Blog

Getting in my way

Clouds over Washington
Photo By Mary Dessein

What a concept – things I say and do which sabotage the goals I proclaim to have. Most of the time, I don’t see these obstacles as self-erected: not allowing enough time for traffic; trying to squeeze too many tasks in before I leave; saying yes to others’ requests when I need to say no; procrastinating; minimizing the negative consequences; or the ever useful tactic of blaming people, places or things for my problems.

Another concept: getting out of my own way! I watch amazing fiddler, Geoffrey Castle, go non-stop in perfecting his craft; insightful, compelling writer, Stephanie Kallos, follow her intuition in draft after draft of a novel; master storyteller, Elizabeth Ellis, perform, write, and teach with such generosity while she travels back and forth across the country; and dynamic writer and teacher, Bill Kenower, come alive when talking about writing. Passion. Belief. Determination?

At a luncheon recently, I heard a peer say they didn’t know what else to do besides what they were doing. Is that fear leaning against the door of opportunity? If so, how do I look inside myself to sort out what is really important to me and how to get there? Get there from the safe, known, perhaps mediocre, place of here?
A friend and I were talking about dreams. His was to work at a job he enjoys and is well-trained for in Hawaii. Seemed feasible and fabulous to me. “Oh no, I’ll never get to do that,” he said. His answer to why not was vague and the conversation shifted to something else. Are we back to fear again?                                                                                                                               Do I put things in my own way so I don’t have to even approach failure or disappointment – easily two of life’s more profound teachers. Have I put the illusion of safety between me and what will truly fulfill me?

When I Grow Up

photo 1I want to be like Cleo Kocol or Neil Diamond. Cleo’s recent picture (above) shows her joie de vivre. She gave a presentation, which she does a variety of regularly, about Fanny and Robert Louis Stevenson. Cleo’s 88 and I can barely keep up with her. Her novel, The Good Foreigner, was named one of the best books of 2014 by Amazon. I must say I agree with them, I love that book. Cleo always has a project or event she’s engaged with.

Neil Diamond: I still swoon listening to ‘Play Me,’ and sigh when I hear ‘Morningside.’ Neil’s music changed the world, or perhaps more accurately, how we moved through it, for millions of people. He’s 74 and off on a world tour. Mercy, I think I’m all that when I make it to Seattle and back, which is an hour away.

Finding our way in the world is about choices. Another one of those concepts which I understood the words yet the real meaning only settled truly into me within the last few years as I started to connect what I had done ten, and twenty, okay thirty years previously with the circumstances I currently had. The Good Foreigner also showed me the consequences of choices, so many irrevocable. Most of mine have been irrevocable, too. I sure did not think about that at the time I made them.

I want to move through the world with energy and grace. Hope and optimism. Kindness and compassion, and releasing the blame. Rejoicing in the gifts of age, and accepting of it’s limitations.

As Neil sang in 1969, “And the seed, let it be filled with tomorrow.”

 

Fear is a Thief

Fear is a Thief
Photo Beijing 2009 By Mary Dessein

Fear is a thief.

I remember reading that on a tee shirt as a young adult, thinking it was rather clever. Yet, I had no idea the power of that statement. And it’s connection to change. Change: cleaning out the closet of the clothes I haven’t worn in five years to a new haircut to ending an unhealthy relationship. Yeah, change.

What’s all the fuss people make about not liking change? That speaks to our brittleness: we are afraid we’ll break if we change. Break our comfort zone, break our habits, break our closed minds. The egg is not much good inside the shell either.

Fear crowds to the front of the line and says, “Here, I’ll make that decision for you.”

Fear and caution are two different things: staying off the railroad tracks when we hear the train whistle, looking both ways before we cross the street, calling 911 when we see flames next door are appropriate caution responses. When fear tries to boss us around, it wants us to live small, to be less than we can be.

After 16+ years, ‘Global Griot: stories & music from around the world,’ the radio show I have co-hosted and loved, ran its course. A new show has surfaced: The Writery with Mary Dessein. What? Change! Why?

