I woke up earlier than expected after three long days of training. I planned a rest day and had every intention of sleeping in. I was surprised to be awake at this hour. I dressed, put my tennis shoes on, brushed my teeth and headed to the red rocks. Hiking tops my list of activities that bring serenity - no matter the setting.
The people who had arrived before me were all headed to hike the “Dixie” rock. I headed in the opposite direction. I was seeking peace and quiet this morning. It was definitely quiet. I smiled as I noticed a tiny lizard scurry out from under a rock as I walked by. I watched a grasshopper leap and fly, then land again. I sensed his annoyance as my path followed his. Leap, fly, land, repeat. I adjusted my walking path a bit to give him some space. My heart and body both jumped when the sagebrush to my left rustled and a desert hare dashed away quickly. My heart stopped and I waited to catch my breath. I paused to take a picture of the beautiful creature. I walked on, almost stepping on a mound filled with giant ants. I stared intently at their busy work. What an incredible example of a community working together in harmony! There was so much to learn by observing nature in action. I paused when I heard a buzzing noise. It was easy to miss, but I could hear it. Maybe even feel it. I looked up and was surprised to see the big power lines above. I could actually hear them. “Is that normal?” I wondered to myself. “Probably. I’m just rarely in a setting that’s so quiet and undisturbed.”
I checked my phone. I’d walked for much longer than I realized. I turned around to hike back to the van. A bigger lizard scampered across the path then paused. It blended into the rocks and sand so perfectly that I almost lost sight of it. I got out my phone and snapped another picture. My kids would be so excited to see all the wildlife I encountered on my hike! I got closer and tried to find a better angle to take a picture. He didn’t move, though I was inches away. Frozen. He stayed completely still until I left. I could relate.
My mind drifted back to Thursday afternoon…
I heard the words echoing in my head. Was it true? Was the question too deep for the youth? My inner critic arrived on cue: “Maybe you’re not cut out to be a mentor for the scholars. You should just stay in the children’s program. You don’t know how to relate to the youth. You can’t even ask the right questions.”
As if prompted by my own inner demon, my mentor shifted gears and turned her attention to one of the youth in our class training to be a student mentor. I lowered my eyes and looked at the floor. “I must be way off. I have no idea what the youth need. Why am I even here at this training?”
The tears came. I tried to focus on questions - get out of my heart and back into my head. Focus on my paper and pen. Ugh! Blasted pen! Of course it’s going to decide to stop working at such an inopportune time. I turned around to my backpack and searched desperately for another pen while tears streamed down my cheeks. The mentor came to my side and asked if she could help. That made it worse. “I have got to get out of here!” I thought to myself.
I stood up and walked out quietly, trying not to draw any more attention to myself. An impossible feat. I walked to the bathroom, passing several other mentors and administrators in the hall as well as the president of our school who happened to be in the common space on a phone call at that very moment. Ugh! Why did there have to be so many people around to witness this emotional breakdown? I walked outside and sat down against the bricks of the building. It was so hot in the sun, but the physical nature of the heat was a welcome relief to the intense emotions that washed over me.
I texted a friend, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I sat for a few more minutes and tried to regain my composure, then walked back to the classroom and sat down. More tears. The velocity with which they fell increased dramatically. “Seriously? What is wrong with you, Maria? Stop crying!” After a couple of minutes, I realized the tears were not going to stop. I got up and walked out of the classroom again. I felt like an idiot. I made a mistake, and felt super embarrassed. Okay, so move on already. But I couldn’t. My emotions were floating around publicly for all to witness. Oh to be a closed book with a high, guarded wall! I retreated to my brick wall in the hot sun once more.
I came back to the present moment. Yes, little lizard. I know how you feel.
I had found safety again, if only momentarily.
I hate this part of the story. I longed to tear this page from the notebook of my life, crumple it up and dispose of it. I’ve never been a fan of the messy parts. Blasted Liber Cycle with your tests, trials and traps! Oh that I could remain forever in the honeymoon stage! The pain of growth was palpable and I longed for just a little numbing.
