Chance encounter with former student at the grocery store (April 2008):

We trade niceties, she asks what I’m doing, I do my best to explain, she summarizes:

“So, basically you quit your tenure-track position to spend your time blogging, learning photography and doing arts and crafts? Well . . . at least you’re still teaching and researching. I mean, is there a lot of money in blogging? I bet you have to be really careful when you explain quitting to people. Right? I mean, right?”

Chance encounter with old neighbor at Ten Thousand Villages (May 2008):

We trade niceties, she asks what I’m doing, I do my best to explain, she summarizes:

“Good for you! You gave the world the finger, jumped off that hamster wheel and decided to follow your bliss. I’m so glad. You look so great. So much better. I used to worry about you. You were always working, working, working, proving, proving, proving. Now it’s about the dharma. Good for you.”

I walked away from both of these conversations uninvited running commentaries about my life feeling desperate, confused and scared. I literally pictured myself like a fish floundering on hot concrete – gasping, suffocating and desperately hoping to flop my way into a familiar puddle or have someone pour water over my head.

I didn’t have the words. I couldn’t find them. I didn’t know how to respond or what to say. I’m not a self-indulgent, lazy flake who took a coveted university position for granted. I’m also not a brave, follow-your-bliss shero (I had to google dharma to see how it's spelled). These aren’t my stories. You can tell them about me, but they don’t belong to me.

Yes, I’ve changed. Yes, I feel good. No, things aren’t perfect. But yes, they are so much better. Why? Because over the course of a long, painful year, I realized that “trying to decide” was a waste of time. It was much more straightforward – live authentically or die.

Do I mean literally die? Or live in a malignant malaise? Or watch your soul crumble? Does it really matter? It’s all death.

Living authentically is hard. And no, there’s not much money in it. If it were paid labor, we’d all get lots of hazard pay. It’s uncomfortable. Partners and children are scared and unsure. Friends and family wonder what it will mean for them.

 

There are two things I know for sure: 1. Despite their behaviors and words, our children, partners, sisters, brothers, friends and parents don't want us to be spiritually and emotionally dead. 2. Don't ever ask your children if they'd rather have a vacant, weepy mother who makes Easy Mac and puts on DVDs  or a fulfilled, authentic mom who may need time away.  Just don't ask.

 

I know we are a strange bunch of travelers. We carry hope notes in our day planners. We use words like love, hope, tenderness, open and faith. We're believers. People think we’re weird. And, there are many, many, gasping fish-out-of-water moments.

 

Oh, the audacity of authenticity. You’re going to confuse, piss-off and terrify lots of people – including yourself.  You're going to pray it ends, then pray it never ends.  If you're like me,  you're still going to be crazy and find yourself lying, cheating and faking it on occasion, but in some magic way, it's different. You don't blame/shame yourself (as much) or other people for lying, cheating and faking, you just kinda go, "I wonder what's going on with me?" Gasp. Gasp.

And . . .  every now and then, when hope, gratitude and wonder align like the stars, there are moments of feeling like a fish in water. Graceful, weightless and free.

Last night, I spent my evening swimming with some amazing women including Laura, Gabby, Laurie, Ellen and Lucy, Katherine and Jenny. I was a fish in water. No weight, no flopping, just a lot of darting in and out of possibility and promise. I didn’t need to explain or justify or be afraid.  There were no expectations, just lots of kirtsying and splashing around.

Oh, the audacity of authenticity.