My mentor and friend, Marcia Glendenning, used to tell me, “You’re either growing or you’re rotting, there is no staying the same.” Change is moving me forward when I had become comfortable. Change is teaching me new skills when I knew how to do what I’d always done. Change is keeping me resilient when I was getting rigid around the edges.

The Writery with Mary Dessein will be available on www.kser.org in the listings of the SoundCloud, right under the banner photo, hopefully around the end of April.

Thanks to Jon, The Writery has a Facebook page. www.facebook.com/thewritery
Check us out – so many stories, so little time!

Langley March 27th

A ferry ride home at dusk from Langley this coming Friday will cap my week. Dusk has mystical qualities for me: pale long shadows, birds tweeting, chirping and cawing as they flock to their nests, sunlight slanting across lawns and up the sides of neighborhood houses, the soft light that layers the world in gentleness. Add being on a ferry with the engine vibrating everyone on the boat as it churns through the water with seagulls gliding overhead and my world is perfect!

On March 27, I am privileged to be invited over to the storytelling event Jill Johnson (www.globalvillagestory.wordpress.com/) produces every month at The Commons Bookstore in Langley. Jill has mystical qualities of her own: writer, storyteller, actor, teacher, mentor, researcher, and that is only what I know about. Other performers that night will be Peter Lawlor and Heather Ogilvy.

Live performances are rewarding experiences for me in the personal interaction with the audience. I enjoy the eye contact, who’s into it and who’s nodding off, the sparkle and laugh when someone gets it, and the comments or questions people ask afterwards.

Join us for a fun evening.

Song and Silence

     Song and Silence.

     The Star Spangled Banner. The first time I was privileged to sing it to open an Aquasox home game in Everett was a balmy, early summer evening a couple three years back. One of those evenings where the daylight is long and luxurious and being outdoors in it at a baseball game brings out the camaraderie in people. People who’d look right past you while walking on the street, actually greet you as they climb the stairs in the stands, the metal slats rattling as they ascend.

As game time grew closer, kids darted back and forth, smells of profoundly buttered popcorn and sausage pizza swirled between the pillars under the stands, loudspeakers vibrated out sponsor trivia, laughter and jovial voices overlapped each other, weaving a net of anticipation over us all. Yup, it was all there.

Game time was nearing. A cheerful young man, early-twenties, walked me out onto the field and showed me where to stand. He seemed completely at ease marching around in front of hundreds of people.

“Here, I think it’s on.”

I reached out and took the cordless microphone. “That’d be good.”

He grinned like that was the cleverest thing he’d heard all week.

As I stood there gripping the mic in my right hand, trying to hold the starting note in my head, I heard the stands creaking, clusters of voices rolling over one another, balls punching into mitts, horns honking, traffic out on the street, joyous yelps of children, food vendors hawking ice cream bars, and the announcer enjoining people to get season tickets. Then he paused.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please stand for our national anthem.”

A wind of scuffling and stomping whooshed over the stadium as people rose; hundreds of programs, sandwich wrappers, and candy bags shuffled as everyone stood.

Then silence. Complete silence, as if some giant hand had pulled a blanket up over us and turned out the light. The baseball teams each lined up in front of their dug outs, hands folded behind their backs. The crowd in the stands all gazed up at the flag. The loudspeakers were silent.

Whatever people’s thoughts or politics were, whatever they had been doing two minutes before, whatever they wanted to do later that night, there was quiet throughout the ball park. Over two thousand people together for those few moments. It was a quiet filled with a sense of community and respect. The stillness seemed to surround and enclose all of us. I was mesmerized by the beauty of that silence and the wholeness I felt in those moments.

Then I remembered, “Mary, they’re all waiting. For you. Now would be good.”

I sang. As I reached the last word, the cheers exploded like a bouquet of fireworks, radiant and expectant. I floated on the exuberance of those two minutes as I returned the microphone to the young man and walked off the field.

Yet, what I remember most is that feeling of being with everyone in that stadium for those few moments of shared, intentional quiet. That brief span of silence as we all held our breaths, and our hearts, together.