Everyone has a story that speaks of where they came from. I don’t mean where you came from in the sense of where you grew up, or the family that generated you – but the events in your life when the world suddenly became brighter, deeper, even scarier; when you came alive a bit more then you had been the moment before.
These are the vital ingredients that went into making you Who You Are. They become landmarks on your journey in this life and even in others, places in time that not only contribute to the sum total of you, but anchor you here on Earth this time around. And these landmarks give you guidance and direction in moments that are unpredictable, challenging, overwhelming. No matter how lousy the odds around you. They become signposts to lead the way.
Here’s a story from my childhood that carried me through some rough young adult years, when I had lost my way, and forgotten where I came from:
It was my sixth birthday, and my single mother always took my brother and me to the local Howard Johnson’s off Highway 101. My favorite was the fried clams, so of course that’s what I asked for that night. They had a special on your birthday with a balloon, a lollipop, a cupcake, and I’m sure a candle was involved. Sitting across from us, at a tiny table meant only for two people, was an elderly man all by himself. He looked rather dapper with a hat and tie. And he looked terribly sad and alone.
He looked so alone that I could not enjoy myself. I couldn’t stop wondering why he looked so terribly sad and how could I help him. My mother told me not to stare. My heart was yelling at me not to stop. I could feel his sorrow creeping under my skin, into my heart… and I wanted to cry for him. (I didn’t realize it then, but I’m empathic and literally, the waves of his sorrow were overwhelming me.)
Finally, we were at the end of our little celebration and got up to leave. We put on our coats and I gathered up my spoils of the night – that sucker and balloon – and as my mother and brother started off towards the door, I turned around and walked over to the Lonely Old Man. I couldn’t imagine that he didn’t need a hug, or maybe just a lollipop, you know? It sure helped me when I was six years old, right? I don’t recall being scared or shy. I was just listening to the voice in my heart, to go and share some love and kindness with him, a fellow lonely traveler here on Earth.
So I went to him and offered him my lollipop and my balloon, as a gift from me. And let me tell you, his face just lit up! And I could feel the warmth and joy lapping over the both of us, I could feel how his sorrow lifted away. I was stunned. That was a moment where I suddenly realized that I could have an effect – a loving, wonderful effect – on another human being by listening to my heart. It was so amazing to see the sunlight bloom across that man’s beautiful, leathery brown face. And the thing here is that I didn’t feel separate in any way from him. I didn’t when I was willing to be open to his sorrow, and I didn’t when I followed my heart and walked up to him, and I didn’t when we shared a moment of joy together.
I didn’t know it then, but the core of what I was learning in that moment was to never forget that we are all in this together. Because when we start to forget that, we start not listening to the signals we are sending out to one another: hey, I could use a lollipop right now. Hey, I need a hug. Hey, I need a shoulder to cry on, or a warm smile to lighten my load, or maybe even someone to step up and say “No, don’t do that. Danger waits for you”. And even worse, we start working to justify the not listening, and we draw lines in the sand to separate ourselves more and more from the truth that we are all in this together.
By the way, my mother came running up, embarrassed for her precocious child (yes, there were many times I went up to strangers) and hoping he wasn’t annoyed. They conversed a bit, he told my mother that it was his wife’s birthday – they used to go there together all the time before she died, and he was missing her something awful. My gesture had lifted his heart, and put a smile on his face. I like to think that in turn, he went out the next day and maybe gave a smile to someone else, lightening their load, strengthened by knowing that there was someone out there who did not turn away from his sorrow. Because when sorrow is shared – acknowledged, honored – it becomes more bearable. Maybe that smile turned the head of a woman and he found a new love to walk with him for his remaining years.
In some of my darkest moments – when I was filled with shame or self-loathing for bad decisions I made, when I felt that I was all alone, didn’t trust my judgment or trust that I was inherently worthy or able to help others or make a difference – I would stop and look in the mirror and say: I am the girl who knew what to do in the face of someone’s sorrow. I am the girl who is giving, loving and kind. I am the Girl who listened to my heart and made someone smile.
I am a child of the Universe, who saw that someone needed comfort, and offered it. That’s Who I Am.
And it’s Who You Are, too. So what’s your story?
Take a moment to find that story for yourself, and never let it go. Honor it, cherish it, conjure it up all the time as a sign of Who You Are. Take that moment and name it, own it. Let it be your anchor, so that you never forget where you came from, and Who You Are. There is energy and power there for you to access whenever you need it.
Below, please share Who You Are. Someone reading this is the Girl Who Fought Back, or The Boy Who Stood Up. The Daughter Who Let Go, or the Son Who Held On…
Do you know what your stories are? Are you struggling to re-write them, to create new tales of wonder and joy? I can help with this process. I created The Freedom Sessions for those of you ready to step up and own Who You Are. Let’s begin. EMAIL ME at unshakablesoul(at)gmail.com
