She Believed She Could (So She Did)

This recently released book, with stories and images by Deborah Cole, profiles the lives of 35 women who began their own businesses and became entrepreneurs. They are stories of diverse and independent women, and I am honored to be included among them.

     As we begin National Women’s History Month, I want to focus on the elements of my life that allowed me to believe in myself. I want to acknowledge the primary advocates and lessons that shaped my decisions as I have travelled through my 70+ messy years. 

• First, oddly, since this month is about women finding success in life, I must credit my father for his unyielding belief in me. Every single time I expressed an aspiration, and there were many, including going to grad school, becoming a stockbroker, and writing a book, he would pause for a quick think and then say, “Yeah, that’s good, you could do that. You’d be good at that.”

• Second, I’m thankful for my mother’s fearless creativity. She was an artist and would try any new medium from acrylic to oils, from stitchery to collage. I never heard her express fear of failure, and this saturated her artistic life, her intellectual life and, perhaps most important, her spiritual life. She raised me in a home where all of life was an adventure, not a risk.

• Third, I’m grateful for my husband, and all the other male mentors that showed me the way. In the career paths I chose, there weren’t many female role models, but the men stepped up, particularly in grad school where I was coached and encouraged to publish articles and research, serve on boards, take on consulting roles. These men helped me walk through doors I did not know were open to me.

     And that brings me to the most important lesson I’ve learned as a woman entrepreneur. If you get through a door, hold it open for the next woman to come through. For me, the focus of this month goes beyond profiling all the amazing women whose courage and ambition led them to do great things. It is about our responsibility as women to hold the door open, make space in the lane, mentor, and guide all of those who come after us. For starters, I’ll be buying She (Believed She Could So She Did) for each of my 3 granddaughters. They’re doing great things and I know they have more, much more, ahead.

The Angel's Share

Many years ago, I visited an old French winery, deep in an underground cave. The barrels were lined up on stands side by side, made of old oak and covered with dust. There were cobwebs in the corners and the space had a musty smell. As the winemaker told us about the history of the winery, the region, and the varietals they made, I studied the barrels.

I was writing a novel about a California winery—and a young woman who came to work there to start her life anew. As she spent a year in the vineyard, she watched the tiny grapes mature and hang heavy on the vine. Then they were harvested and crushed, their juice separated from the seeds and stems. Next the mixture was moved to a huge vat, blended, stirred, and allowed to ferment. The skins, seeds and stems were kept in this mix, or not, depending on the varietal. At last, the pure, strained wine was moved into wooden barrels to age to perfection. 

As my character watches this process, she sees the rebuilding of her own life. Planting the seeds, allowing for growth, then harvesting, blending all she had learned, and allowing time to age, to learn. What neither I, nor my character, had observed was the roughly made, and sometimes cracked or broken corks that plugged the barrels as the wine aged.

“Why are the corks so misshapen?” I asked the tour guide. “They are broken, they don’t securely plug these barrels.”

He smiled knowingly at my question. “Why? Because, that allows for The Angel’s Share, the bit of wine that evaporates out of the barrel and into the air. It is the part we must let go. And by doing so, by letting go of The Angel’s Share, the wine is made perfect.”

There it was. Of course. To build a new life, one must learn and grow, blend and ferment, all the elements of the past to enter a complete and honest future. But, as the winemaker so wisely noted, some of one’s past must be The Angel’s Share. Some bits must be simply let go. And now, The Angel’s Share is the title of my book, and a sacred part of that young woman’s journey to the future she desires. 

2021: Let's Let it Go

I don’t know about your year, but ours had its challenges, and none of them included a COVID infection. Here’s a list:

·       Joy got a severe case of poison ivy, after collecting stems on a trail to do nature printing.

·       Husband Dan’s car was totaled in an ice wreck on the 183 freeway, no one was hurt.

·       Joy’s car was stolen from the garage, and also found totaled on the side of a road.

·       We spent 10 days in a hotel, with no heat in our apartment due to broken water pipes. 

·       We had to send our dear dog, Dooley, to doggie heaven.

·       Dan spent 7 days in the hospital on IV’s and oxygen, due to emergency gall bladder surgery.

·       Tallulah, our only great granddaughter, in the UK, is now 6 and we have yet to meet her.

