The Termini Perspective
On the front steps of Chalker Beach Road
From ages four to fourteen, I lived on Chalker Beach Road in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. We lived in a modest house of five rooms, 1.5 baths, and no basement, on a single floor. Our neighbors next door, the Termini's, resided in a comparative palace! They had a long driveway, and a two story, four bedroom, two bath house. Their yard, so enormous, the house seemed only a speck of dust on the green carpet of lawn.
Mrs. Termini, a widow with six children, always looked fancy. She never left the house without her platinum blonde bouffant poofed to perfection and make-up meticulously applied. Her clothes always appeared impeccable. As the only surviving parent, she worked full time, managed the house, raised the children, and offered an air of formality unfamiliar to me.
Mrs. Termini's house was no less glamorous than she. The living room featured a formal oyster colored sofa, with wooden trim, completely covered in plastic, with an ornate mirror positioned on the sofa wall. As if the house weren't big enough already, they even had a three-season back porch. The upstairs rooms - the house had an upstairs! - were so cool, because they had slanted ceilings. It was all quite amazing to me.
About eight or nine years ago, I drove back to Massachusetts from a workshop I'd attended in Maryland. I somehow got turned around, and ended up taking the long way home. This meant, I'd pass several Old Saybrook exits, enroute. I'd not been to the town of my youth for many years, and decided it might be fun to take a spin past the old homestead, and down to the beach, where one of my "Just Right Moments" was birthed.
Chalker Beach at sunset
Our old house looked almost exactly the same, except the single car garage appeared to have been converted into living space. But the Termini's house...I couldn't understand what I was seeing. Had someone taken down that big, beautiful house, and put up this teeny, tiny cape in its place? And, the yard, while big enough to have since built a house in the rear of the property, certainly didn't swallow the mansion of my memories.
It turns out, there had been no palace next door to the ranch I grew up in. While our house was certainly smaller, maybe 1,100 square feet for the four of us, the seven Termini's couldn't have been living in more than 1, 600 square feet, and quite possibly less. It's true, the home sat on a double lot, so the speck of dust proportions may have been more accurate than the rest. But, the overall reality I faced, shocked me!
The reality of the Termini "Palace"
Taking in the truth - the factual dimensions vs. my skewed perceptions - required a manual update. I had to override what I'd believed all these years, and see what was before me, as it actually was. This meant removing the filter I'd viewed through, and allowing new information to penetrate my being.
This sort of manual updating is constantly necessary. The revisionist history I created is not always so dramatically different from reality; however, even small changes require modernization. My husband and I periodically say to one another, "Oh, I think I'm still going by old information about that. I'm expecting to see the way you used to do things. I'll update."
The very willingness to attend to the current information, instead of viewing through the old filter, requires vulnerability. Opening up to the reality of this moment, means letting go of long held beliefs. It recognizes the error of the mind, and that can be scary. Because, if we're operating with old data, the inner terrorists pipe in, "You've been doing it wrong." And, we hate to be wrong. We think making a mistake could cause us to be banished from the tribe, voted off the island, no longer belonging - and, once upon a time - belonging equaled safety.
Since all connection is born of love, these updates are essential to creating and maintaining intimacy. Iyanla Vanzant calls it: "Into me see." Remember, love is the acceptance of a person, thing, or situation exactly as it is in the moment. Even if we don't like what we see, if we accept the truth of what is - that's love. And all of us want to be seen and heard as who we truly are. That may also scare the pants off of us, but it remains the underlying desire. Because, being seen as we are in the moment, lets us experience an act of love.
These manual updates apply to all manner of situations and people, including the self. When you've long told yourself "I'm lazy; I'm stupid; I'm broken; I'm the smartest one in the room; Everyone is leaning on me," you may have lost sight of what is true now. Maybe someone used to tell you those things, and you believed that story, as a means to belong. That's completely understandable. Our desire to survive overrides all else, and yet, what if that information was never correct. Or maybe you carry an honest belief - meaning, the truth as you once knew it in a moment - and yet, if you view yourself free of that old filter, what gets revealed?
(When I first wrote this piece, and put it in cue a few weeks ago, I drew to a close at about this point. Then, as I reviewed the prose on Saturday night, in anticipation of sending this to you today, I realized, there's more. This topic is absurdly relevant in a way I didn't perceive when I wrote it. Here's what I mean...)
Trevor Noah offers a wise perspective.
This same principal applies to cultural thinking; perceptions of hierarchy; how things work in the world; mis-informed understandings about scientific data; adhering to religious (or other) doctrine, as fact, rather than belief. What if the white woman (Amy Cooper) calling the police on a black man (Christian Cooper) in Central Park was living a version of seeing the Termini's "palace," and not the reality of the small Cape that a family of seven lived in? The man was bird watching, but she didn't manually update the inner story she clutched so tightly. What if black Americans are waiting desperately for the privileged - who can be stopped by a police officer, and have no inherent fear for their personal safety - to see what's real - to see the cloud of threat that comes from living while black?
We are living in a time of a health pandemic, murder hornets, and cities on fire. We've fallen asleep as our fellow humans fight to live fair and safe lives in their darker skin. We've worn blinders to mass shootings, armed militia storming a state house, and the shredding of programs designed to support the most vulnerable among us. When more black people die of COVID-19, it's not because the disease hates darker skin; it's because it attacks everyone, and the vulnerable cannot survive. As we read the statistics of our overcrowded prison system, disproportionately filled with black inmates, do we stop to see, and change, the cause of the problem? Are we willing to look at the underpinnings that murdered Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd, and far too many others? What if we choose this moment to manually update, to change the path forward?
Insignificant as it may seem, the updated perspective of the Termini's house both, boggled my mind and informed me about my willingness to believe an outdated viewpoint. I encourage you to be willing to change your mind about something or someone, by seeing the truth as it is in THIS moment. That is an act of love.
Sunday, after completing this, I saw a Facebook post written by a man I attended high school with. I found his prose spoke to me, perhaps they will speak to you.
With much love,
Joanne Lutz
