The infinite surge of the ocean is hypnotic. I love the Atlantic ocean. It's gray and cold and angry -- with an unexpected element of comfort ... that perpetual reliability. It will always send forth the next wave. When I can get to a place where I'm just sitting quietly, hypnotized by the waves that keep advancing like a faceless army, I find myself encouraging each swell. You can make it all the way up here to me -- you can go further than that last surge. I begin to personify the waves. Like I said, hypnotic: Mesmerizing ... rhythmic ... soothing.
It's quiet at the beach in February. Few flock to the shore in the winter time, though my family always has. I love it. I took a walk several nights ago -- in a stinging rain, near hurricane force gusts and a strange fog. It was energizing -- awakening. Just a few years ago, I would have been fearful of the power of the ocean in the dark. Really -- I was too afraid to walk down to the ocean in the dark! But now I feel like I am brought alongside of such a force of nature -- like an equal -- escorted down the sand. I am not afraid! It's cool. Tonight, I miss the ocean. But I do not miss fear.
I'm not quite sure how I came to be more fearless than before -- and I believe I was quite a fearful person. Maybe more like a scaredy-cat. I mean, you don't endure the experiences I have and come out the other side a coward. I'm no coward. But I have always been a scardey-cat ... though I've always fought it ... hard. Do scaredy-cats become the drum major of the marching band? Take one of the leading roles in the senior musical? Marry men like David? NO THEY DON'T. So what do I mean when I say I've always been a scardey-cat? Let me ponder this.
I was always the new kid in school. Can you recall that feeling of walking into a room where everyone already knows each other -- but you don't. You don't know a soul. You don't know the routine. You don't know where the bathroom is. You don't know where to sit. You don't know anything. And you feel sick to your stomach -- nervous -- scared. I experienced that eight times, not including the first day of college -- and even then, I wasn't just like the others. I was a freaking commuter, so had skipped all the orientation crap. The new kid. Not the norm. Fear -- undergirded by an inexplicable self-awareness that made me fight. But I took a job in downtown Washington, DC. What? It took all the courage I could muster to do that. It wasn't exciting for me, it was HARD. I was afraid. I've always been afraid, but have done all sorts of risky kind of things ... I don't even understand myself.
The last couple years I have been pondering my life and I've pretty much determined that I've been a fearful person for much of it. That's rather deflating. I mean I thought I was living bravely! My mother died and yet I finished college without missing a beat. And I mean it -- it was no act of cowardice diving into a love affair with a guy who lived through a war, was captured and interrogated by I'm not even sure who -- almost dragged me into covert operations to Tripoli (key word is almost) -- and served as the undergirding for a 14 year career in the hope and survival vocation of a person marked by God and wanted by so many in so many ways. It wasn't just the brain cancer rollercoaster -- but the charisma and the idolatry. The aloneness and the living in the shadows ... and then there was the hardcore medical stuff -- no fun. No ride for the fearful ... and the aftermath -- the loss. The total destruction of my life as I knew it.
And yet here I am -- vertical. Getting up every day living my life -- to the degree to which I am able a day at a time -- raising two enormously amazing kids who continue to stun me with their own courageousness and brillance and independence ... Fearfully? I have wonderously discovered over the last 2 plus years that I have shed that stupid scardey-cat'ness. It really seems to be gone. Why and how?
I can not count the number of saints who have told me that they pray for me regularly. REGULARLY. First of all, that's entirely humbling. I'm amazed that people even think of me enough to pray for me ever -- but to pray for me regularly?! Wow. That's so wonderful and I thank them and instantaneously realize and acknowledge that it is because of their prayers that I stand! That I wake and rise and live my life at all! My gratitude is too great to measure. Do their prayers also push aside this fear that has been my lifemate and give me liberty therefrom? I think so! I don't feel like I have to fight to be me anymore. I feel like I can simply ... be me. And I am sad because it took 48 years to happen! That it took all this trauma and all this survivor stuff to get here. I want my kids to just be who they are with no fear! and I think they are. I think I've hidden my scaredey-cat'ness from them such that they haven't assumed that stupid, sad, wasteful cloak that I've worn most of my life. Thank you, God, that they are just them.
So why does it matter now? I really am not afraid. Sometimes I worry about money -- about my future. Of course I "worry" about my kids' safely -- their good health -- their decisions and choices -- but I'm not really afraid anymore. I find myself moving into new situations without that old friend cautioning me and chiding me -- I find I walk taller -- smile more fully -- question stupid stuff up front! Where did that come from? Age? Experience? Trauma? Survival? Independence? A combination, of course ... but I like it.
I don't know what's next. I hope I can pay the bills I have waiting for me here on the desk. Hmmm. I got new shoes -- platform sandals, encouraged by college girlies -- and they make me feel young(er) and pretty brave. I fearlessly walked into a bar a few weeks ago and actually talked to strangers -- gasp. Who is this and what have I done with myself? I'm living my life, possibly for the first time ever just for me -- and it's exciting and not as scary as I thought. Don't get me wrong -- I loved my life as a wife and mom -- and I'll always be a mom -- but right now, it's just me and my dog -- and God. I'm kinda having fun exploring this new world. Of course I'm still "me," so there will never be any over the top wild stuff, but still, I feel a little more bold in new ways -- less difficult ways. Bravery and courageousness that is required is way different. This is a liberating kind of bravery -- more self-ISH than self-LESS. I can dabble in that for a while, right? Bring it on.
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