But as is so often true, there were silver linings:

·       Insurance largely paid for the replacement of 2 cars, 10 days in a hotel, hospital and surgery.

·       While COVID infected many members of our family, all have recovered.

·       There was so much time to dream, to write, to create.

·       As much as I hate ZOOM, I am thankful for ZOOM, as it is how I get to see my friends.

·       We were lucky to have our dog, Dooley, with us for over 14 years.

·       My husband and I truly enjoy one another’s company. Every. Single. Day.

·       We spent 6 long, sunlit weeks in Hawaii, mostly reading books on the beach.

·       Thanks to daily walks and the pool at the YMCA, I have lost my COVID belly and 4 pounds.

That’s my recounting. In the great scheme of things, and relative to what the rest of the planet has, and is, enduring, we are lucky, blessed, perhaps even charmed. So, 2021, I will let you go with the flutter of bird’s wings and welcome the unknown future that is coming into view with each new day. I hope for the best in 2022 to every treasured reader of this JoyWrites blog. Thank you.

Little Free Libraries

I’ve been charmed by the Little Free Libraries I’ve seen all over Austin. And I notice the number of these libraries have grown and grown. I often stop to look inside the framed glass door and the shelves inside are always filled with both adult and children’s books. As I survey the houses nearby, I think whoever did this created a neighborhood, a real neighborhood! I had some extra copies of my novel, CeeGee’s Gift, so I found the Little Free Libraries Austin area map and made a project of driving across the city and donating a dozen. When I checked back later, all had been taken, but the organization suggests that, once read, each book be taken back to the library for the next reader. Whose great idea was this anyway?

I learned that Little Free Libraries is a global nonprofit founded in 2012 in Hudson, WI with 3 primary objectives: to build community, to inspire readers and to expand access to books. It is volunteer led and in addition to providing kits, plans and support to neighborhoods that want to add a library, they grant no cost libraries full of books to communities that need them. They also promote diverse books and work with schools and libraries to make sure that readers are offered books with BIPOC, LGBTQ+, and other diverse voices to promote understanding, empathy, and inclusion. 

Their success has been widely awarded and recognized by prestigious organizations including the National Book Foundation, the Library of Congress and the Library Journal. In less than a decade, they have installed 100,000 Little Free Libraries in over 100 countries with 42 million books shared annually. 72% of their local volunteers have met more of their neighbors and 92% report their neighborhood feels friendlier. Amazing success story.

If, like me, you want to get involved, watch this short video: https://littlefreelibrary.org/start/.

For the Love of Dogs

I know I am far from alone in grieving the loss of a dog. Dooley, our Wheaten Terrier, was over 14 when he passed, a good long life in dog years. But for us, the humans, moving on requires a complete reset of our lives. We must fill the emptiness left behind—the daily routine, the silliness, the tender touch. The depth of compassion and boundless love that this dog brought into our home is now gone. The quotes about dogs below spoke to me, made me feel less alone and lifted my spirits. So, here’s to dogs! 

"All his life he tried to be a good person. Many times, however, he failed. For after all, he was only human. He wasn't a dog."   -Charles Schulz

"The dog is a gentleman; I hope to go to his heaven not man's." -Mark Twain

"If there are no dogs in heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they went."  -Will Rogers

"No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you rich.  -Louis Sabin

"My little dog—a heartbeat at my feet."  -Edith Wharton

"Money can buy you a fine dog, but only love can make him wag his tail.  -Kinky Friedman

 "Everything I know, I learned from dogs."  -Nora Roberts

“If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.”  -Harry Truman 

“If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience.”  -Woodrow Wilson

“Petting, scratching, and cuddling a dog could be as soothing to the mind and heart as deep meditation and almost as good for the soul as prayer.”  –Dean Koontz 

Is It Self Publishing or Publishing Yourself?

Being an author is hard. My first book was a non-fiction guide to living with chronic illness, co-authored with my physician. Near the end of You Don’t LOOK Sick! I made the statement that getting a book published is not unlike sending your young child off to that very first day of school. This child, a baby only yesterday, is now heading down the sidewalk on her own. I imagine every parent remembers that first, frightening day. Putting your book in the hands of readers takes courage, and faith in the story you have to tell. Your book will no longer be what you think it is, but what others think it is.

