There is a genre of music my brother has dubbed “college music.” In his mind, college music encompasses some combination of sappy lyrics, acoustic guitars, hipsters, or whining lyrically. College music to him involves the likes of Damien Rice, the National, Bon Iver, and Cat Power — in other words, every artist whose music strikes a chord with me. One summer, he and I were sitting on his balcony in Greece and I was listening to Ray LaMontagne.
Worry… worry, worry, worry, worry. Worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone, LaMontagne sang.
“College music,” my brother retorted.
My life’s music, I thought. I am a professional worrier. I worry frequently, and I worry often. It seems dissonant that someone whose whole day can be uplifted by a perfect blue sky will crash with dark thoughts. I am an equal opportunity worrier: I worry about hurting someone’s feelings, about sufficiency and enoughness, about safety, about the world, about my loved ones, about my health, about the future, I worry about what all this worry will do to me in twenty years, about everything that can be a cause of worry under the sun and that perfect blue sky that will fill me with joy.
“Well, duh, you worry. You work in freaking war zones,” I am often told.
Yet, I am less afraid when I am fully immersed. When I am delivering a workshop in a conflict zone, or conducting interviews in a post-conflict setting, or doing something that makes me come alive, fear fades into the background. It is in the quiet moments of the night that the worry gets back into bed with me, holding me in a suffocating embrace, tainting my dreams.
It is not journeys I long for this year. It is not novelty or fireworks I crave, though I welcome all of this into my life and am open to it if it comes. In 2012, I am willing a quiet mind. In 2012, I want to banish Ray LaMontagne for Damien Rice and his belief that I can “look into my eyes and see that noone will harm me.” Some former smokers say that months after quitting smoking, an exhale comes and they breathe deeply, making it all worth it. In 2012, I am living for the exhale.
A friend recently asked me if I think I am lucky in life. If I consider myself fortunate. I am still contemplating my answer, but I had an immediate response about my childhood. I told him that as a girl, I was definitely one of the lucky ones.
My fortune lay in the fact that I was told throughout my childhood that I could accomplish anything I set my mind on. I was told to dream big and that the sky was the limit; I was supported and encouraged and cheered on and gently nudged towards developing, articulating and pursuing dreams. I have lost that faith at a few points along the way, but I was raised to believe in myself and in the power of possibility. Lots has been written about helicopter parenting, overprotectiveness and the dangers of projecting parental ambition and expectations on children. And yes, I have suffered from some of that. But I was also deeply fortunate in knowing I was loved and safe and in being raised to believe that I could make my mark on the world.
Meanwhile, in other childhoods…: ”Out of the world’s 130 million out-of-school youth, 70 percent are girls.” One girl in 7 in developing countries marries before the age of 18. According to the International Center for Research on Women, “a survey in India found that girls who married before age 18 were twice as likely to report being beaten, slapped, or threatened by their husbands than girls who married later.” Medical complications from pregnancy are the leading cause of death among girls ages 15 to 19 worldwide. [all statistics courtesy of the Girl Effect]
When I was 13, I was not thinking about marriage as an imminent and realistic possibility in my life. At 15, my life was not threatened by pregnancy. I was schooled — too schooled, according to some. I was one of the fortunate girls.
As a gender-related development specialist in conflict and post-conflict zones, and as a storyteller, I have often had to think about how we tell the stories of the less fortunate. “Less fortunate” — is that the right term? There is a type of awareness-raising imagery and messaging that the aid community has coined ‘poverty pornography’. The Global Poverty Project writes:
For years, it has been commonplace for poverty-driven NGOs to utilise images of malnourished children as well as desolate and despondent people in their campaigns to raise awareness and funding. This technique, known in development circles as “poverty pornography”, communicates a hopeless situation of disrepair. These images suggest that those who live below subsistence lead a pitiful and wretched existence. Yet while there are countless stories of heartbreak and defeat amongst the extreme poor, does this one-sided appeal to our sympathies properly reflect the whole story of those suffering?
How do we preserve the dignity of women and girls while also doing justice to their needs, plights and the challenges they have faced? How do we not rob women and girls of their agency? How do we not further enhance their victimization? Jennifer Lentfer of How Matters has helped me navigate my way to some of the answers. She cites research by Rachel Naomi Remen, who distinguishes between the terms and concepts of helping, fixing and serving. Remen identifies the following qualities with serving:
Perceiving person as “whole”, which I see and trust
Mutuality. We can only service that to which we are profoundly connected, that which we are willing to touch.
Experience of mystery, surrender and awe (as opposed to experience of mastery and expertise, or of strength)
Basis of healing, not of curing.
To some, these distinctions may seem like semantics and may, thus, appear irrelevant in the scheme of the global effort to strengthen/empower/your-word-of-choice women and girls. To others, it may seem paralyzing: If we are going to walk into a minefield when our intentions are good and we are trying to raise awareness for a ‘good cause’, why speak up at all?
To me, it is a call to experience the mystery, surrender and awe that Remen identifies in others’ life stories. I have fallen into stereotypes when narrating my work with women and girls, and I have misspoken and mischaracterized and unintentionally victimized as well. But I will continue to speak up because I believe in the importance of these stories. In speaking up, I will seek to remain mindful of whose story I am telling, of the circumstances that breathed that life story into being, and of the power, magic and consequences of storytelling.
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This post is part of the Girl Effect Blogging Campaign.You may read other posts or share your own reflection on the Girl Effect here. Follow the conversation on Twitter with the hashtag #girleffect.
That’s how long the e-program ended up being–well past my projections of around 200 pages and 20 videos.
Costs
$1200 for a new Mac (the old one was great, but slower than molasses in January when it came to video editing).
$6,000 in school loans for graduate school accepted, and then returned (when I realized that my interests in launching The Blueprint were greater than taking on classes).
$10 increased monthly fees for AWeber, when my subscriber list jumped.
That’s the exchange of dollars and cents.
Missed phone calls:
– with dad
– with mom
– with my sister
Managed:
A few coffee and dinner dates with friends who live locally, who know me well enough to know that I get obsessive when I disappear into work and must be commanded forth.
Then there were the things that called for me to let go:
– regular laundry
– regularly vacuuming cat hair off of the carpet
– regular yoga
– regular meditation
– regular one-on-one coaching sessions
– starting graduate school
– cooking that involves more than a can opener
and the things that I was happy to let go of:
Saying yes to everything; guilt over not practicing more yoga or making more space for meditation; compartmentalizing aspects of my life; the house that felt energetically stuck.
Things I’m still working on letting go of:
Pushing against what-is; the habit of eating soup because it’s handy and easy; blame; resentment; pressure; to-do lists; the attachment to my cat, Poppy, who died in August.
I’m letting go of this so that I can invite in:
More presence and stillness; spaciousness; grace; ease; rest; rejuvenation; planning; moving; wonder; curiosity; wonder; exploration; the kind of movement that flows.
What are you…investing your time in? Spending your money on? Missing? Managing? Letting Go of? Working on letting go of? Inviting in?
Kate Swoboda is a Life Coach, speaker and writer who supports change-makers to clarify, build, and live their big visions. She’s the author of the Courageous Living Guides and creator of the Courageous Play and Create Stillness retreats. In the Fall of 2011, she’ll debut The Coaching Blueprint. She’s excited about learning languages, reading as many books as she can, getting bendy-stretchy on the yoga mat, the quest for the next amazing chai latte, and running.
@jeaninecaron 's post at GGG today is pretty much the story of my life!It is also about changes, love & courage. http://t.co/pqKzXLST about 118 days ago
