Blog 49 Looking For My Tribe (Gary)
Most certainly one of my heroes in this regard is one of my clients who after much personal pain, abuse, and abandonment by his father, and twenty-three years of recovery became an incredibly loving man. He didn’t graduate from high school yet has a very successful contracting business. I don’t know about you but I have worked in construction and most contractors have a hard edge. John can have that edge; however, he greets his men with a hug. Sometimes they don’t know what to do with that. Those who have known him for a while will stand there and wait until he is available. He also spontaneously engages strangers, one of my favorite things to do. I call it “not being a victim of circumstance.”
The lesson this man has taught me is to lead yourself into the life you choose. Wait for no one or for any thing, validation, acceptance, encouragement, or sign.
I know now that when I accepted Michael Gurian’s invitation to visit his 105-acre country estate north of Spokane I wept there because I felt accepted. At first I thought it was my response to his total acceptance, but that wasn't all of it. It was the embrace of the alder trees that surrounded me, the warmth of the sun, the gentle cooling breeze, the butterfly that landed on my shoe. There, as well as here, I am not alone, and I am blessed with total acceptance. So where does this hunger for benign acceptance come from?
I remember the first indicator. It was first grade. We were supposed to draw something for some kind of art project. It seemed we were all trying really hard to get it right. Somehow it was challenging. I remember giving it my best, but Johnny next to me wasn't taking it seriously. I remember now he was drawing a duck. Wow, that just flashed into my mind (the value of writing from a “let go” position). He was fucking the duck, so to speak. I loved ducklings as my aunt and uncle had frequently taken me to the park to feed the ducks and I had a string of toy ducks to pull around on the floor. I loved ducks. How could he do that with no respect? It was so wrong, and so awful, I took his drawing and ripped it up. I got in trouble for it, but I knew what he was doing was bad and wrong, and now I reflect that I must have had a fear of destruction of beauty, which for me may have been the equivalent of abandonment.
I think it had something to do with security because I had found something beautiful and sweet, and I treasured it. I was so emotionally bereft, so insecure and fearful of abandonment, that little things meant a tremendous amount to me. As a child I guarded my little treasures with a passion. That fuzzy yellow duck must have been an anchor of sorts.
There was another time when my uncle’s brother came to the house, and I thought he was wearing my uncle’s hat. I got really upset and adamant that he couldn’t be wearing my uncle’s hat. It was actually part of their shop clothing, but I didn’t know that. Everyone evidently thought this was cute, but actually it was another example of me trying to maintain a sense of security, a knowing that sacred items would stay as they were; if they did it meant everything was going to be okay and I would be safe.
I know as an adult that what anchors me or makes me feel grounded is being or doing what my mother initiated in me: my father was dead when I was three years old, and I was to take care of her. Thus the hero was born.
What anchors you?
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