CeeGee’s Gift was published in 2019 and, unlike the first book, I decided to self-publish this second one. I believed in the story, which started as a play and had been within me for many years. I didn’t want to take even more years to get through the publishing pipeline and endure the rejections from 20-something’s who had never written a book. It turns out self-publishing is just as hard, if not harder. The practice is now common, but the traditional system still works against you. It is hard to get editorial reviews, to get into bookstores, to compete in a crowded market. And it’s costly. My husband says that ‘being an author is a very expensive hobby’.

Now I am working on my third book, a memoir about my journey through life with my mother, a vibrant and creative spiritual seeker. One way to reduce your chances of becoming a well-known author is to first write non-fiction, then a novel, and follow it up with a memoir, so for some reason that is what I’m doing. But today, I checked on Amazon to see if there were any new reviews for CeeGee’s Gift. I thought it unlikely as it’s been a couple of years now, but to my surprise, I found two new ones. I keep writing because it’s who I am, it’s at my core, but comments from readers like these keep me going.

“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. It's an excellent read for young and old alike. I can't recommend it highly enough. Well done, Joy Selak.” Patricia

“This is one of the most beautiful stories I have ever read. The dialogue is just wonderful. The author is a genius, the reader doesn't really know what decade this takes place in, but that isn't necessary. The truths in the story are what's real.” Nancy

Eternal thanks to you Patricia and Nancy. You make it all worthwhile.

A White Life

I was going through my mother’s files after she passed away and found a gift that I gave her decades ago. It was a collection of short poems I wrote, which I made into a booklet with a hand-drawn bouquet of flowers on the cover. The inscription read—To Mother. At the end, I wrote this note:

Dear Mom, Sorry this couldn’t have been nicer. But you know it’s to you especially anyway.   I really do appreciate you even though I don’t always show it. Your Loving Daughter, JOY

She added her own note to one of the poems, titled A Life for a Life, which read—'This is right after the Kennedy murder’. I was 16-years-old when John Kennedy’s motorcade drove by our high school in San Antonio, and we all stood along the road cheering as he passed. The next day I was in chorus class sitting near the back of the room when a messenger came to the door. He couldn’t get our teacher’s attention, so he stepped over to me and whispered, “When he stops talking, tell him the president has been shot.” I sat with that news, alone, for many long minutes. And, like so many Americans, I was watching live television when Lee Harvey Oswald was also shot. A Life for a Life reads:

A man murdered, was tried and also murdered. What right have we to take a life for a life. There were two, now there are none, There could have been one.

We thought after John Kennedy, then Bobby, then Martin Luther King, that we were done. Then came Vietnam, and the recession of the 1970’s, and we were done. Then 9/11 and George Floyd and we are just now learning about the Tulsa Massacre—a hundred years ago. Now it seems this is life, every week, week after week—shootings, racial violence, mindless hatred and long hidden history rising to the surface.

We are not nearly done. At best, we are a work in progress and each tragedy gives us a signal, and a chance to do better. As the days of Black Lives Matter have lifted our awareness, here is another poem written by that 16- year-old white girl back in 1963. It is called Persecution:

Today I laughed and sang  What right had I to be so gay. For my people are hurting those Who cannot laugh, For they are black.

Let us hope we leave a world for the next generation that is better. And if not, let us hope that they are better than we are, than we have been.

Catkins and Leafrollers

If you enjoy walking along a trail among the trees as I do, you have probably come into contact with the plants and creatures pictured above. In late winter and early spring, the trail beneath my feet becomes a carpet of long brown buds, eventually collecting in deep drifts along the side of the path. Then a few weeks later I am confronted with dozens and dozens of tiny caterpillars twisting on silk threads, hanging from the oak trees in front of my face. For years I’ve encountered these seasonal events, but never knew what to call the buds or the caterpillars. 

So, finally, I looked them up. The brown buds are called Catkins. Miriam defines them as: “a spicate inflorescence (as of the willow, birch, or oak) bearing scaly bracts and unisexual usually apetalous flowers — called also ament”.

