expected others to do the same.  I am my father’s daughter. 

Mind you, it took until my middish twenties for me to stop dancing the triangulation two-step (and, too often, two-faced).  It took recognizing – for the first time! - a strange disowned-power pattern in my Mom.

Many's the time, over the years, Mom would take me into her confidence, grousing & grumping about stuff that bothered her about my sister.  Thinking she was telling me so that I’d relay the info to my sister, off I would go to tell all.  Of course, when my understandably upset sister confronted Mom, I’d be stunned to hear, “I have no idea what you're talking about."  It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out I was being used as an emotional whipping boy.  Finally, around 25, I got up the courage to say, as Mom started to stress out to me over my sister, "That's something you have to discuss with her," and left the room.  (Did she?  Ever?)  

I never experienced anyone in my family using what I might have recognized as personal power.  But that was then, this is now.

I am 61 years old and proud to say that I am, by nature, comfortable with the personal power God gave me.  Downright wildly ecstatic about it!  It’s not easy – it’s still foreign to me, still a struggle to boldly  embrace it.  Hey, it was only last year that I realized that my inner core was woefully squishy.  I dedicated myself to stripping down & rebuilding my internal structure.  

The foundation was finished around fall – marked by my new-found ability to consciously develop, use & reuse helpful patterns.   Now, I am proud to announce that the rivets are being driven into the superstructure - each rivet being some aspect of my personal power, which is necessary to bind the girders together.  

I didn't grow up in a family that modeled personal power, at least not the way I define it.  I never had any reason to think such a thing – the antithesis of ignoring & excusing - existed.  Now, I do.  Now, I can see all the times through the years that I used it – a lot of good was done.  My sanity was saved.  

Thank you, oh Great Power That Fills All, for your patience.  And I'll gladly take that gift you give us all of personal power, letting it guide me into a life of never-ending gratitude.  

It won't be easy.  Consciously using my personal power is brand new to me, foreign.  There will be triumphs & not-so-great follow throughs (still didn't submit my billable hours!) & even set backs.  But good things come to those who persist & I promise that I will!   ... that I was among the countless who disown their personal power. In order to do that - disown it, abdicate responsibility, turn over accountability - a person has to have sensed ownership in the first place.

The thought that I might have any sort of personal power never occurred to me.  Growing up, I didn't see it modeled around me, and certainly not a single soul in my family made reference to such a possibility - not in word, not in deed.  

Which is so totally weird, because by nature, I was totally comfortable with having personal power, a sense of accountability & responsibility to others (just not to myself).  

Dad understood personal power & individual responsibility – he held me, even at a young age, accountable for what I said.  Even as a kid having to deal with the bitter fruits of rashly spoken words, I respected that in him & appreciated the life lesson it taught me.

I might never know if it that sort of lesson was similarly appreciated by my siblings.  My experience of them has always been of people who forget anything that makes them uncomfy or might put them at any sort of disadvantage.  Poof!  It’s gone, accepted by the majority as never spoken.

That drove me nuts, since it modeled the opposite of what I valued.  Sounds all puffed up & “Aren’t I swell,” but the reality is that I always had a sense in the back of my mind that we are each meant to hold ourselves accountable for personal actions.  For me, that meant talking with people directly about situations or problems.

Problem is, my sibs & Mom (Dad died when I was 21) communicate through triangulation.  Hey, it’s a valid way of communicating, but I could never get the hang of it.  To me, for Person A  to expect/allow/give permission for Person C to tell Person B how they (Person A) are feeling or what they want is a personal abdication of power. Sheez!  

For their part, my sibs have made no secret about how insufferable they find their baby sister.  My brother is reported as having told someone that he & my older sister became closer friends when they discovered that neither liked me!  And while one s-i-l had a pretty clear view of my family dynamics, my other one found me insufferably rude at 21 years old, at 45 considered me the most psychotic person she’d experience – who knows how she feels about me at 61! 

But I do get it – finally.  I take after Dad, who was generally direct & open with his opinions & what he valued.  Whereas my sibs communicate via triangulation, Dad was never one to shilly-shally around – he was as direct as they come.  He knew about personal power, he accepted it in himself & respected it in others.  He held himself accountable for his actions, and expected others to do the same.  I am my father’s daughter. 

Mind you, it took until my middish twenties for me to stop dancing the triangulation two-step (and, too often, two-faced).  It took recognizing – for the first time! - a strange disowned-power pattern in my Mom.

Many's the time, over the years, Mom would take me into her confidence, grousing & grumping about stuff that bothered her about my sister.  Thinking she was telling me so that I’d relay the info to my sister, off I would go to tell all.  Of course, when my understandably upset sister confronted Mom, I’d be stunned to hear, “I have no idea what you're talking about."  It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out I was being used as an emotional whipping boy.  Finally, around 25, I got up the courage to say, as Mom started to stress out to me over my sister, "That's something you have to discuss with her," and left the room.  (Did she?  Ever?)  

I never experienced anyone in my family using what I might have recognized as personal power.  But that was then, this is now.

