Doing Something That Scares

I am solidly in the Hallmark Channel demographic, and during the holidays I fully embrace the back-to-back rom-coms that always have happy endings.  In one of them yesterday, I was struck by a line spoken by one of the minor characters to our protagonist.  She said, "You should do something every day that scares you."

I've heard the line before, but perhaps because it landed on New Year's Day, it has hauntingly lingered in my memory.  When I sat to meditate later in the evening, I pondered when I last did something that scared me.  Maybe 10 years ago when I pulled up stakes and moved to Washington without a job?  I recall feeling terrified six months earlier when I had given my notice at both of my teaching jobs, but at the actual time of the move, it just felt right.  In fact, I have done some things since then that maybe should have scared me, but they felt so clearly true to my heart that I recall no fear.  (Giving my notice on a "good government job" last spring when I didn't have another, maybe should have felt some fear?)

Then I melted away the boundaries of my denial and was honest with myself: no, I haven't done anything that scared me in a while.  But, as I reflected on the absence of fear-inducing activity, I realized that I've been running from the things that scared me, while using excuses.

Last week a friend who had lost his wife last summer wrote that over Thanksgiving he'd taken a retreat.  I wrote back congratulating him on his courage.

You see, I knew the courage required for several days of silence. I used to take four-day silent meditation retreats twice a year. I did it for at least 15, maybe 20 years. About two days in, I'd always spend a few hours "wrestling with my angels."  I'd discover something about myself that I didn't like. I'd heal it, and at the end of the retreat I would almost certainly be a more whole person.  Yet I knew that "wrestling with my angels," while reward-producing at the end, was terrifying when I was in it. My friend was courageous to take his retreat.

As I reflected last night, I recalled my correspondence.  I couldn't remember when I had displayed the courage to take a four-day silent retreat.  First I had gone from twice a year to once a year. Along the way, four days became three and then two, even though I knew that it took at least two days of silence to get deep enough to find my angels and then wrestle with them.  On occasion, I would start a retreat but get restless and, instead of staying with my restlessness, I'd abandon my efforts.  Is that something I should admit that I am scared of doing?  Absolutely!  So, as soon as I publish this post, I will begin my first four-day silent retreat in years.

But there were other truths that bubbled up last night when I was honest about doing what scared me. I've used the busyness of my schedule and the exhaustion from my work as an excuse to not write in this blog with regularity.  Almost every time I write, I wrestle with a truth that I know in my heart but would rather run from.  If I keep moving and don't write, I don't have to face those truths.

For long stretches of my adult life I haven't even owned a television, and for even longer stretches when I had one, it would sit for months without being turned on.  Increasingly, I've come home and turned on the TV as a way to escape my truth.  The truth is that I miss having someone to come home to. While I've lived along for 23 years now, I don't think I am well suited to living alone. The noise of the TV makes me feel like someone is in my apartment with me.

I have laughed that I have dinner with Stephen Colbert every evening as I watch his late-night show from the evening before while I eat.  Occasionally, I substitute John Oliver or Samantha Bee. I like to laugh, and one of the things that I miss most about living alone is the side-splitting laughter that erupts spontaneously over the silliest of things.  If I dine with comedians, I can be assured laughter daily.

That's where the Hallmark Channel comes in again.  I love being assured a happy ending.  I think that sometimes I am afraid my life will not have a happy ending, and these happy movies, while never without a stumbling block, always have a feel-good finish.

Somehow I've fallen into a television addiction--a verifiable addiction, because I use it to separate from my feelings.  I turned off the television at 10 last night, and I don't plan to turn it back on for a week.  Dinner alone without humor...now that scares me.

In my silent retreat I am going to figure out what else scares me and build the courage to do something every day in 2017 that scares me. In my heart I know that a year from now, I will be closer to reclaiming the Self I came into this life to be.