Using Fear As a Bridge
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[caption id="attachment_110" align="alignleft" width="224" caption="It's the Journey, Not the Destination, When Using Fear as a Bridge"]
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It's not the destination, it's the journey. How often do we hear that? To focus on the process and not the outcome?
And what about fear? How do we use it? What do we do with it? Do we freeze? Get stuck? Eat ourselves alive?
Do we breathe through it? Allow it to go deep, where fear needs to go? Or do we ignore it?
This weekend, I worked with one of my own fears.
This weekend, HG was happy to be a part of Gilda's Club's Arts Day. Gilda's Club is a cancer support community, named for comedian Gilda Rader, who died from breast cancer in 1986.
To return to Gilda's Club was a personal triumph for me.
Ever since the death of my mother in 2007, Fort Lauderdale is often a very emotional place for me to travel. Both my parents died there and I've had to fight my own grief and fear for years. I've thought of it as the "Square of Sadness." I remember well the harried and frenzied trips to and from hospice during mom's final days. And Gilda's Club? Mere moments away. My logical brain does not often care that I live less than an hour from this area. My brain usually hears "Fort Lauderdale" and goes into shock. Death. Horror. Pain. Watching my loved ones slip away from me, leaving me alone. The root of so much. The crux of it all.
A month ago, I told my best friend I didn't need to go.
"There will be other charity events," I said. "There's one right down the street. Maybe I should go to the one that's five minutes away."
"Or you could go back. Didn't you go back last year? Why is this hitting you now?" he asked.
He's right. I did go back last year. I worked an event and I had a wonderful time. But this time?
Oh, this time was a showcase - a parade! - of all my terrors and triggers. Driving to Fort Lauderdale. Past the place where they died. Driving on a highway I hadn't been on alone since February of 2007, where I drove back from the place where my 50-something year old mother lay dying and inarticulate, in a coma.
So, this was my chance to go through it all again. But I wanted to go.
I created Happy Ganesh because I love what the god Ganesh stands for. I believe in joy and the removal of obstacles. I believe in expansion and growing outward. I created Happy Ganesh because I want to hold space in the world for connection between the living and the dead, between life and grief and back to life. I created HG for others to find their own answers by taking part in these things.
Mostly, what I'm finding is that I've also created HG to also hold my own space in the world.
Going back to downtown Fort Lauderdale took on grand proportions, assuming the depth of an international journey. I started preparations early, about a month ago. I sought professional support. I started making lists of my fears, my outcomes. Why I wanted to go back. Why it meant the world for me to go back. And this year, I chose to go forward. I paid the fee. It's for Happy Ganesh, I told myself. You can do good there. You can help make connections between the living and the dead. It's to get out there, to give something back.
At 2 pm the day before, I was ready to bolt. Why should I go back? Why should I even try? Far better to pull on footie pyjamas and watch my 34th episode of Xena. I'd just call and cancel. That's it. I'll mess with my professional and personal integrity, no problem. They'll never know I'm gone. Maybe I can even put my house up for sale and move to Nebraska. I hear it's nice this time of year.
At 10 pm, I was going again. I'd resolved to myself that I was going back for some kind of nebulous reason, that I was not going to die on the thirty-minute commute, and that maybe, just maybe, moving in any direction towards freedom was better than forcing myself to sit in an emotional space that is so, so, so, so READY to move.
It was creaky and scary. I cried when I drove past the hospital. I remembered my mother. My heart raced when I first hit the highway. But then, something strange happened.
I remembered that this was fun.
That before everything, I used to love this route. Before I knew it, I rolled the windows down. I sang along to whatever pop rock was on the radio. Before I knew it, I pulled into the parking lot.
And I found nothing but joy on the other end of my fear. NOTHING BUT JOY. I met with old friends I hadn't seen in ages. I lit luminary candles for my parents. I made new friends and helped new clients. I felt blessed and expansive - something inside grew bigger in response to moving through my fear.
How do you feel when you move through fear?
Do you let it guide you? Do you push it away? Drop into it? Ignore it? How do YOU work with fear? It's a powerful tool and a powerful teacher. Do you let fear tell you where the pain is?
