I remember a time when I was very young, around 7 years old. My brother was only about 4. We were watching TV with my dad one evening. It was M*A*S*H, one of my favorites. During heavy shelling, Hawkeye and another doctor were called away to assist near the front line. At one point, while everyone was taking shelter in bunkers and foxholes, a young soldier stood up to make a run for it. Upon rising up into the line of sight, he was shot. Thankfully M*A*S*H was not an ultra-realistic drama. The soldier spun around and landed on the ground with a thud. My brother, not quite school-aged, turned to my dad, eyes wide, and declared with his most serious voice, "NEVER stand up in a war!"
Even at the tender age of 4, my baby brother understood that standing up in times of intense hostility would result in becoming a target, and it was possible that everything, even your very life, could be lost. If you want to stay alive, lay low, keep from getting noticed and making waves, and whatever you do... NEVER stand up in a war.
Today is MLK Day. I was tempted at first to find some of the excerpts from my favorite speeches. Dr. King was a phenomenal writer, and very inspirational. But as I started sifting through and organizing my thoughts and sequencing the quotes and excerpts, I began to ponder the content. What on earth would make a man say these things?
Consider the climate of the day. Temperatures are running hot in the deep south, and tensions were on the rise as more and more black folks were coming to realize that the law, and society as a whole, was failing them. They were discredited, discounted, and dissatisfied. But white folks in the south had all the power, and all the money, and politically united to forget about the underpaid, underserved, and undervalued African-American minority. Segregation was more of a nuisance in comparison to the political barricades a person of color would face when wanting to consider college, buying a home, or applying for work. When things finally reached a boiling point, blacks were willing to face imprisonment, physical abuse, and in some cases even their lives to prove a point to lawmakers.
Dr. King believed firmly that blacks in America had not just earned the privilege of being treated with respect, but deserved the God-given right to things like walking down the street without fear of taking a bullet, sending their children to school without lynching, and worshipping in their church of choice without fear of being blown to bits. He wasn't asking for treatment that was better than what white Americans were enjoying. He wanted equality. But he wasn't willing to compromise his integrity to get it. He believed that doing things right was the way to prove to white lawmakers that blacks were capable of functioning in white society. And he preached non-violent resistance. The stakes were high, the war was on, and he was standing up.
Beautiful, his speeches are. And reading them is like stepping back in time. They preserve history, they reflect an inner meditation, and they are a call to action. But these speeches are also a giant target on the back of their author. Dr. King paid dearly for his writings and his beliefs. He stood up in a war.
There are a multitude of things one can take away from the life, and death, of Dr. King. But this one thing stands out to me: Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
Stand up.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Fear is a Liar
Tomorrow is the big day. Yup. Finally. After 17 years. It's really happening. I'm doing it. Jumping in. I'm going to the gym.
I know you were expecting it to be something really big and spectacular. And maybe for most "normal" people, this doesn't qualify. But for me, and for a lot of people who have the kinds of weird personality quirks I have, this is HUGE.
You see, the gym represents two very large, very real fears for me: 1) social anxiety, and 2) germs, and lots of them.
Okay, so I've probably lost you by now. But try to hang with me on this.
I have a terrible fear of judgment. I think to some degree we all have the fear of being judged and rejected. But then there are some of us for whom this fear is crippling. Without being overly dramatic, I can tell you that the fear of knowing someone is looking at me, and possibly having a thought that, if spoken aloud, would hurt my feelings, literally gives me cause to freeze up. I panic. True story: I once refused a dinner date because I was afraid that at the restaurant people would think I was too fat to order anything but salad. Yes, it sounds a little bit off, and maybe I'm overly paranoid. But that's my fear. And it's real. I don't just say dramatic things for attention. Ask my husband. My fear of people and their potential negativity has cost me countless opportunities to socialize and hang out. I am so afraid of judgment that one summer I spent an entire Mexican vacation in shorts and a t-shirt because I didn't want my closest friends - friends whom are among my most intimate of relationships and know some of my deepest, darkest failures and flaws along with some of my biggest accomplishments and brightest qualities - to see me in a bathing suit. And never mind the thousands of strangers on the beach that I couldn't handle seeing me in such a condition. It's not make-believe, y'all. It's absolutely real.
