A Word on My Word

Get this, my friend Desiree has a word for each year. The word represents what she wants to be, do, or cultivate in this world during those twelve months. Over lunch at the end of 2011 as she talked about her plans for breakthroughs in 2012, I determined to come up with a word for myself for 2012. 

I thought about this for days and weeks. I vacillated between thinking about it and letting it come to me naturally.

I finally settled on a word during the last days of December: Kindness. I will speak it. I will spread it. I will act it. I will feel it.

It seemed almost too simple, and yet its essence is so powerful. It just kept coming back to me, again and again.

As I played it out in my head it represents how I want to be in the world. I reasoned that if I acted with kindness at the forefront of my decision making then I can make a difference.

I told friends, and they razzed me a bit. They think it will be easy. They asked, fairly, if this will stretch me and if it will be a challenge for me.

At the same gathering I heard of another woman who used “why the hell not” as her mantra for 2011 and planned to use “step it up” as a focal point for change in 2012.

I began to feel like my little commitment to kindness was meager and without courage. Do I need a powerful word to represent my place in this world and set my stage for 2012? I toyed with “unabashed” because it seemed to capture boldness and shamelessness (after all, you serve no one by playing small, to paraphrase Marianne Williamson), but the word is clunky. And I think that kindness still fills the niche. If I speak boldly and fully embody myself in my words and actions, I am kind to myself. If I ensure my words and deeds consider others as much as myself, then that is also kind.

It’s almost two weeks in to 2012 and I do think having a word helps. I have given more pause in the space before I speak and act, to try harder to bring kindness into my interactions.

It seems small, but I hope the effect will be large.

At the Top of My Lungs

Singing is medicine, isn’t it? I’ve never researched it. I’ve never heard or read any news reports on it. It’s just something that I know to be true. I know that when I’m belting out lyrics along with the Dixie Chicks it serves as salve on my road trips, healing the distance between where I’ve been and where I’m going.

I know that as I make up silly songs to friends as they answer the phone to simply wish them well, appeal for a coffee break, or re-create how it sounds to wish Happy Birthday that I feel better at the end of the song. They feel better, too.

After I sang my version of birthday wishes to Marcus last week, he said he was blushing. I can imagine. Overtaken by a song, not lyrically advanced, not delivered on vocal chords trained for precision, but genuine, unrepentant excitement for friendship.

My singing wasn’t always well received. Growing up, my father often admonished me for singing at the dinner table or while he watched TV. After all, his guiding precept until we were all 18 was that children should be neither seen nor heard.

I know that in college I could entertain my walks between classes with humming that would string together highs and lows in what I felt was on par with the intricacies of superb classical music. And I liked the way the resonance felt in my throat and chest.

I sang growing up, both at school and at church. I sang in the church choir with my mom for a while, and I sang in the middle school choir after I withdrew from orchestra (read: never practiced, thus completely demoralized myself during an violin exam when I had to play Ode to Joy solo). In our school performance choir we wore gold sparkly bowties and cumber buns, and sang show tunes; I still recall lyrics to Barbara Streisand movies that I’ve never seen (“memories, light the corners of my mind…”).

I was never as good as my sister who heard pitch and tone, but that never bothered me much until I tried out for Governors’ School for the Arts one summer for singing and didn’t make it. I think that’s when I realized that I wasn’t very good after all, even if I did enjoy it.  

Some of my favorite memories of childhood are visits with my mom and my sister in my mother’s bed. She would have her guitar out along with her songbooks and we would gather together to sing. The pace was often slow for new songs as she found the right placement of her fingers for the chords, but we had “our” standards, like “Tiny Bubbles” that were easy for her to play and for us to sing.

I still like going to church and singing with other voices. I like singing songs of hope, faith and love. I like that singing lifts a heaviness from me each and every time I do it.

I can sing about anything, seriously, anything. My friend Joanna received so many singing phone messages from me that she couldn’t save them all (though she tried), because she was convinced I have a future in jingles.