Once again, I stood up, brushed myself off and headed to the lobby. I passed the same three individuals I’d passed over and over again during this fiasco. Sigh. I looked up and there was my mentor. A flood of emotions rushed over me simultaneously. I felt embarrassed, anxious, exhausted, self-conscious, hesitant, doubtful, cautious, fearful. She began to apologize. I jumped in with my own list of apologies. I felt so stupid. I was not trying to make her job more difficult or make her feel bad. That was not my intention at all. I just wanted this all to go away. A rewind button. Or a backspace. Maybe the delete button. She continued to apologize. I continued to apologize. My friend (and president of my school) yelled “I love you, Maria!” across the room. Sigh. These people were so good, so kind, so amazing. Another wave of emotions washed over me, this time of a more positive nature. I felt comforted, cared for, understood and appreciated.
My mentor hugged me. It wasn’t an awkward hug between two people who barely knew one another. It was a warm embrace that communicated much more than words. I could tell she cared. She felt deeply, just like I did. Somehow that hug made it slightly more bearable to face my peers and the classroom once again.
I had to go back. I wanted this training. I paid for this training. I was learning from this training. I walked back in the door and felt my face flush. Where was that invisibility cloak when I needed it? Or at least some over-sized dark sunglasses? Could we work on costumes right now? Please! I wanted to hide, to blend in to my surroundings once again.
Yes, lizard friend. You blend in so well. The photo in my phone paints the picture of your fear. You wait in the stillness, hoping your camouflage will protect you from danger. I see you. But I won’t harm you. I know what it feels like to wish I could disappear completely. I know what it's like to hope and pray that somehow I've sufficiently hidden myself from danger.
I tried my best to adjust. I reset my intention as low as I could manage. “I will stay in my chair and sit through the discomfort. I will not run away.” A new goal for this moment in time.
Despite my best intentions, I could not turn off the tears. Why are my emotions so close to the surface? And why are they so hard to shut down once they’ve been exposed? Ugh! The water works continued and I desperately wished there was a shut off valve for this leaky faucet.
I reached my goal. Somehow I managed to stay in that room and at some point my tears ceased. My tear ducts were now dried up canals in the middle of a drought. I welcomed the break. Currently, nothing seeped out unexpectedly from the windows of my soul.
If I can just stay present and not allow my self-loathing to get in the way, I may actually be able to finish this training with some semblance of dignity.
We moved on to another activity and before long, were asked to participate in a game called “Pride in the Bag.” How appropriate! If this was not a direct reflection of my life, I wasn’t sure what was. We all stood in the circle and silently moved our bodies in a way that represented tossing our pride into the bag so we could show up fully and learn. I started at my toes, rolled my pride all the way up one side of my body and rolled it back down the other side. I picked up the heavy burden and tossed it in the bag. Such a simple game, I thought. And yet, profound.
I took another step. It was morning. It was peaceful and quiet, and yet so full of life. I reflected on the first day of training, a big day with activities and discussions for all the classes and mentors together. The large room was so full of energy and possibility. I thought back to the game and discussion we had about seasons. I could feel the difference internally as I hiked through the sandy, red rocks. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could hardly believe it. But it was true. After what had felt like an eternal winter in my own life, the spring had finally arrived. I could sense the difference, the budding new life and hope flowing from within.
I headed back to my grandma’s house. I showered, dressed and went to visit with grandma. I headed back to the bedroom and turned on the TV when I realized grandma had dozed off in her favorite chair. I’ll let her rest. I, too, drifted off to sleep for a bit. I guess I needed more sleep after all. I woke up and decided to go for a drive.
I ended up at Costco to fill the van with gas. I waited in the long line, finding myself repeating my lines from the Pyramus and Thisbe scene I performed the day before. I chuckled as I found myself thinking of things I could have changed that would have added to the scene. “Oh that would have been so funny!” I found myself thinking. The car ahead of me finally pulled forward so I put my car in drive and pulled up to the pump. A couple minutes passed when a teal Subaru pulled up next to me and eased into the pump in front of me. “What in the heck! How did I not notice there were three gas pumps, not just two?” I wondered to myself. My normal inclination would be to beat myself up for making a mistake. Most likely I would apologize over and over and still leave feeling stupid. Or, I would be so embarrassed that I would pretend I didn’t exist, that I hadn’t noticed what had happened until I had finished pumping my gas and could escape the awkwardness.
