Building The Bridges, Step One, Day Two

Thanks to those of you who made comments about my first ever blog.

We are still in Step One of Building the Bridges-–in this step; I want to guide you toward identifying transitional moments in your life.  I would welcome comments and questions as I move toward identifying the peaks and perils of transitional moments.

Is there a memorable event that shifted your world view forever?  Do you remember when that happened?

I remember as if it were yesterday.  It was actually 1965, and  I was in Saratoga, California, at the (then) Kathleen Norris estate which had been designated for use by non-profit organizations.   “Camp Swig,” named after its benefactor, was hosting a teachers’ weekend.  I was one of dozens of people gathered to learn successful methods for the classroom.

It was in an Ethics workshop, led by a professor from San Francisco State University, that I encountered a truth I never forgot.

It was a hot, sweaty summer evening in a kids’ bunk house; we gathered in too small a room to learn what we could about how to teach ethics.   Teachers were called upon to share what they knew.     Did I say it was hot?   Did I say we were standing squished together?  I remember being bored, standing there perspiring,  trying to catch a breeze from the small window nearby and wondering when some woman in front of me would stop talking.

I was trying to pay attention, but actually I was counting the minutes when I could leave.  Too polite to push through the crowd toward the door, not willing to feign an onset of nausea,  I just stood there, hoping the whole episode would be over soon.

The facilitator’s kind, compassionate voice rang out, slicing through my boredom.

“Excuse me,” he said.  “Do you know that none of us is listening to you?”

There was silence.  The discomfort of standing there vanished.  The attention in the room was palpably riveted on her answer.

Much to my complete astonishment, she replied,

“Yes.”

“Then,” he said kindly, “why do you keep on talking when you know we are not listening?”

I could see her head bowed as she said, “I guess it’s more important for me to continue talking until I’m through than it is to care whether anyone’s listening or not.”

I wanted to burst into tears.  Up to that point in my life, I don’t think I ever heard anyone interrupt another like that, and I recognized how incapable I felt to say the truth that I knew.  I also felt relief wash over me.

What I had witnessed was an exception to a rule I had followed.  I was taught to swallow my truth, to accept responsibility for others’ feelings, and to accept my role in life which was to be a good, quiet hard working daughter, wife, and mother.

I could not act on the truth for myself at that point, but I vowed that when I became old enough, gray enough, wise enough, I would tell the truth as I saw it.

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