Alchemy

In June, I was honored at work as RBT of the Month. One of the ways that gets celebrated is with a little poster hung on the bulletin board, which included my picture and bio, what I like about working at T&B, and--just for fun--what my super power would be if I had one. Writing your own bio always feels a little awkward, and it's a bit challenging to hit the highlights of your life and really capture the things that are important to you with just a few short sentences. I suspected the superpower question was where I was really going to get hung up, since I'm not much into superhero movies and don't think about things like that often. But before I had even finished writing my bio, a word popped into my head that seemed exactly right: Alchemy. 

In ancient times, it was the philosophical and pseudoscientific quest to turn base metals into gold. (And even though it proved not to work as hoped, it did lay the practical foundation for modern chemistry and pharmacology). In modern times it is used more figuratively to express the concept of transforming seemingly ordinary things into things of beauty and great value. This isn't a super power I just wish for. It is one I already possess...and so do you. We all have the power of transformation within us. We can take ordinary--and even unlovely--moments of our lives and transform them into something beautiful and valuable, and we can help others do the same. 

I'll admit that I sometimes forget I have this superpower, and I get stuck dwelling on the ugly, ordinary, not-so-glamourous raw materials. I struggle sometimes with feeling I am not valuable or that my life doesn't amount to much. But when I'm in a healthy state of mind, I can see the growth, the love, the joy, the peace, the light, the beauty, the way I encourage and support others, and the overall value that I have created out of challenge and heartbreak and ordinary moments, and I am amazed. That's when I understand there is surely no greater superpower than alchemy and I am truly grateful to possess it! 

The slow path to peace

I live a very fast-paced life. Life with my kids--and all their activities--keeps me hopping. My work is generally a whirlwind that never stops while I'm on the clock. And most of the time, when I have a day off, I have close to a million adulty things I need to get done. But every once in a while, I will have a day off with nothing in particular that I need to check off my to-do list. (The adulty stuff never really goes away, but sometimes it's not so pressing.) On those days, I sometimes have a little bit of a panicky feeling. Or feelings of guilt. Or, on my darker days, feelings of not being enough. I am comfortable with the fast pace, in part because my personality is one of a mover, but also because it's what I'm used to and because it's what I've been taught makes a life important. I actually sometimes feel a little triggered to not have anything to do--as if I will somehow not be valuable or lovable on those days. After putting in lots of work on myself, I'm usually self-aware enough these days to realize when those thoughts are creeping in and threatening to take over, so I can have a little conversation with myself and not sink into a pit of despair. But it takes some effort to overcome the voices that have been playing in your head, dictating your worth, for so many years. 

Like most Americans, I have been conditioned to believe that my worth is tied to and actually dependent on my performance and productivity. We live in a do more, have more, be more culture that looks on rest as weakness and a slow pace as laziness. But as I'm starting to prioritize peace more in my life, I'm beginning to realize that performance and productivity are not the paths that lead to peace. Quite the opposite really. They are poor measures of a life well-lived and an even poorer measure of a person's value. In fact, there is plenty of research that indicates that high-stress, performance-based, go-go-go lives lead to a whole host of physical and mental illnesses that are not seen at nearly the same rates in cultures that prioritize rest and simple living. Rest is not weakness but power. And slowing down is not laziness but an invitation to intentionality. I am serious about taking care of my responsibilities, but I'm learning that just being is enough. Busyness is not a merit badge. There isn't a prize at the end of this short life for being the most productive human (and how would you measure it even if there was?!). There also isn't a prize for being the most peaceful human. But I know for sure which kind of human I'd rather be. I understand now that I have inherent value that isn't tied to my accomplishments...or lack thereof. So, I'm learning to take those slow days as the gifts they are. 

