Life is full of singular moments whose roots are like rocky springs, seeping out from hidden places. Like mountain streams, these events tumble downhill, building momentum. Along the way, they collect insights and epiphanies, gathering solutions to various problems. Saturated with wisdom, and bursting with energy, they flow forward, seeking open, flat land where the soil thirsts for resolution and relief.
No matter how parched you are, if you have prepared yourself well, and stand at the ready, the oncoming flood can be channeled together and diverted into pools. The experiences that coalesced into rivers and creeks can be collected, harvested into reservoirs of memories, to be used against future droughts.
(This is the 7th installment of a series introducing my blog.
The Prologue Part 3, The Prologue Part 4, The Prologue Part 5,
The Prologue Part 6)
The Prologue Part 6)
When we decide to build better habits, overcome fears, or reduce social anxieties, we need encouragement to keep us invested in changing ourselves. Fortunately, life is constantly spouting inspiration in our paths. We may not be able to predict when such motivation arises, but we can prepare ourselves for when it eventually shows up. That is just what I did when I started volunteering at my daughters’ dance studio. Luck may have played a part in finding the place, but it took time and effort to approach and connect with the right people. It took courage and awareness to embrace the necessary opportunities that would change my life. Finally, it took humility and gratitude to accept the generosity, kindness, and thoughtfulness of others. Over the past few years, I experienced, among many, three such moments: a simple gesture, a silly whim, and a surprising gift.
The first one came about from a series of seemingly unconnected events, months apart, coalescing into a pool of swirling musical notes and rippling lyrical phrases. Buying a used car that happened to have a multi-CD changer at time when people were streaming digital music. Having my children’s dance classes overlap with that of another child, leading to conversations with their parents about attending Catholic school, tutoring, and running a business. And, at some point, having the songwriter, Warren Zevon, come up once, and then being forgotten. By me. Fast forward several months later, and the same couple were helping me backstage, prepping props, laying floors, and setting scenery. It was after the last performance of the Nutcracker season, and Christmas was just around the corner. The night was very cold, and the loading dock was finally cleared of stage equipment. That was when the same couple presented me with something special: a CD mix of Warren Zevon songs performed by various artists.
I spent the drive home alone playing the hell out of it, smiling like a fool, enjoying this act of generosity. Even better, my daughters spent the next few months joining in on the fun, listening and discussing the words of the songs, laughing, sighing, and memorizing their favorites tunes from the album.
The second one arose from the spontaneous plans that other people made, and that I found myself reluctantly accepting. One afternoon, my daughter and her friends decided to attempt an escape room. Somehow I ended up having to drive my child and another over to the place; unsurprisingly, I made an initial decision to wait in the lobby with a book. Socializing with other adults was not on my list of things to do that day. Upon arriving, and finding a problem with the other girl’s payment, my anxieties bubbled up. I had to assert myself, but I was afraid to do it. Coming close to paying extra just to put an end to it, the part of me that had been working hard to overcome my fears stepped forward. With a little bit of courage, I brought it to a positive resolution. Then, as the gaggle of girls began to march into the escape room, the hostess turned to me and the only other adult, and asked if we wanted to join the party. Just a few years ago, I would never have even considered: I have never done an escape room before, I was with people I hardly knew, and I didn’t even want to be there. A breeding ground for humiliating myself. But, again, that same part of me that embraced change just a few minutes before, came forth, and I agreed to participate. All on a whim.
Somewhere in two rooms full of locked away secrets and riddles, standing among a group of chatty, silly preteens, and one incredibly patient and kind adult, I overcame decades of self-doubt, low self-esteem, and fears. I assisted in deciphering the clues,and managed to embarrass myself, and probably my daughter, on numerous occasions. Afterward, I drove home happy, and regretted nothing.
(Well, except maybe just one tiny, little mistake. I still blush thinking about it. Unfortunately, I let the intensity of the game get the best of me—something that has gotten me in trouble on numerous occasions. While trying to figure out a puzzle, I shushed the other adult in the room. But I apologized immediately. Then, again, an hour later. A year later, I still feel the need to do it, but with a bit of smile. So here goes: I am sorry.)
The final one developed from the confluence of three different things: a chance encounter between dance classes, combined with my love for an animated television series, dissolved together by a simple mistake. For a long time, the possibility of getting someone’s name wrong so terrified me, that I used to make every effort to avoid meeting new people one on one. Within a group, I was almost guaranteed to hear the name spoken correctly at least once. (I had been humiliated several times in the past for making such mistakes: I did not want a repeat of those experiences.) But this time, it was going to be different. While waiting for my daughter’s class to end, I was standing next to a man, whose name I thought was Jake. Well, in my mind, that was the coolest thing, because that was the name of a character in a show I loved watching with my daughters. And I told him so. Turned out his name was Jay. Not Jake. I felt embarrassed. But he was cool about it. And it became an inside joke. He ended up working with me as part of my stage crew. At the Nutcracker and Recital, he became Jake to my Finn: reliable, supportive, and funny. With the rest of the stage crew, who were also awesome in their own ways, we all had a lot of fun. But all good things come to an end, and he and his children moved on to another studio.
But not before leaving behind stuffed versions of Finn and Jake, for me to carry forward through future performances. Because he could no longer be there in person, he would be there in spirit. A truly thoughtful gift.
Our lives are full of seemingly random moments that bubble up and break through hard, rocky surfaces. If we are receptive and prepared, these moments will cascade down slopes, collect in basins, and become positive memories. When we are in need of inspiration to drive us through the difficult times in our lives, or remind us of why we are striving to do better, we can draw upon these pools of joyful experiences, and move forward confidently toward our goals.
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