Ghouls & Goblins
'Tis the season of wearing masks, yes?
Or, if we're honest, maybe that's every day. There's the mask of being strong; the facade that protects hurt feelings; the disguise of being outgoing, when wishing for a sweatshirt and slippers; the camouflage of having the answers and being the hero; the smokescreen of acting dumb; and hiding behind the cloak of invisibility. This list is endless, unless we choose to consciously drop the concealments, and allow our authentic vulnerable selves to shine through. That act of bravery can be terrifying!
Why so scary? For many it's this: "If they see the real me, I won't be accepted and loved. I won't belong. They won't like me, and I'll be voted off the island." And when that island comprised your family of origin, the cool kids at school, or the 'in' crowd at work, you likely perceived your very survival at stake. Whatever we may say, no one WANTS to be the social outcast. It's one thing to be introverted (this is me, raising my hand!), and prefer time alone or with only intimate friends. It's entirely different and painful to be told, "We don't like you. You're not good enough," by people who matter. So, we don the masks.
This trickery, while an effort to survive, also paints us in a corner.
Because, whether we acknowledge it or not, everyone wants to be seen, heard, and loved for their true selves. Such a pickle! And in truth, it never quite works out the way we believe.
My masks have encompassed a wide and colorful variety to suit nearly any situation - from the tough girl to the shero. As they have dropped or thinned to a loose veil, easily knocked out of place by a stiff wind, my close relationships have either become more real or have drifted away. The reality is, who I truly am doesn't fit with everyone (how could it possibly?!). Mostly, I delight in this turn of events - rarely using artifice to maintain a connection - a highly rewarding exchange for each of the disguises I've given up.
Then come the ghouls and goblins.
Years ago, in my work with a Theta Healer, I complained about people, at a party or family event, who managed to corner me and talk my ear off.
It happened. Every. Single. Time. I could find no way to extricate myself from the conversation, save running to the bathroom (and often the women would decide to accompany me) or my husband entered the sphere, and invented an excuse for me to walk away with him. The Theta worker exclaimed, "Joanne, that makes total sense. All beings gravitate toward the light. The more work you do, the more this will happen." NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Did I mention I'm an introvert? Small talk is the bane of my existence. And, this woman insisted I must get used to this phenomena, since halting the process of growing, stretching, and becoming "brighter" simply went against all of who I was. Dammit!
The first time I noticed a big shift, I'd been upgraded to first class on a solo retreat to Costa Rica in 2013. A couple asked me to give up my window seat, so they could sit next to each other (they were already next to each other, just across the aisle). I said "no." A twenty-something man, already a bit in his cups, agreed to make the switch. He landed next to me, and talked to me the entire trip. Ugh! Among other things, he thought he might be Jesus Christ. It was a bizarre conversation. As we headed toward customs, he introduced me to one of his friends, who was much closer to my age. He said, "This is Joanne. She's a shaman (I never said ANY SUCH THING!). I just had the best conversation of my life with her." Then he kissed me on the cheek, and we went our separate ways.
What. The. Hell. Was. That?
The universe, with its warped sense of humor, dialed it up a few notches over the last nine years.
While no additional visits with Jesus, here's a tiny taste of who has entered my orbit, just in the past twelve months:
Grabbing a bite to eat at the Kelly's drive-through, the woman taking my money commented about the $100 bill I'd handed her. She further explained, she never carried cash - just used her debit card. She worked three jobs, two of which were direct deposit, but at Kelly's she got an actual paycheck. She worked for an ophthalmologist as her day job. She "had no life," because she took care of her mother, and her husband, of 28 years, left her for another man. Her 30 year-old daughter encouraged her to pick up and go on. But after only three years, her heart still hurt, because she loved him so much. She believed keeping busy with her work and getting to interact with people was good for her.
Did I mention, our entire interaction occurred while she took my payment at the drive-thru?
One night, about 15 minutes prior to Market Basket closing, Mark and I made a mad dash into the store. We split up, enabling us to purchase everything on our list before the doors locked. As the employee collecting the remaining rotisserie chickens stored them on his shelved cart, to be refrigerated overnight, I nabbed one. He randomly struck up a conversation about the weather, and weathermen from years ago. He shared about who he watched on television as a kid, and which weatherman he liked to pay attention to now. He told a story of the olden days when the accuracy of predicting the weather paled in comparison to today. Meanwhile, the store announcer kept talking over the loud speaker. I'd completely lost track of the time, the day, or what was being announced, because the big man still reminisced about weathermen and storms. Finally, Mark found me, and said, "Joanne, the store is closed. We have to go." I still needed to pick up a couple of things from my list! Good grief.
Turns out, even talking about the weather isn't safe!
In August, I received another upgrade on an American Airlines flight to Miami.
I should know better by now, right? I wore my mask (Haha! No, no - the kind to avoid Covid!) on the plane, as I do in all indoor public places, save restaurants. As I asked my already seated neighbor to allow me into my assigned window seat, she says, "Oh, I didn't buckle up yet. I was waiting for you. You know, my doctor says masks don't work." Oh boy.
I cleaned up my seat area with an alcohol wipe (I started doing this long before the pandemic, after getting sick one too many times on a flight), and organized my belongings. Once settled, I reached for my Kindle and read my book. "Look at the size of your type. That's easy to see," she pronounced.