At least, in my mind it is. I skip social events because of it. I avoid eating or drinking things I might like because of it. I don't go to clubs or dances. You'll rarely catch me poolside. Get on stage? Never. Go shopping with girlfriends? Not if it means I have to try on clothes. Go out to eat? Maybe, but I won't eat much and I won't order a cocktail. I'm afraid of what other people think of what I do, what I wear, what I look like, what I sound like, what kind of car I drive, where I live, what I believe... seriously. So naturally, a place like a public gym is a difficult place for me to go. They'll all be staring at me, waiting for the new girl to mess up and do something stupid. I'll look like a fool. They'll see how out-of-shape I am.
And then there's the germs. If you know me well, you know that the idea of touching someone else's cooties is panic-attack material. One summer in Guatemala, I went over 10 hours without urinating because my options were a public bathroom that consisted of a concrete hole and a curtain, and the jungle. I don't touch handrails. Ever. I buy hand sanitizer by the gallon. I wretch at the thought of a cafeteria line. Germs were meant to be kept private and personal, not be shared with the masses. And in a gym, you have the absolute perfect breeding ground for MRSA and other icky-nasties. There's always "that guy" who sweats buckets on a machine and doesn't wipe up after himself. And even though you can bet your whole paycheck that I will be the reason the gym runs out of antibacterial wipes this week, there's still that thought in the back of my mind that I missed something. And now I'm laying in it.
I'm making light of it, because there is an element of humor to the situation. But to be transparent, these fears aren't that funny. Do you know how many hugs I've tried to avoid because of the germ factor? Do you know how many girls nights out I've missed out on because of social anxiety? These illogical compulsions to behave according to an irrational fear have absolutely stolen my joy and robbed me of life experiences.
But that's fear. That's how it operates. It consumes your thoughts until reality is so distorted that you have no choice but to believe the absolute worst in a situation. They'll think I'm fat and I'll get an infection! To you, that seems like horse feathers! But to someone like me, that's a real possibility. And it scares me.
But tomorrow, I'm doing it. Tomorrow morning I meet with my personal trainer for the first time. This person is going to measure me - they'll know my size and my measurements. They're going to instruct me - they'll know that I'm terribly out of shape. They're going to watch me - they'll see that I'm imperfect and I don't know what I'm doing. They're going to work with me - I'll have to touch the equipment.
The thing is that fear is a liar. Fear tells you that you can't do what you may want to do because the things that are remote possibilities, at best, are your reality. And that's not true. It's not an absolute certainty that everyone in the gym tomorrow morning is going to pass judgment about my body, my skill level, my looks, or anything else. It's not an absolutely certainty that every surface I touch is teeming with some kind of dangerous virus waiting to invade my body. But fear wants me to believe that those things aren't just possible or even probable, but that there are absolute. Fear wants me to stop moving forward, and stay right where I am, in my bubble. Fear wants to keep me miserable and stagnant, because that's where fear thrives.
Fear wants me fat, sad and miserable. Fear says, "you'll never get to the gym because it's gross and people there don't like you." Fear tells me that my friends think I'm fat. Fear tells me that Guatemala is too dirty. Fear shouts, "going out with your friends will only end in heartache!"
Fear is a liar.
My appointment is at 9:30 am.
I know you were expecting it to be something really big and spectacular. And maybe for most "normal" people, this doesn't qualify. But for me, and for a lot of people who have the kinds of weird personality quirks I have, this is HUGE.
You see, the gym represents two very large, very real fears for me: 1) social anxiety, and 2) germs, and lots of them.
Okay, so I've probably lost you by now. But try to hang with me on this.
