Courageous Conversations: no bull
I recently have come to peace and acceptance about some simple things about myself. I have always been and always will be an educator, particularly in dealing with shadow material. I love how we are liberated by facing discomfort. Finding comfort in discomfort and even, ultimately, really loving things we avoid as a means of living with more grace, vitality and resilience. We’ve all been born with gifts, and this seems to be a main thread in mine.
So, I decided to do a one woman performance called ‘Dying to Live: By the Numbers’. It asserts that:
We all know we are going to die.
And then asks a key question:
But do we really believe it? Could a sudden brush with mortality bring us closer to life and love?
And so I offer insights, by weaving several characters into this one woman show about my encounter with the big C and all that surrounds it.
I am an educator not a performer per se so this is really edgy, exhilarating and vulnerable for me. After delivering my ‘Dying to Live: By the Numbers’ one woman performance on Whidbey Island , I invited an inquiry circle for a Q&A. It moves my heart and I’ve been deeply affected by this powerful community strengthening art form. The audience asked questions and shared how this performance and story-telling has touched, moved or inspired them.
I assert the idea during the show that this topic of our mortality is the most important conversation we are mostly not having. I stand by this. And as such, this is one great, safe and ironically fun opportunity to have this courageous conversation. It’s delightful, inspiring and life affirming to be a part of this important half of the event. This is how it went…
I was asked by my wonderful new blogger friend Charles, “What makes you impatient after experiencing the trauma and grounding of diagnosis and treatment? “
Without hesitation, I responded; “Bullshit. I‘ve not got time for it. My own, or anyone else’s.” He was impressed with the speed at which I answered. So was I, I think.
I went on…
”I’m also more impatient and much more rigorous about actually contributing. By this I do not just mean giving or saying something. I’ve done far too much “saying something” over the course of my life. I mean contributing.
“So, for instance, if there is an event or a conversation happening, I wait a bit longer and I listen: within and without. I listen and THEN I contribute. I might contribute more without saying a word at times, by simply anchoring the space with my depth of presence and listening. I may contribute most by my calmness and simply by breathing. This contributes because I’ve noticed the room is airless with anxiety and fear. I may contribute most by admitting kindly that I feel awkward and unsure about how to relate with what is going on. Or I may wait and, when the moment is right, say something that adds love or wisdom or clarity. There are so many ways to contribute.”
I once was on a crowded train on the way to Bristol Hospital for an appointment. I was fatigued, frightened and quite weak so the trip was much more intense than just a normal train journey. As we were pulling in slowly to the large crowded station, about 25 of us waited in the small holding area at the end of the train carriage for the door to open onto the platform. There was a very agitated middle-aged man who was saying over and over again how he was going to miss his connection. He repeated this many times, loudly and clearly. He had obviously "got his knickers in a twist" as the Brits like to say. Everyone around him had practically stopped breathing and the air in the carriage became very hot, dense and tense. I listened, as we all did. I was OK with the discomfort. Truly. I felt his pain as well as that of the rest of us.
Finally, and because it was a “good” day, in my “no-B.S.-whilst-contributing” way that I hoped would serve the greater good, I said, “Well, if we don’t make our connections, it’s REALLY a first world problem.” I said it with levity and kindness in my heart, with compassion for him and all of us. I said “we” so that he did not feel alone too. Luckily everyone exploded into laughter, including the stressed out man. And the train’s room was full of fresh air to breathe again. I took a risk and got lucky.
It’s great to be alive, even with the difficult bits if we can simply BE there. Staying at home in ourselves.
One comment at the end of the evening that struck me, particularly because of the glee in her shiny eyes as she shared it was:
“After experiencing this performance, I am joyful! And you’re talking about a subject that could be a real downer. You have given us a gift. I feel I could get up and laugh. Thank you.”
-Susan
Comfort with discomfort. Ahhhhh, our nervous systems are released and rest down a bit within. We feel more at home. Joyful even. How did THAT happen?
No B.S. whilst contributing. Deep Listening. Courageous Conversations.
What contributions can we offer ourselves, each each other and our greater community today?
For more information about ‘Dying to Live: By the Numbers’ :
https://www.katheryntrenshaw.com/events/2019/10/22/dying-to-live-by-the-numbers-a-work-in-progress
Let me know if you would like to organise an event with this in your community.