What Makes Us Special?

I was fortunate to be raised by parents who were quite different from one another. They viewed the world differently, and they travelled through it differently. My father was a private pilot and often took me along when he ferried the wealthy friends of his employer to the annual Opera Festival in San Antonio. I learned young to be comfortable around the wealthy, even if I was not one of them.

My mother included me in her search for a kinder God, not the one she was brought up to believe in. We went to many different churches, and every congregation was unique. The ideals of faith and worship were not assigned to me, rather I was free to choose—the Mexican Mariachis, the choir at the black Baptist church, the tent revivals, the healing services. Perhaps all of them.

I learned a lot from this unusual journey. Even though I was a White girl who lived in a nice neighborhood and went to a good school, this did not make me special. My race did not make me better than those elegant members of the Black Choir, or the poor children playing out in the field at the tent revival. Being Christian did not make me better than the Jewish family who shared their faith with me as they grieved the death of their young daughter. Not race, nor gender, nor our faith practices make us better.

Only what we do allows us to grow better. We are being fed the worst lie in America today, and it is coming from our leader. We are told that some of us are better than others, and some deserve to take rather than give. That some should not even be treated as human, only because of how or where they were born. We must not succumb to this. We are not born good because we perceive others as born bad. We do not take because we think others exist to give to us. We do not punish or exclude others only because they were born different.

It is the good we do that can make us special. Our courage, our generosity, our compassion. Our determination to see all others as equal, even if different. We take the time to know them, and if they need help, we give it. Only this can make us special.

Interview on Invisible Illness with Carmen Chai of Everyday Health

I was honored to be interviewed for this article, hope you find it helpful.

Invisible Illness: What it Means and 7 Ways to Cope

The Arts Are Everything

I was a lucky kid. I grew up in a world saturated with the arts. When I was six years old, I joined my parents as a season subscriber to the San Antonio Symphony. I began classical ballet lessons at five, and at twelve I was accepted into the San Antonio Civic Ballet Company. I was in the corps de ballet for the Grand Opera Festival that toured through the city every year. In high school, instead of taking electives that could get me into a good college, I took all the arts classes that were offered until there weren’t any left. Finally my teacher said, “Just go to the studio and make stuff.” Which I willingly did.

I was admitted to college, on academic probation, and soon found I liked the academic environment. I began to see the art in learning, in reading and in writing, and in the artistry of many professors. Over 14 years of study I earned four degrees, including two Masters’ and a Ph.D. in Education and Literature. I became a teacher, and later a curriculum specialist, and then moved beyond the academic world to become a stockbroker. During all this time I sustained my passion for the arts, because I knew my launch pad, and my progress, was rooted in the arts.

Over the years I took pottery and sculpture classes and learned to throw on a wheel and make bronze castings. I learned to solder and set gemstones and make jewelry. I took voice lessons and learned I was a soprano. I spent decades deeply engaged with theaters as an actor, choreographer, director, playwright and leader. I was not a master at any of these efforts, but I did my best and persisted and grew.

This long journey embedded in me a conviction that participation in the arts offers great value, whether it is visual or literary or performance. There is creativity, of course, but also collaboration and discipline and structure and organization. Art students learn to focus and keep working until they finish what they started, even if it’s hard. They learn to lead and to be part of a team, and from that learn both humility and respect. Not the least, they gain wisdom that they are unique and special—and so is everyone else.

So I say to parents, if you want to give your children a great gift, as my parents gave to me, encourage them to engage in the arts. And if you want this great American legacy to continue, support the arts in your communities and vote for the politicians who support the arts in our country. Because the arts are everything.

What's the Story

Recently, on my morning walk in the woods, I approached a trash can on the side of the trail. Beside it was an empty garbage bag with books, notebooks and magazines scattered all around it. I stopped to take a closer look and saw that all the titles referred to God, the globe and missionary work, like The Way to God, World Evangelism, The Warm Heart of Africa, Mission Stories, The Voice of Truth International.

As I stared at the scene, my instincts as a storyteller instantly went into high gear and I began to conjure what might be the story behind this mess. Maybe…

·      A young man, planning to become an Evangelical missionary lost his faith. There was a scandal in his church that shattered him.

·      A mother did not share the beliefs of her son and in a moment of rage threw out all the resources he had collected.

·      A spouse could not convince her partner to join her faith and finally gave up. She would rather save her marriage than go on a mission.

·      A young woman, planning a mission to Africa, lost the chance and threw out her books, then changed her mind and came back to get them, then changed her mind again.

The options are endless, and the scene fascinating. When I went back today, all had been cleaned up. Who cleaned up the mess? Was this part of the story? Is there more to the story? Or was it just park maintenance? I wonder…

Mid-Century to Modern

While writing my memoir, From Mid-Century to Modern: One Woman’s Journey from Schoolteacher to Stockbroker, I did a lot of research on the decades when I was growing up. During those years, from the 1950’s to the turn of the century, there were massive legal and social changes for American women, changes we may now take for granted. But with the right to legal abortion being challenged in our country, this is a time to reflect on all we have gained, and what we could lose—If those who wish to see women as lesser gain more control.

To begin, the birth control pill was approved by the FDA in 1965, giving women the freedom to pursue careers, plan families and avoid forced marriage. This was followed by the Vietnam war years when many young men either enlisted or were drafted into service. Women, left on their own, became more self-sufficient and independent during these times and often were unwilling to return to traditional roles when the men came home. Between 1975-1988, in American families with children, it was the wife who filed for divorce in approximately 2/3 of cases.

• In 1968, with the passage of The Fair Housing Act, a woman could buy or rent a home in her own name. Just 13 years later, there were more single women homeowners than men.

•  Until the passage of the Equal Credit Opportunity Act in 1974, a woman could not have a checking account or credit card. Only joint accounts with males were allowed.

