Fear in the Driver’s Seat

When tragedies happen, we seek understanding. We want to diagnose and cure. We often try to control our surroundings and the actions of others.

We want to feel safe. It’s a basic need. That desire for security is so primal, so strong, that it can cause us to behave irrationally. I experienced this myself in my teenage years. From my softmore year in high school to my freshman year in college, I had 13 friends or mentors die. I will never forget receiving the news of the final  two. I was in Austin for college when I called a friend back home in San Antonio to see about getting together on an upcoming break. She told me the news about the latest two deaths.

I broke. I simply couldn’t handle any more loss. My reaction? I shrunk my world. I no longer stayed in contact with high school friends. I built walls to keep out new friends. My then-boyfriend (now ex-husband) was the only one that I allowed to stay close. It worked. By shrinking my world, I eliminated the potential for hearing about or being affected by tragedy. The odds were stacked in my favor. After all, I only had one person in my inner circle.

And then there were none. My greatest fear came true; I lost him as well. Surprisingly, I was okay. I realized that my old ways of living in my walled-off world simply guaranteed less happiness at the time and yet provided no guarantee against loss in the future. I grew less afraid. More willing to take risks. I let people get close. Some have stayed, others have moved on. That’s okay. I am figuring out how to live with the natural cycles of growth and decay rather than try to fight against them.

It’s natural to examine your surroundings after a tragedy. To evaluate the weaknesses around you and to shore up any breaches in the hull. That increased security always has a tradeoff, however. It’s up to you to decide if that particular exchange is worth it.

More than a million people die in traffic accidents worldwide each year. We take precautions to keep this from happening. We gladly pay extra for cars with added safety measures, we sacrifice some comfort when we pull the seatbelt around our chests, and we write and enforce laws that limit who can drive and under what conditions they can operate a vehicle. I think we can all agree that these are reasonable measures; they balance security and freedom. Yet, how many of us look at the statistics for traffic fatalities and decide to never enter a car again? Very few. The tradeoff simply isn’t worth it.

It can be scary out there. Recent events have shown us that we cannot assume safety in our theaters, malls, or schools. There can be a temptation to scale back, pull into a shell and seal it shut. Like with me after the deaths, it does tilt the odds in your favor, but it doesn’t eliminate the risk. And, speaking from experience, life behind walls is no way to live.

Fear is an important feeling. It tells us to run when we are being chased. It tells us to seek shelter when we are under attack. It tells us to avoid high and unstable cliffs or dangerous stunts. However, fear also tells us not to love. It whispers avoidance of risk even when those chances can lead to something great. Fear tells you to hunker down and wait rather than live. Listen to your fears. But you don’t have to believe everything they say.

So continue to wear your seatbelt, but don’t neglect to drive your life.

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Transforming Fear

Fear

Opening the Journal

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Deep breath.

In many ways, this will be my most personal post yet. These are the thoughts, the words, that came in the first few weeks uncensored by the keyboard and unedited by time. I’m choosing to share this to reveal the underbelly of the healing process. I want to show that it is possible to move on from such pain and I want to highlight the importance of positive thinking and goal setting early on in the healing journey.

I started journaling on July 15, 2009, four days after I received the text.I learned about Uganda on July 20 and the bigamy on July 22.  Much of the writing in the journal was done in the early months, as I transitioned to the computer during the late fall and winter.

I chose to divide my journal into three sections and made a rule that each writing session had to begin in section one and proceed through section three.

Section one: This was the space for the unedited vitriol. This was the anger, the poison. I knew I had to release it and there was oh so much to release. The writing is rapid, the angles harsh. I pressed so hard that I tore through the pages in spots. This was the domain of the broken heart.

Section Two: This was for the day to day thoughts and practicalities. It was designed for observation and problem solving. This was the domain of the rational mind.

Section Three: The final section was for dreaming. I let my mind focus on the infinite and wonderous possibilities that the future might hold. This was the domain of the spirit.

