Start Using Your Good Dishes, For Real

I just finished reading Margery Williams' children's book The Velveteen Rabbit.  You might be wondering why I decided to read a children's story.  Well, although I read this book years ago as a child, in recent months it has been referenced in the books I've read on two separate occasions.  One specific part of The Velveteen Rabbit was quoted and I felt like it was a sign.  I heard a voice calling which got me thinking that there is something there for me to find.

So, I went out and got my hands on the book and re-read it in all its glory as a full fledged adult.  I didn't even read it to my kids - I read it for me (which I think kind of weirded my kids out - oh well).

The section of the book that was referenced was the part where the bunny asks the skin horse, "What is real?"  and then the horse explains it to him:  ""Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, than you become Real.""

The rabbit listens and understands that becoming real is difficult.  In becoming real you get to be loved but in the process your hair thins out, your whiskers fall out and you get "very shabby".  Being real, The Skin Horse explains, is not about how you were made, it's about what happens to you in life.

Being real, I realized is ultimately about allowing yourself to live fully by opening yourself up to being vulnerable.

By being vulnerable we allow ourselves to be loved.  As the Skin Horse points out, if we have edges that are too sharp or break easily then we cannot live fully.  We have to be tough and not break easily otherwise we cannot truly live life to the fullest.  The Skin Horse continues by clarifying that real isn't ugly.  Even though the prospect of becoming damaged as a result of being vulnerable sounds ugly, it is not, "except to people who don't understand."

How often do you place yourself in a position of vulnerability?  How often do you allow yourself to be open to love and living life to the fullest?  Will you let yourself run the risk of getting hurt?  Of getting damaged, lost, abused, or forgotten?

Too often we look at vulnerability and think, nope - that's not for me!  I'd rather not be used.  I'd rather not be abused.  I'd rather not be forgotten.  I'd rather protect myself.

But here's the thing; by protecting yourself you end up being trapped.  You can't experience love and life and all of its joys if you're hiding yourself away in fear of becoming damaged.

This makes me think of the good dishes that sit in my china cupboard.  Every time I pull them the guests' nervousness is palpable.  You see, most people keep their good china safe in the china cabinet for many years.  It remains in pristine condition because it is only used on rare occasions.  It's special, delicate, and expensive, so logically one doesn't want it to get damaged.  Makes sense, I guess.  Do you know someone like that?  Maybe that's you?

Honestly, as much as it makes sense I just don't get it.  I really, really don't.  What's the point of beautiful dishes that one never gets to use and enjoy?  You may as well not have them at all!

I'd rather use my good dishes.

I'd rather see my dishes be used even if it means they could get broken.  I'd rather them become chipped and lose their sheen than be locked in the cupboard never to be pulled out waiting for "one special day".  Dishes that get used get to see family and friends sitting around the table, they get to hear the latest scandals and updates and laugh at the politically incorrect jokes by the inappropriate uncles.  They get to witness my children and nieces grow up and blossom into beautiful young women.  The dishes in the cupboard miss out because they remain trapped - never living to their full potential.

Now I know that people are not good china, but here's what I'm beginning to understand; as I'm starting to see the tell tale signs of growing older and aging I can see the chips and loss of sheen when I look at myself in the mirror.  Sometimes it kind of scares me.  I can see the wrinkles and grey hair peeking over the corners of my eyes and hiding above my temples.

The older I get the more shabby I seem to look.  The older I get the more chances I've had to be broken and hurt.  The older I get the more I put myself out there.  As such I am carry the scars that tell my life story and make me who I am.

Are you getting shabbier too?  Or are you sitting in the china cupboard waiting for one day to come out and experience life?

Even though I can see myself getting shabbier every year, the older I get the fuller my heart is.  The older I get the more joys I have experienced.  Sometimes it feels like with age, the load of life gets heavier but at the same time I'm also getting stronger.

In spite of life's heavy load and all that shabbiness that comes with age The Velveteen Rabbit reminded me that along with all of that we become real.

Real means we've lived.  Real means we were alive.  Real means we were engaged in life and yes, sometimes hurt along the way but in the end we sure as hell had one good ride.

Real means we've allowed ourselves to be vulnerable and come out the other side scythed yet lovely and beautiful.  Real means we don't just sit in the cupboard waiting for a special occasion to be seen.

