Turning Toward the Sun

Turning Toward the Sun

Life is lived in community, not in isolation; none of us live without weaving and knitting all kinds of exchanges and interactions with other people each day. I believe that we become more of who we really are with and through other people, helping us to expand beyond the comfort zone we build around ourselves. Like stones getting polished by their weathering environment, our brilliance and light get refined through our blending, merging and engaging with others.

So many of us tend to be our own worst critics and biggest doubters, able to inflict self-cruelty and self-shame without giving it a thought. But – when other people see and nurture in us what we don’t see or nurture for ourselves, their acknowledgment can open a door, even if it’s just a crack. Nurturing tends to make it a little easier, a little safer even, to allow a stronger version of us to be set free. As Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes in her book, Women Who Run With the Wolves, “Nurture moves you from one place to another.”

When life serves up challenges and difficulties, we can gain sustenance in the strength of other people. Surrounding ourselves with support, love and inspiring energy makes us more powerful and resilient. Feasting on those qualities from others when we’ve been famished nourishes our mental, emotional and physical health.

I saw this in action recently when my husband had a knee replacement.

Getting a new knee is a significant surgery that requires months of rehabilitation and commitment to regain proper function, range of motion and proper mobility. As his surgery date approached, in tandem, his nerves began to rise.

Perhaps in part to ease my own mild worry, and mostly to find some way to lift the burden and support his wellbeing and readiness, I did something that a friend had done years ago (a nod to you, Halli): I solicited our friends and family for help…

I asked for their stories – positive stories, anecdotes, personal accounts or words of encouragement – to be consolidated into a printed anthology for my husband to read before and after surgery. I’d done the same thing for my mom with great success before her hip replacement surgery many years ago, (her album suitably titled, “Hip, Hip, Hooray!”)

It was touching – friends and family responded by sending over their quotes, poems and stories. As I sifted through the emails and texts, I noticed that I felt uplifted by their stream of warmth and care. One by one, each contribution inspired me, every person offering something meaningful and unique to the bigger collection.

After having the pieces printed and bound, I gave my husband the album. Looking at it, he didn’t quite understand what it was. As he flipped through its pages, it became clear, and tears filled his eyes. Shaking his head, he couldn’t quite believe it – such generosity, love and care handed to him. Parts of it made him laugh, some of it made him say ‘wow’, every part made him smile.

The content may not have taken away all the nerves before surgery – but it surely did help him to feel surrounded and witnessed; part of a community where he mattered.

Isn’t that what we all want to feel – that we matter? that what happens in our life matters? that what we go through, whether it be struggles or triumphs – it all matters.  Being held, physically, or emotionally, helps us to face times when we are stretched, feeling alone, vulnerable or scared. Support from community, whether friends, family, colleagues or special interest, becomes the place to lean into for strength, resolve and assurance.

I learned this lesson when I was in my mid-twenties and moved to a new community. I had to find ways to meet people and build a social network. When I found a women’s-only running group just around the corner, I reluctantly signed up for their 10K clinic. I managed my way through the weeks of their slow progression training program and did, indeed, run a 10K race.

Eager to maintain my training and advance to a higher level of ability, I went on to join the next clinic to run a half marathon and managed through the demanding training schedule and months later crossed the finish line hand-in-hand with my new friends. Then the idea of training for a full marathon was dangled in front of me. The loud defeatist voice inside my mind told me there was no way I’d be able to do it. It was too much, too big, too far, too beyond what I could achieve.

And yet.

I wanted to be able to do it. The smaller, wiser, more quiet voice inside my mind kept flirting with, “what if…?”

That’s the part I listened to. I signed up for clinic. Diligently, I kept up with long runs on weekends and shorter runs during the work week. I really pushed myself.

On the Friday before the marathon, I waited in the drab, grey lunchroom for the coffee to finish brewing when a coworker walked in, making friendly conversation about the weather and weekend plans. I quietly told her that I would be running my very first marathon. With big eyes, she turned to me attentive and fascinated. I was surprised that she took such an interest. As she left the room with her fresh cup of coffee, she told me she was impressed with my commitment and determination to “go for it”.

My heart pounded in my chest shortly after that when I read the office-wide email this coworker had sent, unbeknownst to me, announcing my plans for the marathon, and encouraging others to join her in wishing me well. I was absolutely gob-smacked. I couldn’t believe that she cared enough to cheer me on, let alone enlist others. Emails from colleagues flooded my inbox. It was a thrill! Reading through the messages brought an adrenalin rush and intense surges of excitement about the marathon – feelings that had been missing. Up to that point, self-doubt held me back from taking pleasure in my progress, courage and strength.

At the end of the day, that same coworker knocked on my office door, envelope in hand. It was a card that everyone in the office had signed for me, with more well wishes, words of encouragement, affirmations, kudos, cheers and love. It brought me to tears (and it still does). I was lifted so high by their support. It expanded my sense of self; it made me feel ten times stronger and more capable. Each written note shared reassurances that I would “finish strong” and “cross that line”, with praises like, “You can do it!”, “You’re amazing!” and “You’ve got this!”

And like it did for my husband, the nurturing I received from this community of coworkers made room for my confidence and faith to grow. I had gained so much energy from these people who were on my side. I shifted from thinking, “what if I fail?”, to thinking how could I possibly fail with all the love I had surrounding me.

My husband persisted through the difficult days after surgery, and I finished my race, crossing the finish line to the applause of the sideline crowd with tears of joy meeting the big smile on my face. I’d done it! I’d succeeded. And not only because I’d taken every step and ran every mile, but because I’d been set free. Free from the belief that I should be able to do it on my own.

Through these experiences, I learned two fundamental lessons that have shaped my life:

1. Sharing the load of doing hard things with the people who support, and care makes the hard thing seem less hard.

I was the one physically running that race, but I wasn’t alone in it. When the tough moments showed up, when my legs felt like cement blocks, when my lungs burned, when I was too tired to carry on, I called to mind the funny things people wrote to me, or I read the supportive note from my parents that I kept in my pocket. These things encouraged and energized me. I felt held again, no longer cold and lonely.

When my husband was pushing through his painful rehab, the jokes and stories fortified his resolve to keep going and trust the process.

2. I owe it to myself to be mindful and aware of what I am putting in my body and take purposeful action to absorb what I most need so I can grow and prosper (and I’m not just talking about carbs and proteins).

I mean what sources of love, compassion, kindness, tenderness, friendliness, joy, hope and laughter can I skillfully and consciously take in for nourishment and to help me grow. These qualities are the nutrients of our life force. Just like when plants turn toward the light, we have to move to meet the sun.

And by contrast, I must uncover sources of fear, doubt, grievance, shame, perfectionism and negativity that I can reduce or eliminate from destroying my vitality and spirit.

Those are two very important lessons that I’ve taken to heart over the years and that I credit with infusing me with stamina, optimism and an inner sense of positive wellbeing.

(This piece was written entirely by me, not by AI)