I surprised myself when neither of my typical reactions took place. Instead, I laughed and began talking to the lady when she got out of her car. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize there were three pumps instead of two. We only have two up north and I was completely oblivious as I pulled forward and got out my credit card. I wasn’t trying to complicate your day, but apparently that’s just what I did. Sorry about that.” She smiled and said, “Maybe it’s a woman thing. I forget what I’m doing all the time." She needed less gas than I did, and we ended up finishing pumping our gas at the same time. I pulled out after her and gave a little honk when I realized she had left the door to her gas tank open. She got out, closed the door, waved and thanked me, then got back in her car and drove away. I sat there with a smile on my face. What am I feeling? This is so strange. I feel truly connected - almost like I’m a part of her.
I shrugged, then decided to park and head into Costco. I’ll just look around for a minute. I should have known better. I ended up with summer clothes for the kids in my basket. Okay, enough. Time to check out. I steered my cart towards the checkout lane and glanced backwards. I did a double take when I saw Addie, a cute 17 year old girl from my Shakespeare class who was training to be a student mentor. My jaw dropped and I ran over and embraced her. I could not believe it! What are the chances? We chatted for a minute and then parted. I checked out and walked to my car, dropped off the outfits I had purchased, and turned again to go back inside for some lunch. It was so crowded. I looked at the Asian girl to my left wearing a mask and found myself wondering if she was sick or trying not to get sick. Was she traveling? Or does she live here? I didn’t feel nervous. No awkwardness standing in a crowd. I saw people. I experienced people. I understood people.
They called my number and I went to the counter to retrieve my salad, then headed outside to find an empty table in the shade. I stirred and cut pieces of lettuce and chicken until I was satisfied I had the right ratio to allow for the perfect bite. I looked up and saw a grandma shaking it a little to the music as she pushed her full grocery cart as well as her granddaughter towards the parking lot. I felt her deep love and desire to bond with her posterity. It was beautiful to watch, but I wasn’t just watching. It’s like I was a part of it.
I took another bite and looked up to see a gentleman about 60 pushing a big, gray cart full of garbage. He stopped to empty a trash receptacle, tied up the sack, hoisted the sack into the big cart, and pushed the cart on to the next trash receptacle. “He likes this job. He needs this job. But he feels embarrassed by his work.” It wasn’t a voice. It was more of a knowing. I stood up, walked over to the man, put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Thank you for working so hard! I don’t know what we’d do without you. Garbage would be everywhere. I’m so glad you’re here.” He looked up at me, surprised, and said, “Thank you for noticing!” I smiled and nodded, then walked back to my table. It was so weird. Not that I’ve never complimented anyone before or been grateful. I definitely have. But this was different. I immediately had an understanding and then acted without any thought or planning.
I took another bite of my salad and tears came to my eyes as realization hit me. I just added goodness to the world. That man needed something very simple. Somehow I knew that and just acted on it. I can’t explain it. But something is different. I’m different.
Yes, something was very different inside of me. It’s like I was seeing every person through a different lens. Was it through the lens of a reader immersed in the story? Or was I a character in the story? Was this a result of studying Shakespeare? Was I seeing through the lens of a director? I definitely had a broader view. Maybe even a birds’ eye view. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. My perspective had shifted. My understanding of human nature, human behavior, and human emotions had increased tenfold.
I felt what the characters around me were experiencing. It’s like I had merged with them and somehow become a part of them all.
I was back in the classroom. The door was shut and the lights were off. We were waiting to go on stage. Our little cast was made up of five women. We said a quick prayer together. And then we waited.
