I can be very quiet. I can go days with my thoughts, with my work, with bright walks along the waterfront, the whipping wind providing counterpoint and white noise to ease my mind on repeat. But, I know that this isn’t the best for me and although safe and comfortable, it is also shallow, singular and a practice born out of fear.
And so I challenge myself to explore the meetups on facebook, to join the hiking group, to post a question on the chat for Girls Gone International, to put myself out there, just a little bit.
Last weekend I decided to join a group of girls organizing a hike at a local mountain nature area here in Budapest. They didn’t seem to know each other but one of them knew the mountain. I needed to get out of the house, and although it was hard to get myself out the door, I did and I was excited. Halfway to the tram I realized that in the rush to leave I had left my cell phone. What does one do without their cell phone these days? I didn’t have much of a choice really, without my phone I couldn’t text with them to know where to meet up, nor could I even arrive without google maps showing me the way. But if I walked all the way back to my apartment and started again, I would be hopelessly late and I’d almost surely miss them anyways. Like I do in most things, I winged it and went for it. I ran back home, grabbed my phone, texted that I would be there soon and jumped in the tram. I was, though, unforgivably late and I told them to go ahead, I would try to catch up along the way. As the packed busy tram rambled across the Danube towards Buda and the meeting point for the bus to the mountain, I was again alone with my thoughts. I laughed and wondered if this was self sabotage. Was I somehow choosing the safe space of my own company for my curious and chaotic meanderings in the world?
And so, I tried again. This time a “late” night invitation with a facebook group called InSpiral for a New Year’s event to talk about goals and resolutions. I, the person who makes a two year mission and vision plan, neatly lined out with objectives and bullet points and sub bullet points and then overlays the whole thing onto a piece of art so that i can put it on my wall and slowly work towards it – I, the person who just finished two strategic plans for organizations that I consult with – I, join a chat about New Year’s resolutions? Easy shmeezy! It was a dark, cold and quiet walk from the tram to the destination that my iphone told me was the cafe where the meeting was held. It was the center of town but oddly empty, was I going to the right place? Would I be the only one? But I wasn’t and as I awkwardly entered and stood in line for a beverage I felt like I was walking into a room of old friends, although not my old friends and I was nervous and a bit unsure. I asked the woman behind the counter if there was a group meeting scheduled here, “I really don’t know” was her answer in stumbling english. I looked around the buzzing room of people smiling and chatting and felt myself stumbling too. Wine in hand I wandered until I found a half full meeting space that matched the image I had seen on the facebook invite. I gave a smile to the people seated and found an empty chair. The man leading the conversation, Vale, was maybe six or seven or ten years younger than me, thin and structured. He was good in front of a group, having the right amount of what was clearly a practiced introduction and some spontaneous banter. I appreciated what it took to do that well and I settled into my role as participant and admirer.
We were asked to introduce ourselves in small groups and to share ideas or goals around a few topics like health and learning. It came easily to me, but much harder for some others. I counseled from my point of view and then I chastised myself silently, these people didn’t come here for my coaching. I leaned in closer, but this time to practice listening. I find it so odd, this juxtaposition within myself – the quiet, reflective, observant recluse and the effusive, passionate speaker when the baton is handed my way and the topic is right. I actually like public speaking these days… after all those years of pre-stage nausea and now I can’t wait to find my message and my moment. But it wasn’t always this way. When I ran my community non-profit and was the center of action and everything, I couldn’t wait to step away and out of the spotlight. But when I moved on and most especially in these last years of alone – public speaking has become my lifeline. And so, on this same first day in the group I volunteered to speak at the next event, it was a storytelling event that they run regularly. 15 min to tell your story. Straightforward. But which story? Who am I or better said, who do I want to be in this group? I know where my story comes from, the same source of so much of my life history… that rich, vibrant and amazing adventure in Mexico, those 15 years in front of and heart deep in a non-profit, the kids, the dreams, the shining successes and the ugly failures. But in 15 min which one do I choose? Which passionate piece of me do I deliver, what vulnerability do I lay bare?
But it doesn’t matter really, what matters is that I get to. I get to be me in a room of strangers, I get to showcase the things that matter to me and that I think deeply about. I’ve spoken to rooms of every kind, where tears slip softly and unexpectedly down cheeks while just a few seats over someone scrolls their instagram. In my talk at InSpiral it was the same, the room was eerily silent. Were they deeply listening or were they nearly sleeping? I don’t know and although I do care, I was just grateful. Because this opportunity, this opportunity to connect with people in real ways and from a platform of real lives is in such stark contrast to the reality of the digital nomad life, the online dating platforms, the zoom room work that has become my “life.” I signed up for okCupid because it was clear that I wasn’t going to find anyone sitting alone in my apartment and I’m just not extroverted enough to make never ending small talk in a bar, or honestly, even to get to the bar if it means going out after 10pm and by myself. It took me 6 months to create my profile, at first I hated the words and then I hated the pictures. Who am I in 30 words and six pictures? It took a lonely glass of wine and a Saturday night on the couch to finally click “submit.” When I finally did set it up it was momentarily exciting to scroll through these mystery lives. It was easy to swipe left and much harder to swipe right. There was no real logic to it all, at least not for me. For a brief moment I sorrowed for those amazing souls who didn’t shine through but surely were there. I reflected on the boyfriends and the friends that I’d had, the ones I loved and cared for deeply. I realized that none of them would have made the swipe right. I was under no illusion that the same wasn’t true in my case. I’m a really good person! I wanted to scream this through the photo stream, but this important feature has clearly not been added yet.
I attended another storytelling event with InSpiral. In the introduction, one of the charismatic group leaders, Shafei, presented some thoughts from Brene Brown on vulnerability. I smiled because of how much I (and the rest of the world) absolutely love that TedTalk. He talked about her understanding of vulnerability as an act of courage and connection and he acknowledged the bravery of those speakers about to take the stage. A woman, with curly spiked hair in a striking slung shoulder red dress talked of shamanic dreams and black cats, A smiling, sweet and shy young man told his story of being an outcast and his struggles and considerations of suicide. There were people who sucked in their breath and pressed their eyes hard closed, the applause for him went on and on. He was vulnerable, we all connected. In the weeks previous, I told my story of accompanying Glenda in her aspirations for a college education. I spoke of my heart, of the navigation of my role as a leader and a mentor, of hoping and wishing and then holding it all in, as she alone decided her path. The girl seated facing me but a few rows back, cried silently. My story had somehow entwined in her own.
Today when I wandered into my now fourth InSpiral event, a young man reached out to me and said hello. “You talked before, right? … oh yes, I remember it was about Mexico, about that girl, I don’t always remember the talks but I remembered yours,” and he smiled and I smiled and said thank you. Thank you. Thank you for seeing me and allowing me to be seen. Thank you to Vale and Shafei and other committed souls who open up spaces for displays of courage, of vulnerability, of connection. Thank you to those others who bother to show up, to listen, to chat even when it’s uncomfortable and to seek out and celebrate one another in community, for it is in these moments of connection that we invest in ourselves and our relationships, a practice, that might be for me, the only true measure of a meaningful life.