Singing just feels different than speaking. Messages in song without pretense of pitch, tone, or topic make me feel better. Singing releases the feelings on my heart.

In saying this I’m reminded of an interview I listened to of Krista Tippett interviewing Bobby McFerrin. He suggested that if you ever feel angry or upset that you should sing, because it’s impossible to be upset when you sing.

So here I am, singing at the top of my lungs.

Now, you try…

If you need someone’s ear or voicemail to experiment on, please feel free to use mine.  

Please sing me a message, and I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.

(this actually used to be my outgoing message…) 

Making Choices

I’m single. No doubt about it. I’ve spent more time being single in the last 15 years than being in a relationship.

Now I’ve reached a time in my life when having a partner doesn’t feel like it can wait. Not one second longer. But my readiness hasn’t yet been answered with a Disney-story prince appearing at my door. So I’ve appealed to friends to set me up on dates with people they know, I’ve signed up for online dating, and I’ve been trying the old tried and true method of flirting like I’m 20 again. 

Sometimes Lots of times my singledom frustrates me. It’s the monster that sleeps under my bed reminding me that no one shares my bed, or my meals, or other great and small aspects of my life.

Granted, this is the precise path I have chosen up to now. Going forward, I hope that my road less traveled may be holding hands with my soul’s mate. Until then, I walk (and run and dance…)

During a recent pep-talk email with a girlfriend of mine, I pointed out to her as much to myself that the tardiness of our finding love is, after all, about choices. In this particular case, it is word choice; she called it “slow,” I frame it as “choosy.”  

I consoled us both with these words: 

You are being selective in finding a mate. You are being deliberate about finding someone who is good to you, deserving of your love and highly compatible. Making the right choice takes time, and that’s something we can never resent. Sometimes rushed decisions can lead to mistakes (I’ll point to my car purchase of this summer as a perfect example). The trick is how can we live fully and happily doing what we really enjoy without feeling like we’re compromised by being single or missing out because we’re not with our someone.

I, too, struggle with the dilemma in terms of wanting to share activities and partnership now verses waiting until it happens. I just have to hope (and this might not resonate with you) that there is divine timing for union with my man because sometimes I feel like I’ve done all I can do.

Friends, if I haven’t already talked to you about this, and you feel compelled to help, please take advantage of this very public invitation to set me up with someone you know, respect and believe to be a compatible person for me. Feel free to consult with me if you feel stumped about the qualities that I’m looking for in a guy.

(This just goes to show that my former internal debate about what level of transparency I’ll have on this blog has rapidly slipped from opaque to Cling Wrap.)

Then again, if I say I’m ready for my life’s love then it’s best heard from rooftops, not simply as a murmured whisper to the monster that’s been sleeping under my bed.

Talking for God

While I was running yesterday on the greenway near UNCA, I ran past a spray painted message on the greenway asphalt that said "nature still hates you," and it really upset me.

It didn't upset me because I thought "nature hates me." No, I feel like nature loves me / us. I feel like nature is the safe place, a haven, and is forgiving (even as we murder parts of nature...she reluctantly adapts - indeed - that is the force of nature). But I was aghast that anyone could think they speak for nature. It made me think that those are the ways that people speak for God. They say "you're a sinner" or "you're going to hell" or "you can't be loved by God for this or that" - you know.

And, it just resonated for me that who speaks for God and Nature can be so self-appointed. And who will we listen to among those who claim to speak for God or Nature? Is it the people who profess fear, hate and vengeance? Or, is it the people who profess love, compassion and forgiveness?

So, that was my philosophical musing on my run, and it kept me entertained for a while.

(This was written following a run on February 27, 2009 during a time I was dancing with the Community Choreography project for the performance Knock! Knock!, crossing the threshold of faith and home.)