While that definition is meaningless to me, the name Catkins is charming. More simply stated, the Catkins are the buds growing on the oak trees in the spring. They are the male flowers which then shed the oak pollen. I doubt I need to define oak pollen to anyone from Central Texas, especially those who suffer from seasonal allergies.

Even more interesting are the Leafrollers. They are defined as: “any of various lepidopterans whose larvae make a nest by rolling up plant leaves”.

In simple language, these are caterpillars that spin their silk to roll leaves, inside of which they will lay their eggs, which then hatch to become the Leafroller Moth, as pictured above. The larvae of these moths actually eat the leaves in which they are born and is the reason why most of the literature on this species is focused on how to get rid of them.

Not me. I find them beautiful, and their names equally captivating. Now, every year I will look for and welcome the Catkins and the Leafrollers as a welcome sign of spring. The pollen, not so much.

New Zealand

In 2006 my husband and I took an Expedition Cruise to New Zealand. This type of cruising is in small ships, usually less than 100 passengers, and often travel is to out of the way locations and ports. The ships are staffed with geologists, scientists, wildlife and tribal experts relevant to the destination. Each day passengers board Zodiacs to explore the area, and when they return to the ship the specialists offer lessons and discussion about that day’s experiences. 

In New Zealand, we travelled first to the North Island, home to most of the cities and citizens. The cities have wonderful parks and gardens, so the respect for nature is evident everywhere. The South Island is more remote, largely wild and uninhabited by humans, and laced with mountains, sounds, glaciers and abundant wildlife. New Zealanders show their respect for the environment in tangible ways. For example, when the ground nesting and flightless kiwi bird population was threatened by invasive predators like rats, weasels and possums that came on ships from abroad, New Zealanders dedicated a small island to the birds, too far offshore for the mammals to swim. To further protect the birds, human visitors are required to step in a bowl of disinfectant before entering. Once onto the island, the bird song is a constant, loud and joyous symphony like I have never heard before.  

Originally New Zealand was inhabited by the Maori people, but unlike most countries, the natives were not decimated when settlers came from Europe. Instead, since the 1800’s, the Maori’s have negotiated protective treaties, not only retaining their native land and customs, but also to hold seats in the national government. They are included in decisions addressing social justice issues, as well as sports and entertainment. Today 1 in 7 New Zealanders identify as Maori. 

Click on this 3 minute slide show for a taste of this remarkable country. Enjoy!

A Tribute to the Antarctic

In 1999 my husband and I travelled to the Antarctic on a small 100 passenger cruise ship. Each day we climbed into Zodiacs and went to shore to explore this magical continent. There are no cities in the Antarctic, no roads or highways, and no humans save for the few research scientists in their bare encampments. There are no 4 legged animals, all the creatures of this land can either swim or fly. 

I want to share with you the icebergs, glaciers and the magnificent landscape, as well as the many varieties of penguins, seals and birds. I hope this short 3 minute video will offer you some Covid relief, as the creation of it provided for me. For my husband and I, this trip, and what we learned, forever changed our view of the world, our respect for the great diversity in life and our sense of responsibility to our planet we call home. 

Strong W.I.L.L.

Four years ago, I was having coffee with a new acquaintance. We were introduced because we both had consulting careers in education, as well as philanthropy. As we talked, we touched on the idea that there were many women like us who were successful but were working on their own, or the only ones in their particular role. We agreed that successful, independent women are often lonely and have few connections with others like themselves. We decided on the spot that we would form a group in Austin and surround ourselves with like-minded women. Women in Legacy Leadership, or WILL, was born on that day.

We each chose 6 members, had our first few meetings, and then my co-founder, Jenn Beck, took a new job and moved out of state. Most of her selections stayed on, as did mine and we continued to meet monthly, first at Blue Dahlia restaurant, then at the UT Club, and then we settled on 4-6 PM the last Thursday of each month at Juliet Italian Ristorante in Austin. During COVID, we have continued our meetings through ZOOM calls.

Over time, we added a few more select members and came up with guidelines for meetings and leadership based on that first vision. One is that each member have a unique professional role. Our members are authors, consultants, coaches, advisors, team leaders and more. Areas of expertise include education and philanthropy as well as communications, branding and marketing, strategic planning, development, research, media, team training and real estate—to name a few. 