I am 61 years old and proud to say that I am, by nature, comfortable with the personal power God gave me.  Downright wildly ecstatic about it!  It’s not easy – it’s still foreign to me, still a struggle to boldly  embrace it.  Hey, it was only last year that I realized that my inner core was woefully squishy.  I dedicated myself to stripping down & rebuilding my internal structure.  

The foundation was finished around fall – marked by my new-found ability to consciously develop, use & reuse helpful patterns.   Now, I am proud to announce that the rivets are being driven into the superstructure - each rivet being some aspect of my personal power, which is necessary to bind the girders together.  

I didn't grow up in a family that modeled personal power, at least not the way I define it.  I never had any reason to think such a thing – the antithesis of ignoring & excusing - existed.  Now, I do.  Now, I can see all the times through the years that I used it – a lot of good was done.  My sanity was saved.  

Thank you, oh Great Power That Fills All, for your patience.  And I'll gladly take that gift you give us all of personal power, letting it guide me into a life of never-ending gratitude.  

It won't be easy.  Consciously using my personal power is brand new to me, foreign.  There will be triumphs & not-so-great follow throughs (still didn't submit my billable hours!) & even set backs.  But good things come to those who persist & I promise that I will!   

Rejiggered Expectations

A recent post - Balancing Act - reflected that, "Life is such a tricky balancing act.  When to acknowledge that something really deeply deeply bothers me, when to laugh it off.   When is laughing it off simply burying it, ignoring very real pain.  Not easy questions to answer. "  

In the days since writing it, have been struck by the wisdom of accepting that certain issues are critical for me, but rejiggering expectations of how to experience them.  Because no amount of wishing & hoping will make something that's an issue for ME an issue for anyone else if it just isn't.  It's not personal, except in the sense it what matters deeply deeply deeply (often irrationally) to one person is rarely experienced to the same degree by any others.  

And (ah, hem) it cuts both ways.  Things that are deep-in-their-dna issues for others aren't necessarily registering on my own radar.  Oh, I'll get it if they point out to me, "This is the issue that matters so much to me that you seem to ignore."  But come on - who other than, well...  me would yammer on in such an open-to-the-world way?  Most will just process it in silence.

Which leaves it up to me to rejigger expectations AND reactions.  Do my best to recognize other's deep-tissue issues, especially John's, and be sensitive to them.  Accept that it's up to me to understand my visceral issues are connected to ancient events long ago receded into distant history, albeit leaving behind toxic traces of emotional residue. Do what I can to sense & respect other's deep-tissue issues, stated or not.  

Because, face it - am I okay with experiencing (or causing) even an occasionally ruptured life due to emotional residue?  I think not.

oh my gosh!

haven't been posting my daily haiku!!  let's play catch-up...

Day 6

Words can serve as bars

Against our truest sense of

The tenderest heart.

Computer disconnect

From internet, from printer.

Reconnect to life.

Day 7

Short note from Peter

One line, on an index card -

Means the world to me

Day 8

John likes the “cobwebs,”

The spiders just-right creepy.

Boo-tiful décor!

Thank you, Linda G!

Thanks, Hilary & Michael!

Blessed by such friends.

Rich autumn colors –

Russet, orange, gold, red, green.

Fall uplifts my soul.

Great striding fugue

Voices lift  in glorias -

Divine connectors.

Rennie bites my leg;

Look at the clock – too early.

He is basement-bound!

Day 9

Workshops on success

Are too expensive to take.

Bitter irony

As Life’s dancers dance;

Its writers write their stories

They must what they must.

It’s always my choice:

To sing out my writer’s voice,

Or put it on mute.

Blown into bubbles

Waiting to be burst with  one  –

“Mediocrity.”

Who is ever sure

Their writing echoes their voice,

Or distorts, or mutes?

  

Day 10

Splashes of water

Revive my skin, my spirit

Hot shower rapture!!

Day 11

the glow of her face

soaking in Barbara’s song –

a moment of joy

seems that I’m called

to craft such moments of joy.

non-trad senior care.

cuts two ways with them

singer & her audience;

bliss flows back & forth.

Day 12

Here come Frankenstorm!

How to ride out a HUGE storm?

Sump pump’s a good start!

Day 13

Overcast morning,

Brilliant leaves against grey gloom;
Awaiting what comes.

Day 14

Lost another friend

Feathers ruffled by my words

Why not just rebut?

Day 15

Hidden wounds undone

Thoughtless words pierce like arrows

Childless heart implodes.

Day 16

Lakota sits, still.

Calm, centered, atop his box.

Zen Cat #2.

Day 17

Hum drifts on a breeze

Warm lights in a neighbor’s house

Sweet generator

Day 18

Gryf & Sky, asleep

Snugged by & on me, trusting

Light hand on warm fur

Balancing Act

Life is such a tricky balancing act.  When to acknowledge that something really deeply deeply bothers me, when to laugh it off.   When is laughing it off simply burying it, ignoring very real pain.  Not easy questions to answer.  

But they drive me batty.