On those rare, beautiful, slow days, I'm allowing myself to go for long walks, which sometimes lead me to lovely unplanned conversations with neighbor friends I haven't seen in far too long, and read books that encourage and challenge and entertain me, and watch magical sunsets that assure me all is right with the world, and take naps that restore and rejuvenate me when the fast pace has been too much. I have slow coffee dates and lunch dates. I engage in unrushed conversations and meaningful moments with myself and others. I sit with my thoughts and try to untangle them. I write words and take pictures that are not tied to a paycheck. I play online Scrabble and Wordle, just because it's fun for me to arrange letters into words. And sometimes I get to the end of a slow day, and I have "nothing" to show for it except a peaceful spirit, and that's okay with me. I still have to remind myself that I have nothing to feel guilty about and that not accomplishing anything of note doesn't have anything to do with my value as a person, but I'm learning to truly relish the slow path to peace. 

Content to sit alone

When I was in fourth or fifth grade, the group of girls I considered my besties, pulled me aside on the playground one day at recess because they wanted to talk to me about something. I excitedly met them under the designated Discussion Tree, thinking there must be some exclusive secret they wanted to share with me. Wasn't I surprised to find out what they wanted to tell me was that they didn't really like playing with me that much and thought it would be better if I bowed out of the friend group. It rocked my world! I instantly wondered, "Well, who will I play with now?! Will I spend every recess for the rest of my life all alone?! And who will I sit with at lunch?!" I absorbed their message and understood immediately that I didn't fit in and that I wasn't wanted, which was especially devastating for a born people pleaser. If you've ever been a middle school or high school student or seen any movies or TV shows about people in those demographics, you understand that sitting alone at lunch is the equivalent of social death, which might as well be the equivalent of an actual slow, painful death. It hurts like hell to not be one of the chosen ones. 

I wish I could say that was the only time in my life that I felt the sting of rejection so acutely, but I can't. Not all the rejections have been quite so direct (though a few have been as direct and even more devastating), but my whole life story is peppered with chapters of not fitting in, not being chosen, being labeled the least interesting person in the room, and finding no seat open for me at the proverbial lunch table. Until recently, I let those rejections have a prominent place among the voices in my head that are already inclined to tell me I'm not good enough, that I don't measure up, that I am not worthy or valuable. I have literally puked my guts up and cried myself to sleep imagining scenarios in which I die alone--not just physically, but worse, emotionally--with no tribe to call my own and no one to validate my existence. The reason being rejected feels like death is that, from an evolutionary standpoint, humans without a tribe did not typically fair well. If the group rejected you, your odds of survival were not good. Many scientific studies have shown that lonely people have shorter life expectancies as well as an overall lower quality of life--statistics that can feel scary if you struggle to find or keep your tribe. 

But there is another side to this coin, and it's something I've been meditating on for a while now. Being kicked out of the group hurts deeply, and being rejected does feel like a type of death. BUT when you can go ahead and embrace the loneliness rather than fighting it, you actually come to a place of peace and power. When you keep waking up day after day and realizing that you are surviving the thing you thought would kill you and using that lonely time to get to really know and love yourself, it changes the whole game. At some point, you realize that you have intrinsic value, which isn't dependent on your inclusion in any particular group. Then you come to realize that it actually feels worse to force your chair up to a table where you aren't wanted or respected than it does to just sit at the next table all by yourself, reading your book and enjoying your lunch in peace. And then you become a very powerful being indeed, because you can walk into any room or any situation, knowing your own worth and being content to enjoy your own company without the need to be validated by others. You take all the pressure off yourself to fit in because you already know you are a rare species that can survive--and even thrive--on her own. (It does help if you are an introvert, who is quickly depleted by the company of others anyway.) It is pure freedom.