Each month the meeting is led and the discussion topic chosen by a different WILL member. Our meetings include ‘check in’, a time for each of us to share what’s going on in our lives and receive support or direction if needed. Then we address the topic for the meeting, the best part. Every month we share our honest experiences in the safest environment imaginable. Each of us considers WILL to be a primary source, not only of friendship, but advice, guidance and wisdom. Our diverse topics have included: Life Altering Childhood Experiences, Your Best and Worst Decision, Inspiring Women Leaders, Intuition, Managing Change, Most Influential Books, Family Traditions, The Meaning of Grace and Faith Journeys, as well as taking and discussing the Enneagram and Strengths Finders assessments. And so much more.  

We’re about to enter our 5th year of convening, advising, sharing and caring. And I think we would agree, unanimously, that WILL is one of the best experiences of all of our lives. Women in Legacy Leadership indeed!

A Drizzle of Falling Leaves

This week I took my dog on a walk along a wooded trail. There was a slight breeze in the air and Live Oak leaves began to drift down all around me. It was a magical moment and I felt as if I was walking through a light drizzle, but only of leaves. Fall is coming, with hopeful change, some still time and perhaps peace and resolution and the end of a long, long year.

We live in an apartment on the edge of the Balcones Preserve. Off our porch balcony there is a gigantic multi-trunked tree that we had never seen before. After some research we learned it is a Chinese Parasol Tree, not native to Austin, but common in China, Japan and Southeast Asia. Its leaves grow a foot wide and its trunks are a soft, bamboo green. It got its name because in late summer it sprouts fragrant flowers that grow into pods, that then split into four sections and look like parasols. In the fall its leaves turn yellow and drift to the ground like giant hankies.

When we moved into our home seven years ago, we had no idea of the continuous entertainment this one unusual tree would offer us. I’d like to do a time lapse photography depicting its remarkable transformations through the seasons. A musical accompaniment would be nice as well. Its differentness is refreshing.

 We are having a change of season in America that is as big and unusual as our Parasol tree, but it is not so beautiful or healthy. It is my hope that when these leaves finally drop to the ground, there will be a period of quiet and contemplation. Silence would be a luxury in these times. And then I hope we, as a nation, can come back anew, budding into spring, eager to grow as one from our many trunks. And I hope our differentness can be cause for wonder and interest, rather than a reason to turn away in anger.

Church Going

When I was in my early adolescence, my mother began a spiritual search. She went off in many directions over the years, trying to find something to replace the abuse and vitriol of her father, a failed Southern Baptist preacher. I went along with her on this diverse journey, experiences counter-balanced by the steady Episcopal faith of my father and the church we regularly attended. I don’t think many children have the privilege of growing up with such freedom in thought and faith, anchored by a steady, constant one, and I am grateful for it.  

I learned young there are many, many ways to demonstrate your faith and your beliefs. I was especially moved by the glorious singing of the Black church we attended, where the hymns literally lifted me up and out of myself. I had my aura read at another service, and was told I had dancing feet, which was true, and that someone on the other side wanted me to keep dancing. Which I did. There was a healing service in a big auditorium where wheelchairs and crutches were left behind on the stage after the laying on of hands. And at a tent revival, the sinners were called to the altar to give their lives to the lord and be saved, nearly knocked to the ground by the force of it. There was even a healing pool, with warm, spritzy, sulfur smelling water where my mother and I swam quietly.

As a young adult, I continued looking on my own. I attended an Evangelical church where the congregation spoke in tongues, and found it not so difficult. My Jewish boyfriend introduced me to his family’s faith, and how it calmed their grief when his sister passed unexpectedly. Another boyfriend led me through the history and complexities of Mormonism, just before he went on his mission. In college, I took courses on The Man Jesus and Religions of the World.

Now, all these years later, my own faith is quiet and very private. While on travels, I am greatly moved by the sacred places where thousands have worshipped over hundreds of years, but I don’t attend a church myself. I have settled on a belief that there is a spirit far greater than I am, and this is both accessible and provides guidance to me. During this difficult year, and time in our history, my hope is that all have a similar source of peace and comfort. My best to you in your own journey. 

