A Pilgrimage from Pouting to Presence

We have this possibility of doing a pilgrimage every single day. Because a pilgrimage implies in meeting different people, in talking to strangers, in paying attention to the omens, and basically being open to life. And, we leave our home to go to work, to go to school, and we have every single day this possibility, this chance of discovering something new. So, the pilgrimage is [for]... people who are open to life.

Paulo Coelho (in an interview with Krista Tippett for Onbeing.org)

In his heartbreakingly beautiful memoir, When Breath Becomes Air, Paul Kalanithi writes, “Human knowledge is never contained in one person. It grows from the relationships we create between each other and the world, and still it is never complete.” I took numerous trinkets of wisdom from his writing, but this phrase struck a major chord. I know I am such a hodge podge mash up of all the people who have passed through or are still present in my life. It would not be fair to say I’m a melting pot because I can still identify who and where I gathered some of the transformational nuggets of knowledge that shape me. To make Kalanithi’s words ring even more true, he emphasizes that the process of patching ourselves together is “never complete.” We are a work in progress.

Each new person I take time to come in contact with has the potential to leave a lasting brick in the wall of me. Likewise, each place I visit and see can take up residence and shape my perspective. Creating myself involves synthesizing everything I see, hear, touch, taste and feel in this big, beautiful world. How do I continue to construct knowledge and build new understanding? By embracing what a wise Instagram hashtag once taught me - #keeplearning. Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep traveling. Keep talking. Keep listening. Keep watching. Keep moving. Keep living.

But there has to be more. Life is not measured in hashtags (I hope). Kalanithi uses the phrase “relationships we create.” It will not suffice to just keep doing stuff. We must commit to actively create. We need to cultivate relationships with people and places in order to gain and appreciate human knowledge. This concept sends me drifting through the pages and pages of my life; all the people I have known and all the places I have been that left me “schooled” for better or for worse. What if I never embraced my life in NYC? What if I never took the time to find and cling to my “mama tribe” when I first became a mother? What if we never answered the call for open space and adventure and moved to Colorado? What if we never started a CrossFit community in our garage? What if I had not taken the time to cultivate deep friendships within my profession of teaching? I shudder to think of the tremendous void and all the human knowledge that would be missing from my life.

When we left Colorado, I was devastated. I left a piece of my heart there and spent the first couple of years here in Charlotte pouting. I thought that life out West had changed me, which it did. It awakened me to adventure and a passion to explore all that this world has to offer. By failing to practice flexible thinking, a term we use to pry my Type A child from his rigid world view, I blatantly dismiss the fact that my life out West was a new beginning and perspective, not one self-contained experience. Living in Colorado left a lasting impression on me, but I have to leave that behind and become fully present in my new life to reap the rewards of a world of opportunity in a different, slightly more humid home on the East Coast.

In a little less than six years, I have grown more as a person since moving back to North Carolina than I ever have in my entire life. I have found friends who show me genuine honesty and encourage me on an inward journey to discovery of my truest self. Neighbors invite me to step outside my comfort zone and push my physical capabilities. Co-workers introduce me to knowledge and ideas that help challenge and shape my world view. Teachers remind me to listen more and talk less.  Colleagues engage me in difficult, soul-searching conversation that rattles me at my core. Each relationship has a vital and unique role in my “chance of discovering something new.” I have to halt the lamenting for what I once had and decide to show up and cultivate human knowledge in a new place and with new people. This shift has literally been life-changing but remains fluid, occasionally slipping from my grasp on days I still mourn for the life we left behind.

Kalanithi was 37 when he lost his battle with cancer. So very young. He was my age with a wife and brand new baby girl. Yet his voice whispers through the pages for us to wake up and take action. Our pilgrimage is never complete. We can’t hold all this life has to offer in one person or one place. We must take the time to cultivate relationships. We can get to know people and have real, life-enriching conversations. Yes, #keeplearning, but that and so much more. Ask questions and really listen to the answers, all the many answers. Then take pause and start building that human knowledge one relationship at a time.

A note about this post…

I wrote this reflection on Kalanithi’s book a couple of months ago. I was saving it for a rainy day because other topics kept popping up. Originally, I had written a blog about my daughter for this week; then, election day happened. I wanted to write about the hurt, sadness and fear engulfing me at the moment, but I am yet to formulate my thoughts and feelings in a communicable way. I am sitting with all of it on my heart and mind, hugging people (weird, I know), and trying to have as many conversations as possible. This reflection on Kalanithi’s book does not reveal my post-election heart; however, it does address one of my goals moving forward. The human knowledge I have built is the very reason I have been so deeply affected emotionally by the events of this week. Presence, awareness and relationships have opened my heart to the painful truths we all face as a nation. As Toni Morrison quite simply states, “Can’t nothing heal without pain, you know.” Thanks for reading.

