Last month my husband Kurt and I were visiting our daughter and son-in law (Emmy and Rhodes) in Spartanburg, South Carolina. We have made this a tradition last couple of years, camping nearby in our travel trailer with our dog Tanner and visiting with them as often as possible. One evening when they stopped by our campsite Rhodes started asking us some of the questions, he had recorded participants answering on a recent work project. One question has lingered in my mind, “If you could have dinner with anyone past or present who would it be?” That evening sitting outside enjoying the mild temperatures I said the first thing that came to my mind, “Barak and Michelle Obama”. I had read Michelle’s first book a few years ago when it came out and I had recently purchased her second book and was eager to begin reading it. I have always been impressed by Barak and Michelle.
Since returning home my list of possible dinner companions has continued to grow to a considerably large eclectic party. I would probably have to rent a reception hall at this point to be able to accommodate them. I have now included individuals both past and present. Guests like Brian D. McLaren, Rachel Held Evans, Barbara Brown Taylor, Glennon Doyle, Henri J.M. Nouwen, Jen Hatmaker, Maya Angelou, Anna Quindlen and Fred Rogers. I am glad this dinner party is occurring only in my imagination as it allows me to keep adding people as I think of them.
This past October, Emmy and I took a road trip to Pittsburgh she to experience the Andy Warhol museum and me to see some of the set from Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood which is on display at the Heinz Museum. Mr. Roger’s played such an important role in my childhood. Providing structure to a homelife that could be chaotic. He taught me the importance of distinguishing good clothes from play clothes and never to wear my good shoes for play. He was slow and deliberate with no flashing lights, no loud noises just simple lessons, delivered without any hype. Lessons on being a good human. On being kind to others and being kind to yourself. Lessons on how to handle emotions, even the dark or scary ones.
I so enjoyed seeing his red sweater and his sneakers, the ones he changed into everyday when he entered that same front door, also on display. He would take off his sport coat, hang it up carefully, grab his sweater and zip it up to the music of the theme song and then take a couple steps down into the living room where he would sit down and change his shoes, putting on the tennis shoes waiting for him there. I loved that. As a little girl I would balance my orange baton over two cabinets in our enclosed back porch. On the orange baton I hung my purple sweater, knitted for me by my grandmother. I would walk through the door singing, “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood.” Take off my jacket, put on my purple sweater, and then sit on our bench and change my shoes while continuing to sing the theme song. Content to play by myself, with no one watching as I escaped my own reality to join Mr. Rogers in his neighborhood of make believe. I had such an imagination as a kid, I still do today although my anxiety tends to use it in creating worst case scenarios.
It would be such a honor to host Mr. Roger’s in my home for dinner. To listen to him expound on his own philosophy of childhood and its importance. As a counselor, listening to the stories of many people each week. Those childhood stories, often unresolved, continue to have an impact. The experiences we have in childhood tend to develop into our understanding of ourselves and our place in the world. Mr. Rogers seemed to know that even then and worked to validate emotions, encourage play as child’s work, spark curiosity, and develop empathy.
At the end of every episode Mr. Rogers would sing again as he changed from his tennis shoes back into his dress shoes. “It’s such a good feeling to know you’re alive” I would sing aloud. I worked so hard to master the skill of gently tossing the shoe I just removed to my other hand at just the right time in the song. Singing, “I think I’ll make a snappy new day” I practiced snapping my fingers, a skill I have yet to fully acquire. I repeated this over and over trying to perfect my snap and my timing.
I like to think that Mr. Rogers helped me stay grounded when the storms were blowing in my young life. It was like Mr. Rogers could reach through that old Zenith Console TV of the 1970’s and see me. Being seen and being known have always been a source of deep longing. In Tish Melton’s song, “We can do Hard Things,” in the chorus she sings, “And to be loved we need to be known.” That gets me every time. My heart physically hurts when I hear it. So deep does this anguish go.
I have learned to be visible and yet not seen. I am adept at being present physically and yet unavailable emotionally. My people pleasing skills so refined that I can quickly understand by some highly tuned intuition what others want me to say and say it. All of this comes from an environment for which being myself was not safe. I learned early on that it was best for me to say and do what my parents wanted even when it was in opposition to everything my insides were telling me. I was visible and yet not seen.
Part of my journey toward freedom is learning to listen to my insides. My gut, my inner teacher, my very essence, which have been there all along. I have become such an expert in overriding my intuition, that getting back in touch and listening has proven challenging. Yoga has been so helpful for me. Often my yoga instructor will ask us to pay attention to our bodies and move in ways that we need to, adding a sway or stretch not because we are instructed to but because it is what our bodies are telling us to do. It has been hard for me to listen to my body. I push through when I am exhausted, I eat when I am not hungry and starve myself when I am. I am learning. Suzanne Stabile of Enneagram fame once said something like, our minds will lie to us, our hearts will lie to us, but our bodies never will. Learning to listen and trust my body is part of my journey towards freedom.
Listening to my insides is moving me away from choosing to be visible while remaining unseen. From covering up my own thoughts and beliefs to not ruffle any feathers. It makes me terribly uncomfortable sharing my thoughts with others. I realize that my fear of making others uncomfortable is just another aspect of my people pleasing tendencies. I am learning to do for myself what Mr. Rogers did for me as a child. I am learning to see myself, to allow myself to take up space, to provide my child within room to be herself in a safe and protected environment.
Mr. Rogers, a man many miles away coming through my TV gave me the sense that it was ok to be me. That revolutionary idea is finding its way back into my psyche. Seeing the set that day in Pittsburgh opened a part of me that I had long forgotten. It opened not only an appreciation for a life well lived but also that freedom sometimes comes from within.