Sir Terence

The world lost a legend on September 12, 2020. Sir Terence Conran, the British icon who was a trailblazer in affordable modern design among dozens of other accomplishments, died at the age of 88. This was the man who taught us that good design is not just an activity, it is the product of that activity. He opened the first Habitat store in the 1960’s and brought the chain to New York as Conran’s Shop in 1977. He was knighted by the queen, in part, for bringing both fine and regional dining to England. At the heart of everything he did was the belief that good design improves the quality of people’s lives. Appropriately, he is credited with coining the expression ‘lifestyle’.

I came across his work as a young adult, frustrated with what little was available to decorate my home in the 70’s. I wanted a clean modern look, but the stores only had mass produced, traditional furniture. I wanted affordable good design, but in order to even see good design one had to hire a decorator and be taken as a guest to a design center stocked with furniture that was far from affordable. Then in 1980, I went to New York for a month to train as a stockbroker. Walking the streets of the city, I stumbled on the Conran Shop, a 40,000 square foot retail store offering everything I ever dreamed of. Modern, knock down furniture that could be shipped and then re-assembled, and all the decorative accessories that you could ever want to go with it. There was cookware, service ware, towels, bed linens, draperies and wall art, all with contemporary color schemes. And the prices were reasonable. Later I decorated an entire bedroom for one of my children, furniture, bed linens and window coverings, by mail order from Conran’s. I devoured his books—The House Book, The New House Book, On Design, The Kitchen Book—there are over 30.

Terence Conran also repurposed unused properties into popular shopping and dining areas. One of his earliest was the old Michelin Building in London, now home to popular retail and dining spaces with a Conran’s Habitat shop and his restaurant Bibendum in the mix. The Orrery Restaurant was born from an old 19th century stable. A later project was Butler’s Wharf on the Thames near the Tower Bridge. This once decrepit property is now a string of popular shops and restaurants, each having a regional theme, with apartments above. He lived in one of them for a time. The first Design Museum was also located at the wharf, but one of his last projects was the opening of a new Design Museum on Kensington High Street in London. 

Here’s the best part, when my daughter went off to college at New York University in 1989, a brother and sister from England came to visit and stayed a few weeks. One day Sage was walking down the street with her new friend, Ned, when he pointed and said, “That’s my father’s shop.” Sage looked at him and asked, “What is your last name?” to which Ned replied, “Conran.” Sage exclaimed, “Your father is my mother’s favorite person!” The next year Sage took a semester abroad in London, and she and Ned fell in love. A few years after that the two married. Following at least partly in father’s footsteps, they now own El Camion, a popular Mexican food restaurant in the Soho theatre district of London. They have been married 23 years and have five wonderful children, my grandchildren—Finbar, Sapphire, Cosimo, Bear and Woodrow and great grand, Tallulah. The creative genes run strong. 

We will, all of us, miss Sir Terence.

Pivot

Here is my nominee for the 2020 word of the year—Pivot.

Pivot is often used to describe a strategy employed to address a difficult challenge. Rather than fight the challenge, you turn away from it and seek a new direction. In some ways we are all experiencing this with Covid 19. The patterns of our lives, how and whether we can stay in business, our finances, our interactions with friends and family—all of this has been upended due to this fiercely contagious virus and we have had to ‘pivot’ into a new reality. A far more quiet and restricted reality, unless you are a parent with school age children, and please know, my heart goes out to all of you. 

We have had to pivot to stay-at-home work, or no work at all. We have pivoted to ZOOM calls. We have pivoted to ordering everything online and rarely entering stores. We have pivoted by cancelling trips and gatherings with friends. And many thousands have pivoted into the challenge of fighting a dangerous virus, of hospitalizations and ventilators, of only seeing family through a window and the tragic loss of loved ones.

I wish we could go back to the time when pivot was what you did in a basketball game, right after you grabbed the ball and right before you nailed the shot. I hope pivot will soon be that hard to remember word in a crossword puzzle. Or a way to describe how a sprinkler works. I don’t want it to forever represent how dramatically all of our lives have changed. 

I hope for all of us that we can pivot away from this time, soon.

CEEGEE’S GIFT HAS BEEN RECOGNIZED IN SIX NATIONAL FICTION COMPETITIONS SINCE PUBLICATION.