A Moment of Silence

I unfollowed a lot of people this week. Scrolling through Facebook after the Orlando shooting, I was disappointed that my reaction was anger at people I knew. I didn’t want to talk about gun control or politicians the day after this tragedy. I wanted to talk about human lives. Mothers who had to bury their children. I was so saddened and noticed the unhealthy anger I was developing towards other people was not a good use of my energy or time. It was neither helping the problem or easing anyone’s grief.

Thanks to Lisbeth Darsh, an online friend and writer I follow, I stumbled upon Krista Tippet’s book, Becoming Wise: An Inquiry into the Mystery and Art of Living. It turns out it came along just when I needed it. “We’ve all been trained to be advocates for what we care about. This has its place and its value in civil society, but it can get in the way of the axial move of deciding to care about each other” (Tippet 29). In this situation the angry shouts and taunts of the “advocates” were drowning out the wailing cries of human beings mourning their loss. Why didn’t everyone feel a sense of desperation for love and caring for each other in this moment? I felt like I was the only one who needed to see it and hear it. I didn’t have any words or reactions to post. There was too much to feel and process.

In America, many features of national public life are also better suited to adolescence than to adulthood. We don’t do things adults learn to do, like calm ourselves, and become less narcissistic. Much of politics and media sends us in the opposite, infantilizing direction. We reduce great questions of meaning and morality to “issues” and simplify them to two sides, allowing pundits and partisans to frame them in irreconcilable extremes. But most of us don’t see the world this way, and it’s not the way the world actually works. (Tippet 12-13)

Tippet’s explanation gave words to my struggle. I wanted to give her a standing ovation and exclaim, “Yes! That’s it!” This week I felt like I was in a world of screaming teenagers, full of impulses and reactions. Many of the responses on social media were so instantaneous and irrational. Darsh posted, “After you type it, check yourself.” She is acknowledging what so many of us are thinking. Please think before you share. These posts cannot be unheard. They are read by real humans experiencing real pain. This is not a reality show.

Can we move beyond discussing these “great questions of meaning and morality” through internet memes and insulting rhetoric? Can we step away from issues and see real people and real pain? Social media has created a space where many can play “couch coach” to the lives of others. They can watch tragedy unfold on the news and instantly chime in with solutions and judgments.  Perhaps it is a coping mechanism or the human drive to take action to fix a broken world. But this divisive and harmful rhetoric becomes noise, deafening noise that fills the space, which at times is starved for silence. We appear to understand the need for silence. We incorporate a moment of silence into ceremonies or rituals in recognition of death and tragedy. Silence is a form of respect and offers us a moment to pause and think, not react or shout, just to think and let it all settle in for a bit.

Where is this moment of silence in social media? I found that I had to take the day away from social media after the Orlando shootings. I had no idea how to formulate a response so quickly. How did people even know what they were thinking?  I needed silence. I saw a close friend from the LGBTQ community that day, and I just hugged her. I had no words or clear thoughts yet, but I think where people are hurting, a hug can speak volumes.

I am not pretending that my response was the right one. Many people were angry about silence and said silence from certain groups was deafening. But I am not referring to the deliberate silence of neglect or denial but rather the pause to check yourself that Darsh mentions. I am referring to taking the time to care about each other, not just the issues. Part of understanding each other is appreciating our vulnerability and the fact that most of us do not have the exact answer for all this world’s brokenness. But I can grieve and hug my friends in the LGBTQ community and offer support in any way possible.

I am hopeful that we can “grow up” as a nation in the way we handle tragedy. As a teenager my feelings were raw, and I was always so adamant and certain in my beliefs. With age and maturity came the realization that I don’t have most things figured out, but I need to listen and learn more. I can pause, check myself, and allow myself to feel and process before reacting. Collectively, we can monitor our reactions and move beyond impulse to care about each other.

I can disagree with your opinion, it turns out, but I can’t disagree with your experience. And once I have a sense of your experience, you and I are in relationship, acknowledging the complexity in each other’s position, listening less guardedly. The difference in our opinions will probably remain in tact, but it no longer defines what is possible between us. (Tippet 22)