I have no idea how or why I decided to structure my journal this way. In retrospect, that was surprisingly lucid for my state at the time. Recent research supports this model, as they found that high ruminators (I’m not sure if I am this but I am definitely a high analyzer) benefited from a fact-based, mundane journal but suffered when rehashing the negative feelings over and over. My three part design and my insistence on not ending with the negativity allowed me to vent but kept me from getting stuck in the sadness and anger.

For those of you early on in your journey, I hope you can find recognition and some possibility in these entries. For those partway through, I hope you can find acceptance of the process and be patient with yourself. For those who have come out the other end, I hope that you will find encouragement for how far you have come. On of my biggest lessons in all of this is the enormity of the damage that can occur when you deny your feelings. My ex destroyed his life and impacted others because he refused to face his emotions and instead kept them locked away and hidden beneath a facade.

So, here goes. These are excerpts from the journal, in no particular order. Names have been blurred to protect identities. The highlights are from my work when I was writing the book. For those new to my site, please remember that this was 8 years ago. This is not the space I am currently in.

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I can read these now with some distance. I remember the pain, yet time has dulled its sharpness to a mere whisper. I identify with the woman who wrote this; I can see traces of who she is going to become. I am no longer her; however, I don’t have the anger anymore that fills these pages. I have learned to soften and to accept. I have forgiven my ex and let go of the need for understanding.  The messages of hope and the small celebrations make me smile. I almost wish I could reach back and give the me of those days a hug and tell her that it will be okay and that her hopes and dreams will come in time.

 

Moving on

My Favorite Gifts

Christmas is a season with conflicted values – spiritual butting up against the material. Many of us (and I’m including myself) struggle with trying to find the balance between the commercial and the intent. Perhaps we can find a place where both can reside.

I looked back at my favorite gifts that I have received over the past few years. Some have monetary value. Some do not. All have meaning and have enriched my life well beyond the space under the tree.

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Gift: Kitchen Floor

Giver: Sarah

Significance: When I was hit with the tsunami divorce, my friend Sarah immediately offered me safe harbor in her home for a year. I gratefully accepted, renting the guest bedroom and a corner of the bonus room. Her home, with her husband and new baby, was a very special place. It was filled with the sounds of life and it was a space where I felt safe and protected. During that year, we spent untold hours in the kitchen, me on the floor (often with the baby) while Sarah was cooking (an art I had not yet mastered). Those kitchen sessions were filled with conversations about everything and nothing. We laughed and cried, often at the same time. That floor was the gift of listening.

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Gift: Running clothes

Giver: My ex (before he was the ex)

Significance:  I didn’t start running until I turned 30. It quickly became a passion of mine and my mileage began to creep up. At that time, I had been used to working out in our home gym. I didn’t own much in the way of exercise clothing, yet I was too cheap to invest in any, especially items that could handle the Georgia heat. My ex surprised me with three pairs of Underarmor running shorts and a few tech fabric shirts. Those items allowed me to run more comfortably and on a more frequent basis. I still wear them all the time. Those clothes are the gift that remind me that, at one time, my ex cared.

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Gift: Bamboo cutting board

Giver: Carissa, a friend

Significance: This was given to me at the time I was moving from Sarah’s house into my own apartment. In my previous life, I never did much cooking. It seemed like a waste of time to me. Carissa and Sarah both showed me the healing power of food and the pleasure that can be found through preparing a nourishing meal for myself and others. I am still no hostess, but I now prepare meals on a frequent basis and share my food and knowledge with others. This was a gift of nourishment.

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Gift: Action Potential Wellness sign

Giver: my dad

Significance: Change spurs more change. After I survived the tsunami, I decided I wanted to move into wellness coaching. I spent a year doing the certifications and other preparation. Finally, it was time to decide on a name and a logo. I emailed the JPEG to my dad and, much to surprise and delight, he had it made into a fabric banner. This sign has practical uses but, more than anything, it was a message that my dad believed in me.