It takes a little over three hours to fly from Boston to Miami. Except for my four minute nap when the plane took off, my neighbor, Ronnie, talked to me the entire time. I learned she was headed to a film premiere that her son was starring in.
She explained that her husband stayed home in New Hampshire to take care of the animals. It turned out, he didn't want to sell the house they'd built, even though she wanted to move to Florida to be closer to her son, and to get away from the harsh winters. She shared about how she took her nephew into her home, and helped raise him, because his mother's addiction made it impossible. I discovered her views about abortion, guns, and government (this was all really challenging, given the gap in our perspectives). I learned that she suffered from COPD, and was reluctantly attending this premiere while her doctor had other plans for her treatment.
Once off the plane, I needed to use the ladies room. She went with me. I noticed how only a few steps caused her breathing to become difficult. Ronnie waited for me in the ladies room, and together we walked - very slowly to accommodate her disease - to baggage claim. More than once, she commented about how nice it was that the flight went by so quickly, since we talked the whole time. When I was introduced to her son, she reiterated this declaration. Then her movie star son attempted a little matchmaking - seeking a friend for his mom, so she'd spend more time in Florida.
I never offered my last name, but I did learn that her best friend is also named Joanne.
A few weeks ago, I found myself in the international food aisle, buying "Maria" cookies, at Mark's request.
After snagging the roll of cookies, I remembered I needed cooking spray. How convenient, that I found myself approaching this product at the end of the aisle.
A woman, my height (a whopping 5'1") and perhaps ten years older, turned and asked for help. She queried, "Can you help me reach that jar on the top shelf?"
Me: "Actually, no. I'm about the same height as you, and I have dinosaur arms. I bet, if you go to the service desk (fifteen feet from where we stood), they could help you."
She proceeded to walk right up to my face, and when inches away, we met eye to eye. "No, I'm shorter than you," she said. Rather than argue, I walked over to the large jars, stacked one atop another, on the highest shelf.
To me, they appeared to contain something I'd have found pickled in my high school science lab. I didn't ask what it was. I simply stretched up on my toes, with my arm above my head, evidencing, it would only be to our mutual detriment if I attempted the feat she asked of me. "Okay," she said, "if they put it up this high, then they deserve what they get."
It appeared she was going to take a jar, from under the other jars, when only a thin slice of cardboard separated the stacked glass. I encouraged her to wait, as someone taller strolled toward us, who could maybe help. Meanwhile, I desperately attempted to find the olive oil spray I sought, so I might exit the aisle!
As she moved one thing after another out of the way, I halted the tall man, and asked if he'd be willing to reach the item on the top shelf. The next thing I knew, she had used the bottom shelf as a step stool, and successfully captured a top jar. No items crashed - hooray!
I went back to my spray search, only to discover she was still talking to me....about Yucca flowers, which turned out to be the contents of the jar. When my face betrayed my puzzlement, she asked if I knew about Yucca. "Oh yes. I just associate them with being out west, in the dessert." I then received a full dissertation about Yucca, where they grew, and what the flowers tasted like. I settled for a can of canola oil spray, congratulated her on the successful retrieval of the yucca, and wished her a good night.
She was still talking, as I wished her well again, and left the aisle.
A couple of years ago, I stopped attending parties and big family events.
And still, there have been many more of these unsolicited encounters. Enough that I'm clear, the incidents are not limited to planes and grocery stores. Not once, did I initiate these conversations. Well, okay, I guess you could make the argument that I asked Ronnie to allow me into my seat on the plane, but come on!
In the old days, I think I used to be a little bit scary. I wore a kind of armor, that kept most randoms from striking up a conversation with me. While my intimate relationships have absolutely improved with my masks falling away, it does seem to have this funky side effect. Maybe it's what the Theta Healer suggested, because all beings are attracted to the light?
When these ghouls and goblins approach, I cannot help but see them, and they clearly possess a keen desire to soak in and extend the experience of being seen and heard. I definitely have moments of longing for Harry Potter's invisibility cloak, and yet, it seems this is part of what I'm here for. Part of what I can contribute to the world is seeing, hearing, empathizing, or at least acknowledging those who wish to be loved as they are - even if they don't know it.
Admittedly, I find it a strange existence. Perhaps this happens to you, too? Here's what I've learned, and continue to work with. The light in me is of me and for me. No one can take it from me - no matter how much another may crave the glow. Still, the illumination may help to support someone else.
After listening to Ronnie complain next to me for the first hour on the plane, I asked, "When was the last time you felt joy?"
She said, "Before my other son was murdered in Vermont, and I had to sit through the trial." I acknowledged the pain and heartache of her tragic experience. We talked quite a bit more about this trauma and a series of other losses, including a wondering about whether she'd had space to grieve.
I might have gone off the rails a bit - putting on my coaching hat without her permission (I truly effort not to do that). I'll never know if Ronnie found the conversation supportive, I can only trust that my spirit guides (and hers) put us in each other's path for a reason, because they know how I feel about small talk!
In this scary season, may you find the courage to strip away your masks, and allow yourself to be seen and heard as your true self - that's where the light is! Then, if you're willing, allow your spark to grant someone else a chance to be seen. It's a great gift, and fitting for the thankful and giving seasons to come.
With love and (ahem) light,
Joanne