•  Prestigious Ivy League schools like Yale and Princeton didn’t accept female students until 1969. Harvard didn’t admit women until 1977.

•  Until 1978, a woman could be fired from her job for being pregnant.

•  And it wasn’t until 1988 that a woman was legally allowed to start her own business.                                                                                                                      

We’d best pay attention, stay strong and stick together during these times, lest we go backwards.

MOTHER

            In 1997, at age 76, my mother died from Leukemia. I was at her bedside singing ‘Amazing Grace’ softly in her ear as her breathing slowed, and then stopped. Her death was expected, and I was glad her suffering ended, but she was a treasure to me, and I felt the loss. She was an adventurous, creative spirit and for months I could feel her around me, hovering, only slowly letting go, moving on to her next magical journey.

            One night, months after her death, Dan and I were in a small hotel restaurant on San Juan Island where we lived. As we walked through the lobby after dinner, I saw a carved wooden statue of a woman, taller than me, with two children tucked behind her back. The sculptor was a local, Yates Lansing, and I’d seen his work before. He combed the local beaches looking for timber washed ashore from carrier ships and was able to see what that split and soggy piece of wood could be. In this one, it was Mother.

            I dedicated my small inheritance from my mother to purchase this sculpture in her memory. It will forever remind me of her and her simple, loving spirit, always chin held high, looking outward. Mother has lived in all our homes, on San Juan Island and in Austin’s Barton Creek, and now in an apartment in the Arboretum. In each setting, she has faced a window with a view. She gazes out to the future, with those children tucked safely behind her back.

The Barney Bears

In the fall of 1983, I was living in a condo in Southern California. Life was on restart. I was divorced, in a new career as a stockbroker with Merrill Lynch and had recently moved from Arizona to California. When my children were with their father, I spent many nights on my back porch, glass of wine in hand, wondering ‘What the hell happened to my life?’

            Before I quite made it to the next question, ‘What do I want my life to be now?’ a friend called. We’d been working together at Merrill Lynch, then both left when he joined Smith Barney as a manager, and I moved closer to family on the west coast. He’d told me he’d met a guy at a manager’s meeting, and thought I’d like him. I replied, “I don’t want to meet any guys.” But he was persistent, called, and called, and called again. …His office is just down the street from where you live… he was named Broker of the Year… he’s single… he’s a good guy… he has a good reputation… you should go by and meet him.

            A lonely Christmas passed, my first without my two kids. I could not bear to celebrate with my own family, so went back to my condo, built a fire and sulked.

            Just across town, that guy I had yet to meet had a ski trip with his son cancelled at the last minute. He too was home alone and sad, staring at the fireplace. Early in January, I was driving home from work, saw his office up on the hill and thought, “What the hell. I’ll go meet that guy.” He wasn’t there. But I left my card: Came by to introduce myself. We have a friend in common, Bill Myers. He called Bill, then called me and invited me to come back in.

            He later told me as I stood outside his office window that day waiting for him to get off the phone, he wasn’t really on the phone, but watching me. The vision he had in his head of the right woman for him was standing outside his office. He’d been single 3 years, dated a lot, knew what he wanted, and it was me. He told me on our second date, “I want an equal, a woman who will stand shoulder to shoulder, eyeball to eyeball with me. I’ve looked, a lot, you are the woman I’ve been looking for.” I replied, “Don’t you think you are moving a bit quickly here?”

            It didn’t take him long—this solid, persistent, determined man—to convince me his vision was correct. Before we married in 1985, he hired me into his office and we bought a lakeside house together, with room for all 5 of our kids. We married on the deck surrounded by them, our extended family, and colleagues. The wedding cake was topped with 2 Barney Bears. We worked together, added another daughter who was 15 and needed a safer home, opened an office for the firm on San Juan Island, and retired in Austin in 2001. For all these 40 years he has been that same loyal, loving, solid man, standing shoulder to shoulder, eyeball to eyeball. Thank you, Dan Selak, for seeing in us what I had yet to see. I see it all now.

On World Kindness Day, A Gift to be Shared by Young & Old

The novel, CeeGee’s Gift, has been recognized with 5 national awards and has a 90% rating on Amazon Reviews. It is available in bookstores, and on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and JoyWrites, and the Author Website, where autographed copies can be ordered. Also on the site is Joy’s other book, You Don’t LOOK Sick! Living Well with Invisible Chronic Illness. A guide to help those living with chronic illness build a life of meaning.

Amazon Reader Reviews for CeeGee’s Gift

            “By the time I was only halfway through I knew I had to order this book for my children and grandchildren. This book offers all the wisdom I would most like to pass on to my family.”

            “I loved this story, it was engaging and pulled me right in—the prose is so honest and simple. I finished the book and then realized that each of my three teenagers, aged 13, 16, and 17, had passed it around and read it as well! So, it's definitely for all ages.” 

            “I chose a 5-star rating because there wasn't a 10-star available. This book breaks your heart, lifts you up, gives you hope & smiles through your tears. I haven't been this touched by a story in a long time. I can't recommend it high enough. It's amazing!”

Summary: 12-year-old Celia Gene Williamson, known as CeeGee, has a gift. But to her, not a good one. Knowing what the future holds for the folks in her south Texas island town of Southport is too heavy a burden. She tries to block her Knowings, but when she goes to help old Mr. Tindale with his garden, she blurts out to him. “You better get your affairs in order, ‘cause your time is short!”

Mr. Tindale takes her warning, orders a custom-made casket, then decides to spend any time he has left helping CeeGee learn to share her gift with kindness and generosity. The people of Southport begin to learn that if they change the direction they are headed, they can change their entire future. And CeeGee, with Mr. Tindale’s help, learns what she thought was a curse is really a blessing.