Let's be vulnerable and embrace the shabbiness of life.  Let's pull out the good dishes for the sake of being real.

I'm A Writer, Right?

The truth is I find it hard to call myself a writer.

I mean obviously, I'm sitting here writing this blog, but does that seriously make me a writer?

The reason why I say this is because I have never heard anyone call me a writer.  I mean, I've been called many a thing, but never a writer.

Strangely enough, over the last year stories of writers finding their voice have visited me in one book or another.  I began 2019 with a book called  Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert and I ended it with Surfside Sisters by Nancy Thayer.  These two novels book-ended 2019 (consequently my year of failing as a writer - just read my post The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly to find out why) and it haunted me.  I could hear the voices of these authors calling me to write, to find my voice, to connect with others and to let my voice be heard but I couldn’t quite find the words or the courage to make it happen.

I suppose my ability to label myself as competent or valued in a particular way stems from a deep seated need for validation from others.  To see value in myself I often wait for it to be seen by others.  Have you ever been there?  I mean, have you ever doubted yourself and then waited until someone else was able to believe in you first?

Come on people, I know I'm not alone.

Even in Joanne Goodman’s novel The Home for Unwanted Girls I heard and understood how we define our ourselves by how others see us.  How other's opinions of us validate our existence and influence our choices.  Although not explicitly about being writer, this novel helped me realize the importance of writing your own story and not letting others do it for you (or to you).  I understood how finding your voice means empowering yourself by being in control of your life narrative.

Hold on, I need a moment of brutal honesty here folks before I continue...

Even though I truly believe in the power of writing one's own narrative, of being the one who is calling the shots, paradoxically, I often don’t feel safe to do so.  I don't always feel safe believing in myself. As I mentioned, I don't exactly feel right calling myself a writer.

What am I so afraid of?  Why do I have this inner voice of self doubt?  Why is it that I rely so heavily on the validation of others?  I have spent a lifetime writing my thoughts down in journals.  I have written way too many essays for school.  In my youth I wrote love letters a plenty to old boyfriends.  I have created countless lessons and assignments for an endless number of students.  I write a letter of gratitude to each of my daughters every year for their birthday.  So I know that I write.

How can I have written so much and yet not consider myself a writer?  I mean if this blog not testament enough to my commitment to writing then what is?

I suppose I may only come to accept myself when I reach a certain level of accomplishment that will validate me.  I believe that this stems from how I was raised.  I know I am loved dearly but I also know that the way to gain attention, approval and recognition is often by achieving something.

So here's the part where I admit that I check the stats for this blog.  Actually, I check pretty frequently.  Like almost every day.  Okay fine, sometimes more than once a day.

Why?

I'm looking to see if anyone is reading what I've written.  I’m searching for which posts they are reading, how often they are visiting the blog, if they've commented on a particular post, and if they have subscribed.  I'm hoping to reach 50 subscribers by June 30, 2020 and the process so far has been slow and a bit nerve wracking.  Because deep down inside I need to know that someone is looking.  That someone sees me and acknowledges what I'm trying to accomplish here.  That this blog matters.  That I matter.

Which makes me question what happens if no one is reading? Does it even really matter if I reach 50 subscribers?  Isn't the fact that I'm writing this blog at all good enough?

If in the end no one validates my work then is it of any value at all?  As my words fall on this page if no one is out there reading them then do they actually make a sound?

I suppose the answer is yes.

Because even if no one else reads this blog I know that at least I have it for me.  And if not for me then it is a legacy to be left behind for the people I love the most.  It's has become part of my life narrative.

It's at times like this that I can't help but think about my maternal grandmother who gave me so much.    She was illiterate and could not speak English.  I have so many fond memories of her.  She taught me so much.  She showed me how to be uma mulher de guerra and quite possibly the most domesticated feminist you'll ever meet.  And yet, as close as we were there was a distance between us.

I cannot tell you how many times there were things that were left unspoken between us.  There was so much I wanted to know about her.  So much I wanted to say.  As a teen I distinctly remember wanting to say “I love you” in Portuguese but I couldn’t.  I literally didn’t know how.  I didn’t learn the translation until it was too late.  She passed away in 1997 and I will never speak to her or hear her words of wisdom again as the chapters of her story have already come to a close.