IN AUGUST, THE AMERICAN BOOK AWARDS NAMED CEEGEE’S GIFT A   FINALIST IN THE 2020 YOUNG ADULT CATEGORY.

The Other Side of the Coin

When my mother was 73 and recently widowed, she decided she would write a book. The Other Side of the Coin takes common observations in life and looks at them through a different lens, one that is more meaningful and often more spiritual. She asked me to add a simple illustration for the common examples on the left side page and used a 1944 dime coin as the graphic for the deeper meaning on the right. She wrote in the introduction, “The 1944 dime symbolizes the time that I began to open my spiritual eyes.” She would have been 23. 

The year she wrote the book, 1994, was the same year my mother decided to change the spelling of her name from Ann to An, with one N. This, she said, was to ‘get rid of some excess baggage’ she had been carrying throughout her life. A year later she was diagnosed with leukemia and a year after that she passed over to the other side of our earthly coin and thereafter carried no more of that excess baggage. I share a few of her wise observations below.

    *  My parents planted a fast growing tallow tree in their front yard, while the neighbors planted a slow growing oak. After a storm came the limbs and branches of the tallow fell to the ground, while the oak remained sturdy and whole. *** Sometimes slow and steady leads to stronger outcomes and is the better path to growth.

     * One day my mother got up early enough to see the sunrise. She observed that at this same time, on the other side of the planet, people were watching the sunset. *** On any given day, and at any time, we can declare a sunset and be done with that day or time—or declare a sunrise and see that same moment as a new beginning.

     * When my brothers were old enough to take their first road trip, my dad taught them to read a roadmap and explained the meaning of all the markings and symbols. *** Our journey on earth is a road trip of its own and the signposts and warnings are our feelings. When we have a gut feeling that tells us Caution, Slow, Wrong Way or Do Not Enter, we should trust these warning signs and act on them.

    *  While driving past a cornfield, my mother noticed that throughout the field some of the stalks were tall, and others were much shorter. *** This is true of humans also. Some are leaders and others are followers, but neither is better or less than the other. We need to find our own place for each of the changing seasons of our lives.

    *  When people check into a flight at the airport they are often charged for excess baggage and are none too happy about it. *** We all pay a price for excess baggage, when things own us, rather than us owning them. When we realize we are prisoners to ‘things’, we should consider letting them go…like that extra N in the name Ann.

Now is the Time

So here we are, fists raised in unity, demanding a better future for all. 

If a door should open to a better future for one of us, we must take our fist down, enter that door and then turn back to hold the door open to the one behind. The one for whom that door was not yet open.

Then we must mentor, guide and support until that new one has a place and can reach back and open the door for the next and the next.                                

Someday all our hands can be open, and all our colors blended in unity.                 

THIS IS HOW WE MAKE A BETTER AMERICA

Empty Spaces

How long has it been since you were part of an audience, in person, alongside others? How long will it be before we once again witness live theatre, opera, symphony and ballet? While this time is hard on everyone, my heart goes out most of all to those who work in these venues. Not only is this their career and income—from set design, to production, to performers and musicians—it is their lifeblood. It is their calling. I can feel the pain and emptiness that must come from enduring these months and months of empty spaces—spaces that are normally alive with talent and passion.

When I lived on San Juan Island, in Washington, I was choreographer for the production of The Music Man in our community theater. One night, after the show, I was standing on the stage with an actor, a young teen. As we gazed out over the empty seats she said, “I am too afraid, I can barely talk when the audience is here. I don’t know how to get over my stage fright.” 

I said, “But, it’s not about you, it’s about the story we have to tell, it’s about sharing it so everyone in the audience can be lifted up.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” she said again.

“Look out there, see the empty space above the seats, the air?”

“I do.”

“Your job is to fill that space, that air, with your voice. From the front row to the last, up to the ceiling. You will feel it when the lines you are honored to say fills that entire space. If you can do that, it won’t be about you or your fear anymore; it will be a gift from you into that empty air.”

She stood staring at the big void, and then opened her mouth and, without a hint of struggle filled that space. “Oh, my dear little librarian,” she quoted. “You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you are left with nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays. I don't know about you, but I'd like to make today worth remembering.”*

She looked up at me in awe, as I smiled and also quoted, “Oh, so would I.”*

* From The Music Man, by Meredith Wilson