Keep it Simple

There are few things that I’m absolutely certain of in my life right now. I’m pounding out a new path, as I’m apt to do, with my work. I’m making my way as an independent contractor for conservation based organizations, as a writer, and as a facilitator. Every day I face an untried way as new opportunities present themselves, as new projects launch and others come to a close, and as I decipher whether to add more classes to my teaching schedule.

It can be a scary process to work for oneself. It’s not the same as showing up to the safe office building of regular paychecks, a group health insurance policy, and dental coverage. It can be full of fears and self-doubt and questioning. Am I doing this right?

So I take heart in knowing something really simplistic about myself. When things get difficult and my mind muddies or completely swamps the trail I’m trying to make, I can always come back to this:

I am in here to bring joy, hope, and optimism into this world.

This simple truth makes it all better. If I achieve this in my day then I have done my work. If, through my encouragement, listening, teaching, or support I manage to inspire others to be their best then my purpose is fulfilled.

Walking Contradiction

Seven down, 359 to go.

As I consider the seven posts from this past week, I’m a little embarrassed. They seem disjointed and random. In time, solid themes may develop, but until then, you may find yourself reading the discord of my vast musings.

If a streamlined compilation of labels is refined to define my work here, I’ll gladly accept it, but I am skeptical. After all, I am a contradiction.

I love backpacking, walking through a dense fog through the woods, and sleeping on the ground, as much as I love getting dressed up in sparkles, heels and make-up for an evening of dinner, dancing, or the arts. It’s the reality of my distinct appreciation of simple pleasures and my fine tastes (if I must say so myself).

I’m adventurous but like to follow the rules.

I’m a dancer, a runner, and a yogi.

I am passionate about local food, physical activity as a key to unlock emotional energy, and trails as a national resource for recreation and nature. I excel at networking, listening, problem solving, and singing silly songs. I’m good at listening and accepting, and knowing when it is the right time to offer advice.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to reconcile the dichotomy of all my interests. There’s no singular bumper sticker that sums me up. There’s no category that I fit into.

I think our buzzword culture makes us want to put everything in neat little containers with strict labels: Republican, Democrat, hippie, hipster, professional, punk, conservative, geek, liberal, bum. But those words can’t possibly capture all the minutia of our individual thoughts, ideas, opinions, and emotional experience. If we step back and look at the labels we’ve self-imposed, we might just discover that country music has some redeeming qualities or that people who are seemingly different than us aren’t so different after all. They’re made up of a variety of interests and aspects, too.

Bumper stickers are often the vehicle (no pun intended) for us to communicate who we are and what we stand for, but I don’t have one on my care. Nope. Not. a. one.

For a while I had one for the Appalachian Trail because I love it so much, but it shriveled up and fell off.  Then I sold that car anyway. Even still, I won’t replace it.

There isn’t a handful of bumper stickers that capture what I feel are the most important aspects of who I am. I am too many things, and at some point you can have too many bumper stickers. Plus, how would I prioritize the most important aspects of myself to highlight?

I guess that’s what it comes down to with the blog, too, but rather than leave a blank canvas, I’ve decided to go nuts with the messages (and creating new labels). I’ll post here all the seemingly random and disjointed things I ponder, because I hold it all together. I am a walking contradiction, after all.

The Heart of An Adventurer

“I’m more like the woman I want to be when I am in the woods, “ said Anna Huthmaker. “I am strong and capable.”

This truth has wormed its way into the heart of all people who call themselves outdoor enthusiasts. To them nature provides a sense of belonging, a connection with something bigger, and a truer sense of self, but among others it’s a daunting arena rife with potential hardship, solitude and wild life.

Huthmaker attests that any woman can find the promise of belonging on a trail and discovering her own strength, power and heart. With this in mind, she led the first Trail Dames hike to the top of Springer Mountain, Georgia in March 2007 and officially launched the organization in 2008. Meant to empower women who lack the confidence to explore the natural world on their own “the hiking club for women of a curvy nature” was established to provide a safe and supportive environment for women, regardless of age, fitness level, economics, or pant size. 