We brainstormed and found excitement the night before as we thought of ways to bring the theme of Mexico in our assigned Shakespeare scene to life. We kept in touch that night and got excited as we found items or ideas that could add to the play. We waited eagerly all day to get to the rehearsal part. Now the time for rehearsal had come.
It was 3:15. We were given an hour and a half to take the lines we had hopefully memorized and turn them into a play to perform for all the other classes. The butterflies fluttered around in my stomach. Did I know all my lines well enough yet? The director worked on blocking. I adjusted and tried to remember the changes. Yes! That was better. Funny! That would work. There was so much to do. We performed it once for our peers and mentors. And then…we waited.
We heard the clapping for our peers. Their scene was complete. Props were moved, our group was announced, and Beth walked through the doors of the classroom. I was on stage next. Listen for your cue. Don’t forget to listen for your cue. There it is. Okay, this is it. It’s time. I took one step out the door, then another and started my lines. The humor was obvious, but the emotion was surprising. A plethora of emotions passed through my body and into the audience as I performed my lines. I felt the frustration in Pyramus at the beginning when he didn’t know if his beloved was coming. It shifted to hope and gratitude at the idea of a wall through which he could see his beloved, but then shifted again to anger and disdain, then back again to hope and excitement when he “saw the voice of Thisbe” and “heard her face through the wall.”
I exited the stage. I stood at the back of the room and glanced over my lines again. So many lines! My memory is definitely not what it once was. Wait. Focus. Where are we? Pay attention. You need to remember your entrance. This was it. Crap! That last minute change to the blocking meant I was at the very back of the room and not just a few steps from the stage. I ran a bit to get there. Then….blank. My mind went completely blank. I rolled with it and called out “Line.” Someone in the audience shouted out “O moon…” “Wait! That’s not it,” I thought to myself but started speaking anyway. “O Moon, I thank thee for thy sunny beams.” Okay, I’m back. Keep going. Be present. There’s the moon up there smiling at you. Cute, sweet, sunny little Man in the Moon. He’s so happy and content. Stay in the moment, Maria.
Again I got caught up in the emotional shifts of my character. This silly, humorous character. Hope and gratitude turned to fear and anticipation. And then a sadness and despair that quickly became rage directed toward the very Maker who created the creature that had destroyed his love. Now back to humor. I stabbed myself and fell, but lifted myself back up for the next few rows of lines. I waited for the Man in the Moon’s touching exit. Then I dragged myself across the stage, staggered and died, and then assumed my position against the post. Holy moly! That was a lot of emotions! I focused on not laughing as I witnessed the scene from the perspective of stillness. They all did such a great job with their lines! Be serious, Maria. You’re supposed to be dead. Do not break character. And then, Thisbe fell to the ground. The scene was over. We all hopped up, held hands and took a bow.
The relief I experienced was palpable. The sense of accomplishment I felt at having done something really hard was amazing. The closeness I felt to my cast members had increased a million times in a few short minutes. Super cool. I needed to truly feel the emotions my students would experience as they practiced and prepared to put on a play. I also needed to understand the nervousness that comes with a performance and to know what it feels like to face my fears and step on stage anyway. Wow! That was powerful!
My inner critic came out briefly again, “How could you forget a line right at the beginning of a scene? Really?” “Go away, critic! It was good enough. Leave me alone.” I was invested in this project 110%. I wanted to add to it and improve it and be the best I could be. I wanted the play to be a success! I felt that with every fiber of my being.
I came back to the present moment once again. Yes! Something was definitely different. It’s like I had been cracked open. My ribs had been pried apart and my heart was completely exposed. Being cracked open had allowed for extra oozing of emotions and I was not prepared to clean up that kind of mess. The experience had pushed me far outside of my comfort zone. Maybe I could stitch myself up just a bit. I laughed internally. A seamstress I was not. Perhaps some super glue to bring the open wound together a bit. I paused at the thought. Maybe. But perhaps I’m meant to experience life just a little more opened up and exposed to the world. Perhaps I’m meant to see, and feel, and experience human emotion differently. Yes, perhaps.