I wish my grandmother could have written her life story down for me.  I wish I could have known her better.  I wish her words could still be with me today - that I could still hear her voice or even just simply read one of her recipes. 

Sigh...

I can't change any of that.  But I can change what I'm doing now and in my future.

By writing this blog, regardless of who reads it or not, at least my story won’t be lost.  My words will not be forgotten.  Regardless of how many followers, page visits or comments my story will live on and make me stronger regardless of whether or not I consider myself a writer.

I will not wait for external validation.  I will not wait for someone to see me and tell me what I'm doing here is worthwhile.  I will continue doing what I'm doing because it’s alright to call myself a writer.

Remove the Box; Infinite Possibilities

At the beginning of 2019 I read Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert.  Reading this book happened to be a happy accident.  My eldest daughter who was 10 at the time, had picked it up at the local Indigo book store.  Being the not so attentive kid that she can sometimes be, she didn't realize that Big Magic wasn't a kids' book.  So, I took it off her hands and gave it a go.  And boy was I glad that I did that.  Big Magic was great.  It really spoke to me because it addressed something that I have been unknowingly carrying around for a long time.  Something that had be dragging me down and boxing me in.

This book made me realize that I had been secretly carrying fear like a the latest designer handbag.  And even worse, I didn't know that I was carrying it.  You see, fear is cunning; fear was disguised as safety, sensibility and caution all in the name of self-preservation.

Does this sound familiar to you?

It does to me.

Now, if you know me at all you'd likely know that I'm not a big fan of horror films or suspense novels, nor am I thrilled by big roller coasters or sharks, or anything that could be deemed scary or dangerous.  I'm the sensitive type.  If it's going to  scare the crap out of me, no thanks, I'll pass.

To be honest, even though I know I'm the cautious type I'm not actually ashamed of it.  That being said, I have found myself wishing I were more adventurous; but I honestly I didn't know how to make that change.  That was until Big Magic came into my life. 

In this book Gilbert writes about life being a journey.  Joining you on that journey are many emotions.  And fear is most definitely one of them.  Especially when we are challenging ourselves to do something that scares us.  But Gilbert points something out about fear that made a lot a sense to me.

She taught me that fear is always going to be on the journey.  But you need to tell it where it gets to sit in the car.  You are in the driver's seat and you are in charge.  You get to set the rules for the trip.  Fear is allowed to come along.  Fear will never want to miss out on a opportunity.  But fear will be in the back seat.  Fear is never allowed to take the wheel, or be in charge of the map, or the music, or even crack open the window.

Silent and motionless in the back is where fear needs to reside on your life's journey.

Fear may join you on the ride but it is NOT allowed to make any decisions for your journey.

This totally spoke to me.

Like I said, I was carrying fear around like a fancy designer bag not realizing that in doing so I had brought fear into the driver's seat.  I didn't even know it was telling me where to go!

Fast forward one year and I've just finished reading City of Girls also by Elizabeth Gilbert.  I picked this book up not even remembering Big Magic or putting two and two together that it was by the same author.  Sometimes I pick up books for no good reason.  And in this case, I liked the cover because I thought it was pretty (no judgement please).

In this book Gilbert again had a lesson to teach me about fear.  I really enjoyed City of Girls and what I loved about it other than the endearing characters, and the story of a women daring to carve her own path in life contrary to what society wanted from her, is the lesson that when we try to take the safe path, when let fear tell us what to do, we loose our freedom.

How many times have you lost your freedom because fear took the driver's seat and said:

Don't say too much.
Don't talk too loud.
Don't push the boundaries.
Don't defy social norms.
Don't dress that way.
Don't act that way.
Don't eat that.
Don't do that.
Don't...
Don't -
Don't.

I'd like to live a life free from fear.  I'd like to create a life where I'm in the driver's seat free to take my journey wherever it may lead.  So I'm telling fear to take a back seat.

I know that on the other side of things that scare me are life's greatest pleasures. I'm ready to be scared. I'm ready to face life with fear sitting silently in the back seat.

I'm ready to remove the box that fear creates for me to uncover infinite possibilities.