That certainly doesn't change the fact that humans are social creatures and are designed to make deep and real connections with one another and that we will always desire that. But it does change the way you view the seating arrangements in the lunchroom. I am at a place in my journey now where I only want to sit at tables where a seat has been saved for me and is enthusiastically pushed out for me upon my arrival. I will only sit at tables now where the faces of the others seated around them light up when I approach. Barring that reception, I will gladly sit at a table by myself. I understand my value; I like who I am; and I am not afraid of sitting alone. So unless a person can add real value to my life experience and feel genuinely excited to have me at their table, I'm better off not sitting with them. There is so much freedom and power in this mindset! I will not ever be everyone's cup of tea. There will always be people who don't think I'm fun to hang out with and don't want to "play" with me anymore. And that's okay. I don't need to be loved by everyone. I don't even need to be liked by everyone. And I don't have to take their rejection personally. It probably has more to do with them and a particular need they have than with me anyway. I just need to move on to the next table, where I can happily sit alone for a very long time, doing my own thing and enjoying my own company. But eventually, as I continue to offer the chairs at my table to others, I believe I will see my table fill up with the people who are my people--the ones who truly enjoy my presence and add value to my experience. 

By the way, if you happen to find yourself wandering around the lunchroom of life wondering if there is a place for you to sit, please know there are free chairs at my table that I'm saving for you, and I'd love to have the pleasure of your company.

Value

I have recently encountered several people, in a variety of situations, who are feeling the sting of rejection and have felt that it means something personal about their worth. This has included people losing jobs and struggling to find new ones, people in the throes of a difficult break-up, people who don't have the relationship they would like to have with their kids or parents or whomever. I have had many of these experiences myself and feel a visceral understanding of the deep pain rejection brings. Often times, when I realize I am encountering the same scenarios over and over in my personal life and in the lives of people around me, it prompts me to dig a little deeper and find the learning opportunity or the bigger message in it all. And, sometimes, that prompts me to write. So here I am. 

Here's what I've learned: Someone else's inability to see or understand our value does not make us any less valuable. Sometimes a person can be in possession of a treasure and not recognize its value. And sometimes a treasure may stay buried in the ground and unknown to the world. However, it is not less valuable just because the person currently in possession of it isn't aware of its value or someone has not yet discovered it. The value is inherent to the treasure. It's what makes it a treasure in the first place.

Of course, we all want someone else to validate us and tell us our worth, but this is not something we need. Sometimes it seems easier to wait for someone else to assign us value and then blame others when we feel worthless, but here's the thing: we are valuable regardless of what someone else thinks of us (or doesn't think of us) or whether another person even acknowledges our existence. We have inherent value, and it is our special task to find the value in ourselves. But sometimes we resist seeing and acknowledging our own value because that requires work. It requires questioning and maybe disagreeing with stories we've been telling ourselves for a long time and deciding to tell a new story. It requires blocking out the cacophony of voices all around us with messages that suit their needs but not necessarily ours. It requires taking back our power and being responsible for ourselves. It requires polishing those places that don't quite shine the way we'd like for them to. It means asking, "What am I making this mean?" And when we answer that question, asking, "But is that really true?" And then going one step further by asking, "How would I respond to a friend who is feeling this way?" and "How can I change the way I show up for myself when I feel this way?" And then, taking the action needed to change the narrative.

Depending on your particular brain wiring and life experiences, it may be especially difficult to see your own value. Or you may feel like seeing your own value "doesn't count" or makes you arrogant. But listen, friend: YOU ARE VALUABLE, AND YOU DON'T NEED SOMEONE ELSE TO CONFIRM THAT FACT. You have the power within you to acknowledge and live your value whether anyone else acknowledges it or not. 

We don't really live in a world that encourages us to see and truly appreciate our worth. When we do it anyway, we are often told we are vain, conceited, arrogant, boastful, and lacking humility. (You can cross a line here, but just acknowledging your worth does not even get you close to that line.) We are also constantly told, in a variety of ways, by a variety of people, that we don't have value or that we aren't enough unless we [fill in the blank]. In fact, marketers depend on their ability to make you feel "less than" so they can sell you whatever is going to make you "enough." It's a lie. Plain and simple. You have value. You are a treasure. And that fact isn't changed by someone else's inability to see it or acknowledge it. Allow yourself to fully absorb this message. And then live every day of your life in that truth. When you accept your value for what it is and don't look for validation outside of yourself, you will be amazed at how much you lessen the pain of rejection in your life and are able to fully embrace the valuable life you've been given.