I have a terrible fear of judgment. I think to some degree we all have the fear of being judged and rejected. But then there are some of us for whom this fear is crippling. Without being overly dramatic, I can tell you that the fear of knowing someone is looking at me, and possibly having a thought that, if spoken aloud, would hurt my feelings, literally gives me cause to freeze up. I panic. True story: I once refused a dinner date because I was afraid that at the restaurant people would think I was too fat to order anything but salad. Yes, it sounds a little bit off, and maybe I'm overly paranoid. But that's my fear. And it's real. I don't just say dramatic things for attention. Ask my husband. My fear of people and their potential negativity has cost me countless opportunities to socialize and hang out. I am so afraid of judgment that one summer I spent an entire Mexican vacation in shorts and a t-shirt because I didn't want my closest friends - friends whom are among my most intimate of relationships and know some of my deepest, darkest failures and flaws along with some of my biggest accomplishments and brightest qualities - to see me in a bathing suit. And never mind the thousands of strangers on the beach that I couldn't handle seeing me in such a condition. It's not make-believe, y'all. It's absolutely real.
At least, in my mind it is. I skip social events because of it. I avoid eating or drinking things I might like because of it. I don't go to clubs or dances. You'll rarely catch me poolside. Get on stage? Never. Go shopping with girlfriends? Not if it means I have to try on clothes. Go out to eat? Maybe, but I won't eat much and I won't order a cocktail. I'm afraid of what other people think of what I do, what I wear, what I look like, what I sound like, what kind of car I drive, where I live, what I believe... seriously. So naturally, a place like a public gym is a difficult place for me to go. They'll all be staring at me, waiting for the new girl to mess up and do something stupid. I'll look like a fool. They'll see how out-of-shape I am.
And then there's the germs. If you know me well, you know that the idea of touching someone else's cooties is panic-attack material. One summer in Guatemala, I went over 10 hours without urinating because my options were a public bathroom that consisted of a concrete hole and a curtain, and the jungle. I don't touch handrails. Ever. I buy hand sanitizer by the gallon. I wretch at the thought of a cafeteria line. Germs were meant to be kept private and personal, not be shared with the masses. And in a gym, you have the absolute perfect breeding ground for MRSA and other icky-nasties. There's always "that guy" who sweats buckets on a machine and doesn't wipe up after himself. And even though you can bet your whole paycheck that I will be the reason the gym runs out of antibacterial wipes this week, there's still that thought in the back of my mind that I missed something. And now I'm laying in it.
I'm making light of it, because there is an element of humor to the situation. But to be transparent, these fears aren't that funny. Do you know how many hugs I've tried to avoid because of the germ factor? Do you know how many girls nights out I've missed out on because of social anxiety? These illogical compulsions to behave according to an irrational fear have absolutely stolen my joy and robbed me of life experiences.
But that's fear. That's how it operates. It consumes your thoughts until reality is so distorted that you have no choice but to believe the absolute worst in a situation. They'll think I'm fat and I'll get an infection! To you, that seems like horse feathers! But to someone like me, that's a real possibility. And it scares me.
But tomorrow, I'm doing it. Tomorrow morning I meet with my personal trainer for the first time. This person is going to measure me - they'll know my size and my measurements. They're going to instruct me - they'll know that I'm terribly out of shape. They're going to watch me - they'll see that I'm imperfect and I don't know what I'm doing. They're going to work with me - I'll have to touch the equipment.
The thing is that fear is a liar. Fear tells you that you can't do what you may want to do because the things that are remote possibilities, at best, are your reality. And that's not true. It's not an absolute certainty that everyone in the gym tomorrow morning is going to pass judgment about my body, my skill level, my looks, or anything else. It's not an absolutely certainty that every surface I touch is teeming with some kind of dangerous virus waiting to invade my body. But fear wants me to believe that those things aren't just possible or even probable, but that there are absolute. Fear wants me to stop moving forward, and stay right where I am, in my bubble. Fear wants to keep me miserable and stagnant, because that's where fear thrives.
Fear wants me fat, sad and miserable. Fear says, "you'll never get to the gym because it's gross and people there don't like you." Fear tells me that my friends think I'm fat. Fear tells me that Guatemala is too dirty. Fear shouts, "going out with your friends will only end in heartache!"
Fear is a liar.
My appointment is at 9:30 am.
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