I know a woman and her husband who belonged.

The other day I was taking off my shoes and sweaty socks after a run, and I paused to look at my feet.  Even being exhausted from the run, my brain harshly judged the appearance of my feet amazingly quickly.  As I sat there judging my feet, I remembered that I have a friend with beautiful feet.  She is one of those people who likes to take their shoes off so I have had a few opportunities to see her feet, and they are lovely.  It occurred to me while sitting there with my feet that one of the things that make her feet so beautiful, and mine so not, is how comfortable she is in her feet.  That kind of comfort in your own feet is a big part of what makes feet beautiful.

Yesterday Haley and I were hiking on a tough, steep and rocky trail down near the Potomac River.  That lazy river that rolls through D.C. is an intense, dangerous river that cuts through a steep rocky canyon just a few miles north.  It is not uncommon for people to drown in that section of the river every year.  As Haley and I scrambled over rocks, climbed a section of cliff, pondered where the trail markings had disappeared to, and generally pretended to be mountain goats instead of humans, we came across a group of hikers who were not prepared for the difficult trail we all found ourselves on (what they were wearing on their feet revealed this to us). Turns out one of their members had twisted his ankle and they were on the Struggle Bus to complete the hike.  Our random act of kindness was to stop and offer to help them.  They cheerfully said no.  We offered to tell a Park Ranger who could come and get them.  They declined.  As we parted ways, I encouraged them to not be shy about asking for help, should they decide they needed it, as that is what Park Rangers are paid to do (with their taxpayer dollars) and also that people in the woods are typically glad to help each other (I didn’t mention the ax murders who roam all woods) .

As I thought about why these people who so obviously needed help declined to accept it, I realized there are lots of reasons why it is so hard to accept help from others.  A biggie is that we are then open and vulnerable to others.  Let’s face it, things never went so well for the children in fairy tales who stopped and asked for help from strangers….or asked their family now that I think of many of those stories.  Another crucial reason is one that falls from what if we ask for help and the person says no.  My experience is when that happens I feel stupid and self-conscious for even asking, and this then starts a series of internal dialogues about whether I asked too much, am I worthy of asking for anything, that receiving a “no’ is probably revealing that I am not worthy of asking, and in fact I don’t belong to whatever pack of humans I just asked for help from, I most assuredly must not belong for good reasons, and I will never belong anywhere….  I feel small and constricted. Ah, the beat of the crazy drummer goes on.  Now maybe it is just me who gets zinged when requests for help are denied.  If so, would you do me the favor of pretending it happens to you too? Learning that it is just me would totally fire up the See-You-Don’t-Belong blast furnaces in my soul.  Thanks.

Belonging?  We have touched on this before in these posts.  Is it really that big a deal?  Does it matter that much?  The answer is “yes.” A quick story from the Hippies (with apologies for bastardizing such an important tale): When Siddhartha Gautama (The guy who became Buddha) decided to stop messing around and get serious about the whole enlightenment gig, he plopped himself down under the Bodhi Tree (Ficus religiosa, for those of you who are interested in that kind of thing), determined to sit through the Long Dark Night of the Soul, facing whatever remaining challenges blocked his path. Mara (The Crazy Demon Hamster that lives in each of our heads and hearts, spinning in his wheel, bringing up doubts and self-judgments) arose before Siddhartha with his Crazy Demon Hamster Army and began to confront Siddhartha with all the doubts and self-judgments he could draw from the deepest depths and most hurtful private places within Siddhartha.  Siddhartha meet them with compassion and kindness, turning them into flower petals which fell to the ground.  When the morning star arose and dawn was near, Siddhartha sat surrounded by a pile of flower petals, and Mara was down to his last weapon.  In his most fierce Crazy Demon Hamster voice, Mara screamed, “Who are you to think you are worthy of rising above the suffering of humans? Who are you, foolish vulnerable flawed human, to think you are worthy of enlightenment?”  In response, Siddhartha smiled and reached down and touched the Earth before him, signaling that he was worthy because he Belonged to the Earth, he Belonged to the World, he Belonged to the Foolish Vulnerable Flawed Humans.  He Belonged.  With a string of profanity and promises to return, Mara vanished.  Siddhartha was still a Vulnerable Flawed Human, and he was now the Buddha.  For the record, Mara continued to return throughout the Buddha’s life.  The Buddha invited him to tea.

If that story doesn’t convince you then I perhaps these lyrics from Radiohead might: “I’m a creep. I’m a weirdo.  What the Hell am I doing here?  I don’t Belong here.”    See?    Even rock stars have this challenge! This is clearly a real human struggle, right?

Not convinced yet?  How about Tracy Chapman: “So remember when we were driving, driving in your car; Speed so fast I felt like I was drunk; City lights lay out before us; And your arm felt nice wrapped ‘round my shoulder; I had a feeling that I Belonged; I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone.”     Even Folk Rock Stars know what we are talking about.

