Lest we…

 … forget.

I told the story yesterday to the sweet children I teach. 

"I'm going to tell you a really hard story that you might not have heard before. It's about terrorists (which we defined as the "bad guys") and heroes." 

Who are each of us - if we choose to be.

I as shared the general details of the timeline of 9/11/01 -- 10-12 years before any of them were born -- I started to cry. I reminded them that all emotions were ok and I let the tears flow.

As they listened, they interrupted with really tricky questions that they answered among themselves as they pieced it all together.

"How did the people get down from the top of the building?"
"They couldn't. There was too much fire."
"What happened to the people on the ground? Were they safe?"
"The building fell. They were under it."
"Did the trees burn in the field?"
"Of course they did, the plane was on fire."
"I thought the planes were empty."

"They had families on them."
"Why would they do that?"

"This makes my tummy not feel good."

They built the tragedy in their own minds, piece by difficult piece.

We looked at some photos of the smoke, the running, the crowds trying to get out, the dust covered streets and people, the empty skyline.

Then we spoke of the heroes. We watched a short video "Boatlift" about the massive efforts made by the the boats in the harbor that day to evacuate 500,000 people from Manhattan.

I would have loved to tell them about the miracles in Gander, New Foundland -- but that will have to wait for another time.

I would have loved to tell them about my day on 9/11/01 - what I was doing, how I felt, what I was worried about.

But they kept talking, asking questions, wanting to know more so that they could know how to remember.

It was beautiful.

How do I remember? Lest I forget?

I read a phrase today that made me stop and think - "performative patriotism." 

I have wrestled with "performative everything" the last few years -- reconstructing my faith, rebuilding my memories, and then making changes that more reflect who I really am and not who I've "performed as" my whole life.

I would define "performative" as anything I do with the intent to make it look "good" or "right" or "accepted" to everyone else while ignoring and dismissing my own soul thoughts and my own insight. Ignoring my own light.

Ignoring my soul for any reason is not how I want to live my life, I've been down that road and it's full of misery, expectation and obligation. I reject all of those.

Even with this post - I have worked all day to decide on why I should even comment today, why it was important to me, and how to get the thoughts of "I'm not a good American if I don't say something today." out of my head. 

How is this remembering real for me today?

The real for me looks like sobbing through all 11 minutes of "Boatlift" when I previewed it.

The real for me looks like being thankful I saw a plane in the sky today.

The real for me looks like subscribing to silly Apple TV+ so I can watch the Broadway musical "Come From Away" tomorrow and sob through that too. That show speaks to my soul on a Goddess level I cannot describe.

The real for me looks like learning that at the 9/11 Memorial they put a white rose on the names of the fallen on their birthday.

The real for me looks like being a little (maybe a lot) angry that patriotism is being used as a political weapon.

The real for me looks like wrestling with maybe not saying anything today and having that also be enough.

The real for me looks like talking about hard stories with children and hearing their sadness.

The real for me looks like thinking, choosing, breathing, and then writing. I had to. Lest we forget.

Twin Towers, flags, boats - they heard the hard story.

52 is the new…

 … ?

Every year as my birthday comes closer I find myself unwittingly doing an enormous amount of self-reflection. It’s a painful, but healing process and I get to hold the paradox of that experience.

Some years I am lonely, some years I feel a heavy regret, and some years I am curled up in a ball of depression. I’m all over the emotional map during my birthday time and I’ve learned to embrace that process. 

Where am I this year? What have I done? Am I who I want to be? Is there a stagnancy in my goals? Have I checked in with the desires of my heart? There are so many questions that my soul seeks answers to. 

I don’t think I have answers to these questions, but my learning has taught me how to sit with the question and wait for the answer to come. 

I’m waiting - but not stagnant - I’m moving, growing, changing, being, and most of all thriving. 

The world has been so damned hard these last few years. I’ve listened to the lived experiences of so many whose lives are unlike mine. I have heard their stories and have had my heart changed. 

Not just my heart - my whole being. 

My mind is open and learning new ways to think and absorb information. 

My heart is bigger for having heard the cries of both those around me and of my own soul. 

My soul is strengthened by leaning into and looking at the truth of my personal trauma-filled childhood. 

My body has shifted and is now a tool for adventure and actually an active participant in living a life instead of only surviving a life from the sidelines. 

With all this change - all this movement, all this living and breathing life in - is 52 the new 22? 32? 42?

Do I want to relive those years with this new mind, body, and soul? How would I do it differently? Could I do it differently? 

Should I do it differently is the actual question that sits on my soul. If I could have - should I have changed the course of my life at 22, 32, or 42?

Without the naivety and bravery of 22 - I would be missing my teammate and these delightful 4 children whom I adore with my whole soul and who I have the honor of learning from. I wouldn’t give that up for all the future living I could do. 52 is NOT the new 22. 

Without extending (and often over extending) myself at 32, I would have never heard the voices of 100’s of children that sang love and peace to my heart. Their faces, their smiles, their wiggles, their earnest desire to feel the gift of music was in turn a gift to my very being. I still sing “Everything is possible if you try” - because there is truth in those words. 32 heard those little voices bravely belt “Why we sing” with their whole hearts and I would be missing a piece of my heart without their voices ringing through it. 52 is NOT the new 32.  

At 42 I was gifted with becoming acquainted with some of the greatest humans on earth - Band Parents. There is a bond between band parents that is forged with love and sacrifice. We see the gift that band is for our children and we do the work to provide them the opportunities to stretch themselves and find out who they really are. In turn, we are gifted with amazing humans who support each other and we validate and are witnesses of the sacrifice we share together. Then there are the band students - the heart of the program - I love those children and was so grateful to have mentored and loved them the best I could. They taught 42 year old Mary what unconditional love is all about and I would not have survived without their gift. 52 is NOT the new 42. 

So then - if 52 is not 22, 32, or 42 -- the question becomes clearer - what IS the real 52?

52 is the beach

52 is mountain air

52 is running in the rain

52 is love is love is love

52 is new choices

52 is zipping in the trees

52 is a new body I love

52 is a new view

52 is breathing in life and breathing out pain. ❤️

52 IS the new 52. 

Happy Birthday to ME!