I went into the woods to run deliberately. I went in not knowing what to expect for that day. I had ideas thinking I would complete this distance. I had ideas of grandeur, but not knowing how it would go. I wanted to be out in the middle and away from it all.
And yet…
So my word for 2014 (and part of 2013) was vulnerable. It was not a word that was made of choice. It was a word I happened upon and let go all at once. It was a word that meandered into my life slowly and then all at once. It made itself known and present. And it did so weekly, then daily, and then every hour. Sometimes too many times to handle during those hours.
I would not come to terms. I could not. I did not even want to look it in the face. No, I will not open up and lay everything bare. Why would I even want to do that? That sounds crazy, ridiculous. Stupid.
But it had to happen.
Mid-year I went on a retreat. And I thought this was me being vulnerable. I went into a group of people I knew maybe one person out of thirty? And even then, that person and I were not that close. I had really only just met them a few weeks before. Well this was new. I had done things like this before, without fear or trepidation. But now was different. I was scared. Shaking. I almost did not show up. I had paid money, and I was not going to show up that night. Then, something took over. It was like an out of body experience. My car started down the driveway of the retreat center. I looked for a pull-out, another driveway, ANYTHING, so that I could turn around, run my car into a ditch, something. No good. And a car was behind me now. They must have been headed for the same thing. And there was no way I could turn around. Thoughts of fake headaches, phone calls from friends, everything raced through my mind. It was going to be a long weekend.
I was supposed to go to this retreat, and then I would go to another group and read aloud something I had written.
I don’t know what it is, but it was ok for me to sit and hide behind my computer screen. In my mind I don’t imagine anyone actually reading what I write. I just wrote it mostly for me. I posted it to social media with some hope of someone reading it, but I never think anyone actually does it.
To read my own writing out loud though? That was an awful form of torture. I remember imagining my hands shaking, my heart racing and sweat dripping down my forehead as I stood in front of…
The imagining was interrupted as my car pulled into the only parking spot left. And the only person I knew at this retreat was waving at me.
Crap.
I waved back and smiled, breathing out in mustered words things I should not dare repeat. My grandmother may be reading this.
Getting out of the car I scanned for any familiar face, but did not have a single clue other than the man walking across the parking lot to me. I smiled and waved back, was introduced to others, put my stuff in my room, and applied an extra layer of deodorant because I knew I was sweating through my shirt.
We started the evening by introducing ourselves to the entire group, and saying a word that described how we were feeling in that very moment.
Scared.
Frightened.
Alone.
All crossed my mind, but I shared a word I thought would be proper and not cast me out of the group immediately. So I said:
joyful.
Was I really? Was this joy something that I did not know was deep down in there? Did I feel this way? Had I ever felt this way?
The priest leading this retreat nodded his head, and moved on. But his eye landed back on me.
Then came the ringer.
He played this Ted Talk. I am sure we all know the one I am talking about here. It was one that went totally viral.
And tears filled the corners of my eyes that night. But I would not let them fall. I was in a room full of complete strangers. I did not need to be vulnerable here. I could work on that another time.
But I said that was my goal for the weekend. In front of them. It came out just like that. And I thought, at the time that vulnerability would be just to share my story. And say it out loud. Tell them I had been hurt before and was working on fixing that hurt. SO there it was. Right? That’s vulnerability. Saying you have been hurt. That’s openness, sure. I was telling people I had a flaw. That I was scarred.
What I learned that weekend did not match up with my knowledge going in.
And it all happened the next day.
I was prayed for.
God told someone that I needed prayer. And God told me that I was beautiful and loved.
Those were words that I stumbled on. Beautiful and loved.
I still stumble. Daily. They catch in my throat even now as I type this. I am actually looking for ways to not post this, but the piece of me that wants this out in the open will more than likely win.
Vulnerability hangover. It is a thing.
My eyes were swollen for days after as gates had been opened and I sobbed through pain that I had thought long gone; things I had never thought would bother me, but had actually left deep wounds.
And then I had to stand up and share my writing.
I shook, my voice cracked. My cheeks reddened and burned and sweat dripped from my upper lip. But I did it.
And then I shut down.
For a while.
The lesson I had to learn (and am still learning) is that to be vulnerable, truly and deeply with someone else, I must be vulnerable with myself. And to start being vulnerable with myself, I had to stop beating myself up.
This is a daily goal. It is something I must be fully intentional in doing.
Which brings me to my word for 2015, because it keeps coming up.
Intentional.
It has been another one of those words that just keeps slapping me across the face: daily, weekly, hourly. It is there to yell at me, to hit me broadside across the face, make me aware of everything. My senses are heightened, and my arms chill with goosebumps at the whisperings of this once flavorless word.
Here is to a new year of intention and affirmation, understanding and purpose, belief and movement.