Her organization answers the question of how a woman can hike at a pace that’s right for her while enjoying the safety of hiking with others. Ultimately for Huthmaker, it’s really about getting women on trails where they might discover the independence, confidence, and wonder of nature that she enjoys while hiking.

The emphasis for most hikes is taking it slow and having fun so that even the last hiker can feel proud of what she has accomplished when she reaches the mountaintop.

“The one in the very back who is older or less fit, when she reaches the top, that’s when the real magic happens,” said Huthmaker.

She has experienced the magic herself. As a hiker Huthmaker knows that the slowest person is achieving the most. During her first backpacking trip she felt the elation of summiting Big Bald hours after her group, and she faced the challenges of walking the requisite ten miles into the night to eat a pot of undercooked ramen seasoned by the leaf litter of untreated water.

Undeterred by the difficulties and inspired by the adventure Huthmaker backpacked 700-miles of the Appalachian Trail in 2003, hiked the Inca Trail in 2008, and has visited Africa, Cuba, and the Arctic Circle. She accounts for her travels with the explanation that she has the heart of an adventurer, the body of a real woman, and the belief that it’s just as easy to dream big as it is to dream small.

Huthmaker took her big dreams, a “yes I can” attitude, and dedication to inspiring others to a new level at the end of June when she organized The Summit, the nation’s first hiking and backpacking conference for women.

Anna Huthmaker greets attendees during opening event. 

Gathered from across the nation in Harrisonburg, Virginia in June 2011 women learned from one another on topics of gear, nutrition, hiking logistics, nature appreciation, and issues specific to their gender. They gleaned inspiration from each other’s stories in workshops and over meals.

Huthmaker shared her experience of hiking the Inca Trail and delivered the authentic tale with such pitch and fervor that wet-eyed attendees cheered and clapped along with the porters who showered her with their respect at the end of the journey.

Other stories of global travel were shared by hike leader Cheryl Bharath who talked about hiking in Trinidad and author Cindy Ross who presented stories and slides from her treks around the world with her husband and two children.

Cindy Ross (right) was recognized as Woman of the Year. As the keynote speaker of the event, she had me absolutely captivated by her pictures and stories of traveling the world with her family. It gave me hope that family and travel are not mutually exclusive. Thanks, Cindy!

           

Ross was presented with the Woman of the Year award for her excellence in outdoor pursuits. Eight-year old Scout Aulenbach received the Adventurer of the Year award for her positive attitude and aptitude for easing the nerves of Dames she led on a caving adventure. 

Scout Aulenbach

The event even celebrated individual attendees. Everyday women were honored for the strength, power and heart that epitomize the Spirit of a Dame. Among the recipients was a woman who arrived at her first hike following a surgery, pushing a walker, and emphatically saying that she wanted to learn to backpack. A Georgia Dame was recognized for her compassion and generous spirit in bringing a woman with special needs on hikes. Another woman had been confined to her home by anxiety prior to joining the Dames for hikes. Through her participation she gained the confidence to literally continue living in the world beyond her home and the trails.

Through Trail Dames many of these women have discovered what Huthmaker optimistically set out to achieve – an awareness that a simple walk in the woods is an empowering experience.

As the conference drew to a close, Huthmaker asked participants what they get from spending time in the woods. The answers rang out from across the room: freedom, sanity, beauty, strength, connection, no responsibility, self-sufficiency, confidence and a way to break down unrealistic expectations.

Armed with these truths, women are taking to America’s trails.  

Trail Dames has grown to an association of more than 2,000 members in 10 states. 

Grand Dame and visionary founder Anna Huthmaker

 You can read my full interview with Anna here.

Learn more about the 2012 Summit by visiting traildamessummit.com. This year's Summit will be held in Durango, Colorado. Get ready, Colorado, these women are amazing and full of heart!