I have faced a series of events lately that have been pushing on the tender spot that is my struggles with that whole Belonging thing. Most of the events have been rough, and nothing special.  Perhaps of more interest has been the process of the struggle, which in all honesty has mostly been a series of wins for the Struggle, rather than me.  I do get some points for awareness and moments of presence, but typically it ends with the Crazy Demon Hamster doing a victory dance, tiny hamster arms raised triumphantly overhead.   This morning I put up a good fight and it came out a draw…possible even a slight margin of victory for me, so let’s look at that one (because I look relatively good), shall we?

I was hanging with the Hippies at a yoga class of which I previously was a regular attendee, but had missed a couple months due to dealing with the psychodrama of the Close-Family-Member-Who-Has-Alzheimer’s disease, work travel, illness, and all the kinds of stuff that emerges when you just want to go an exercise for Christ’s sake. On top of this, I have also been struggling to get back into long distance running, coming off a long standing injury that took me out of running for most of a year.  So with that as background: before class I heard two people discussing their recent training runs, distances & times, upcoming race plans, etc., and watched as they both warmed up for class; looking strong and powerful.  The Crazy Demon Hamster in my head and I looked down at my body through glasses tinted with comparisons to these others.  The Crazy Demon Hamster said, “Wow, do you look the Pillsbury Dough Boy or what? And I thought we agreed those feet are ugly and here you are walking around in them in public. WTF are you thinking? You don’t belong here.”

It wouldn’t surprise me if you read this and think it is just plain silly. My experience in that moment was that it really hurt.  It hurt so much I almost started crying and considered leaving class.  Kudos for my being aware of what was happening, and I still wanted to run away, stuff these feelings back under the stairs in the basement, maybe barricade them in with whatever other garbage is down there.  In the end, rather than “bravery,” it was the embarrassment from the thought of leaving class that kept me there.  Probably related to that annoying daily RAK gig, I figured as long as I was going to stay I might as well see where this would go.  As I sat there trying to “calm my mind and be present in this moment” for class and all that other Damn Hippie stuff yoga instructors implore us to do, I was filled with awful. I didn’t Belong here.  I didn’t Belong anywhere.  Current assessment indicated I didn’t even Belong in my body. I didn’t Belong in my brain. I didn’t Belong in my heart.  I didn’t even Belong in my feet!

I am many things and, in beneficial and destructive ways, one of the things I am is stubborn. Having determined to “be present” for this, I was all in.  Bring it, Crazy Demon Hamster! Let’s see what ya got, Mother Fucker!  I sat there watching this tidal wave rise, holding fast as I could to the moment, the curiosity, the sensations, at times offering a small morsel of compassion to this Goliath and even occasionally to myself.  It sucked, and I stayed.

Class began. I sloshed around in the waves of sadness, loneliness and sense of not Belonging. Then the  experience began to change.  No, I didn’t become enlightened, wasn’t filled with this joyful belief that I Belonged, or a powerful grounding awareness that I was in fact comfortable in my own feet.  No, none of that. I did however have less of the feeling that I didn’t Belong, my constricted internally-focused view of the world loosened some, enough for me to occasionally see the others in the room for what we all were; Humans on the Struggle Bus.  The room had all kinds of people in it.  Sure there were Yoga Rock Stars, who were fun to watch when not being used as a comparison of how lacking we are, and they also had times when holding a poise sucked like it did for the rest of us.  Pretty much all the Humans were trying to get through an hour of intense yoga without collapsing into Child’s poise and begging for mercy (Yoga instructors are a kind and cruel lot). The Struggling Humans were also fun to watch when not being used as comparisons to create a false sense of how much better we are, but rather as recognition of the human continuum as we all seek to find some peace in our day….and more flexibility with a stronger core, let’s not forget that.

I left the class with much of the same emotions as I started with (I cried a little bit on the way home), and those emotions were less so.  I have a painful history.  You have a painful history. We have painful histories.  It is hard for me to imagine a time where my Crazy Demon History, my own Mara, won’t challenge me.  It is hard for me to imagine a time when I don’t struggle with Belonging.  And I am the tiniest bit optimistic that I can avoid being waylaid by the emotional storm that arises; that I can be a smidge more present in those moments without running for cover; that perhaps even on occasion I can bring a sense of curiosity, an active welcoming for what surfaces from the deep without harsh judgment of myself or the need to put others down in my head so I can climb; that I can have moments of compassion for myself while also bringing kindness and empathy to the Other Humans and their struggles.

As I take baby steps on this path, I returned to thinking about my feet and how intense a judge I can be. My feet and I have been together for as long as I can remember, we have a longstanding relationship, and here I am being so harsh.  We have resolved to try harder, to try to make it work between us.  I promise to try to not be so critical and neglectful.  My feet promise to use this attention and caring to the best of their advantage, try to show the world that they are loved, if not always liked.  I think it is a long steep road to continue to try to build a sense of Belonging anywhere, including my body, brain and heart.  Perhaps trying to be comfortable in my own feet is a start.  I may even invite my feet to tea.