[/caption]It's not the destination, it's the journey. How often do we hear that? To focus on the process and not the outcome?
And what about fear? How do we use it? What do we do with it? Do we freeze? Get stuck? Eat ourselves alive?
Do we breathe through it? Allow it to go deep, where fear needs to go? Or do we ignore it?
This weekend, I worked with one of my own fears.
This weekend, HG was happy to be a part of Gilda's Club's Arts Day. Gilda's Club is a cancer support community, named for comedian Gilda Rader, who died from breast cancer in 1986.
To return to Gilda's Club was a personal triumph for me.
Ever since the death of my mother in 2007, Fort Lauderdale is often a very emotional place for me to travel. Both my parents died there and I've had to fight my own grief and fear for years. I've thought of it as the "Square of Sadness." I remember well the harried and frenzied trips to and from hospice during mom's final days. And Gilda's Club? Mere moments away. My logical brain does not often care that I live less than an hour from this area. My brain usually hears "Fort Lauderdale" and goes into shock. Death. Horror. Pain. Watching my loved ones slip away from me, leaving me alone. The root of so much. The crux of it all.
A month ago, I told my best friend I didn't need to go.
"There will be other charity events," I said. "There's one right down the street. Maybe I should go to the one that's five minutes away."
"Or you could go back. Didn't you go back last year? Why is this hitting you now?" he asked.
He's right. I did go back last year. I worked an event and I had a wonderful time. But this time?
Oh, this time was a showcase - a parade! - of all my terrors and triggers. Driving to Fort Lauderdale. Past the place where they died. Driving on a highway I hadn't been on alone since February of 2007, where I drove back from the place where my 50-something year old mother lay dying and inarticulate, in a coma.
So, this was my chance to go through it all again. But I wanted to go.
I created Happy Ganesh because I love what the god Ganesh stands for. I believe in joy and the removal of obstacles. I believe in expansion and growing outward. I created Happy Ganesh because I want to hold space in the world for connection between the living and the dead, between life and grief and back to life. I created HG for others to find their own answers by taking part in these things.
Mostly, what I'm finding is that I've also created HG to also hold my own space in the world.
Going back to downtown Fort Lauderdale took on grand proportions, assuming the depth of an international journey. I started preparations early, about a month ago. I sought professional support. I started making lists of my fears, my outcomes. Why I wanted to go back. Why it meant the world for me to go back. And this year, I chose to go forward. I paid the fee. It's for Happy Ganesh, I told myself. You can do good there. You can help make connections between the living and the dead. It's to get out there, to give something back.
At 2 pm the day before, I was ready to bolt. Why should I go back? Why should I even try? Far better to pull on footie pyjamas and watch my 34th episode of Xena. I'd just call and cancel. That's it. I'll mess with my professional and personal integrity, no problem. They'll never know I'm gone. Maybe I can even put my house up for sale and move to Nebraska. I hear it's nice this time of year.
At 10 pm, I was going again. I'd resolved to myself that I was going back for some kind of nebulous reason, that I was not going to die on the thirty-minute commute, and that maybe, just maybe, moving in any direction towards freedom was better than forcing myself to sit in an emotional space that is so, so, so, so READY to move.
It was creaky and scary. I cried when I drove past the hospital. I remembered my mother. My heart raced when I first hit the highway. But then, something strange happened.
I remembered that this was fun.
That before everything, I used to love this route. Before I knew it, I rolled the windows down. I sang along to whatever pop rock was on the radio. Before I knew it, I pulled into the parking lot.
And I found nothing but joy on the other end of my fear. NOTHING BUT JOY. I met with old friends I hadn't seen in ages. I lit luminary candles for my parents. I made new friends and helped new clients. I felt blessed and expansive - something inside grew bigger in response to moving through my fear.
How do you feel when you move through fear?
Do you let it guide you? Do you push it away? Drop into it? Ignore it? How do YOU work with fear? It's a powerful tool and a powerful teacher. Do you let fear tell you where the pain is?