Who we become
Who we are and what we manifest comes to us through a series of a million tiny chemical reactions, neuropathways, interactions and experiences that shape us into the individuals we ultimately become.
If you have been following my posts, you know that one of the things I speak about frequently is finding peace. Not “whorlled peas”, but personal peace. Where is it? How do I achieve it? How do I keep it? How do I share it?
In addition to this, some time ago, during one of the twitter chats that I regularly attend, we started discussing our lost childhood. We talked about the many things we had hoped for and dreamt about, as well as the wonder and awe that life held for us then. And, what recapturing that open state of mind and heart could bring to us as adults. We will talk about more about all of those things here in the future, but personally, I am pulled back time and again to lessons I learned from my father.
My Father
None of these lessons were structured, at least not like using a book or curriculum, but they were heart-connected lessons. These were all-important life-lessons which still continue to unfold for me. Many of the most important lessons we learn in life come to us unbidden from people who are connected to us, who care for us and want the very best for us. Oftentimes, the teachers are people who are walking a path in their own lives which they cannot see clearly. But, as our lives rub up against theirs, they help show us the way.
My Dad was/ is my best friend. He was as tall as a mountain and as strong as a bull. Or at least that’s how he looked through the eyes of a small child. And, this is how he will always remain in my heart and mind. As I grew older, I could see some of the chinks in his armor, and continue to understand more and more of why they were there.
Unfortunately, this rock, my supporter, my protector, my friend was killed in a car wreck when I was 8. That summer month of my 8th year was the longest of my life. I turned 8 years old, my father died, my maternal grandmother (second only to my father for my affection, attention and admiration) died and I was hit by a car.
I still love and miss my Dad, 50+ years later.
Like most father’s, he could deny his daughter nothing. But then, as I have learned, all things are relative. What may have been everything to me, wouldn’t have been much to many others. We were poor. This was something else I didn’t discover until later in life when I was exposed to people who had a lot more, and flaunted it.
Bonding
My fondest memories of my Dad were around the age of 4 or 5, before I started school. My Dad “watched” me in the mornings before he went to work. My mother left for work by 5:30 am and cooked us something before she left. We’d have a little breakfast, then get in his huge blue and white Chevy, my best buddy and me. Two peas in a pod. We’d drive around for a bit and eventually pull up to his favorite bar.
Every single weekday morning for the first five years of my life, he’d turn to me and ask, “What do you want, sweetie?” And I would say, as if I were thinking about it for the first time, “Orange Nehi, potato chips, Slim Jim and a salty fish.” He’d smile and laugh, go off to the bar and purchase these all of the items as if he’d never heard this list before. He would bring it all back to the car, make sure I was comfortable and felt safe.
Of course I felt safe, my Dad was taking care of me.
Once I was settled, he’d go back to his place of refuge. We would each stay in our respective places- me in the big blue and white fortress, and he on his barstool, until it was time for him to go to work. These days he’d probably be arrested, but it was a different time then.
What did I learn from my dad?
For hours, I would eat my snacks and watch people go about their busy lives outside my little protective bubble. I could make stories up for where they were going, conversations they were bound to have or just watch.
I would read their faces, watch their body language and know a good portion of their story. I watched them laugh, cry, carry their groceries with downtrodden shoulders and interact with their children. I’d watch them kiss and fight and share jokes.
I was never lonely, even though I was alone. I was never afraid, because my Dad was taking care of me.
OK, so what’s the life lesson?
Through all those long hours sitting and observing, I learned something many adults still seek. I learned to be alone and content, if not downright happy with my own company. I learned to sit in silence and not be afraid. I learned to see people beneath what they were saying and doing. I learned to watch faces, eyes, body language, breathing, touching, movement. I learned to see human interaction, without the distraction of words.
Long before I grew up and decided to call my office, “The Listening Place,” I learned to shut up and use all my senses when I was with people, and this still serves me well in my life.
Long before I took prayer and meditation to heart and made them part of my life’s practice, I learned to be alone without being lonely.
Long before I needed to make time for downtime and quiet time, I learned to exist in and listen to the quiet.
Long before I learned to read words, I learned to read people.
And, I learned a love so deep, nothing can ever shake it.
Thanks Dad. 🙂