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Gift: handwritten cards

Giver: students (current and former)

Significance: I was a horrible math student (although I excelled at school overall and I had terrible experiences with math teachers. I was drawn to math education so that I could help students like me – bright, but had trouble communicating with algebra. Every year of the 11 I’ve taught, I receive Christmas cards (sometimes hastily written on torn out notebook paper)  from my students. Many express how they finally like math. How they understand more than ever before. And how they have confidence in themselves to push past difficulties. Every year I cry. Those cards are the gift that tells me I matter.

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Gift: iPod

Giver: Kay, a family friend

Significance: Kay is sort of like an aunt to me. She is friends with my mom and used to join us for holidays and outings. She was my designated “watcher” when I was in high school and my mom was out of town. She has been in my life since childhood and has had a significant impact on me. After the divorce, I received an iPod from Kay along with a Nike iFit sensor. She had “go Lisa go. here’s to new beginnings” engraved on the back. That iPod has been my constant companion and has traveled with me as I’ve run countless miles. It was a gift of moving forward.

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Gift: GPS

Giver: Kay again:)

Significance: Kay was upgrading her GPS and passed the previous one down to me. Before the divorce, I would borrow my husband’s when I needed one (For those of you unfamiliar with Atlanta roads, a GPS is very useful here. Traffic is terrible, everything is named Peachtree, and the city is so spread out that it is impossible to be familiar with it all.) The GPS gave me the freedom to travel to new areas to meet friends or dates (!) without fear of getting lost or getting into a wreck while trying to read a map. It was a gift of freedom.

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Gift: Patios

Giver: my mom

Significance: I traveled to San Antonio to visit my mom during the second spring break after the divorce. We both craved some mother-daughter time that was not centered around lawyers and tears. We embarked upon a week-long patio tour of San Antonio, eating and drinking our way across the outdoor eateries of the city. We talked, we giggled, we enjoyed the creative concoctions of Texas mix masters. We joked about creating an app that ranked patios based upon ambiance, menu, and libations. We still haven’t gotten around to it. I think we need to test more first… 🙂 Those patios were a gift of family.

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Gift: Jeans

Giver: Christian, a friend

Significance: Okay, first, these are not just any jeans. These are two pairs of tight, ripped, sexy jeans. After the divorce, I felt anything but sexy. My weight had dropped to dangerous levels and I barely registered that I had a body at all. Christian and I met in a Starbucks the morning after my first ever race. We hit it off and spent the next 12 hours together. A couple of weeks later, he surprised me with the jeans. They fit. Oh, did they fit. I felt like a woman again for the first time in months. It was a gift of sexy and inner confidence.

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Gift: computer

Giver: me

Significance: Until a year ago, I had been using a hand-me-down computer from my ex. It was littered with his programs, much of which was protected by passwords I did not know or needed dongles I did not have. I hated seeing his name appear on registrations and stumbling across old pictures and audio files. I put up with it because I did not have the money for a new machine. Things became critical last year when I was unable to update any of the programs or the operating system any longer due to the machine’s advanced age (2005, I think). I used some of the money refunded to me by the IRS for innocent spouse relief to purchase an 11″ Macbook Air. I love this thing. It is small enough to fit in my purse so that I can work in the park or in a coffee shop, yet it is fully functional. This machine has made my writing of the past year possible. It was a gift of voice.

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Gift: Hand carved picture frame

Giver: Brock

Significance: Brock and I stayed in a cabin in the North Georgia mountains during our first Thanksgiving together (this was the inspiration for our camping tradition).  That fall was when we really were becoming a couple. We were beginning to open up more and we were beginning to believe in a future together. In fact, that trip is when we became a team. Brock was on a mission that trip to find and cut a perfect walking stick. During our day long hikes, he was constantly stopping to slash down dead tree limbs to test them for viability. I think he went through a dozen sticks before he found the one. That Christmas, I opened a box that contained a picture of us on that trip surrounded by a frame made out of that walking stick. In it, he had carved “11/24/10 Ellijay,GA.” It was a gift of love and hope for the future.

 

Sometimes

Sometimes there are no words that can provide comfort. Sometimes there is no understanding to be found. Sometimes all we have is a relieved embrace and a reminder to treasure every moment.