Villains and Magic

On my third day in Dublin the fog of anxiety and fear had lifted.  With my heart rate solidly in the normal range, the world began to open up with possibilities.  I was primed to apply these new concepts of bravery, vulnerability, authenticity and self acceptance.  My plan was to utilize these tools to find true belonging.  Not the kind that allowed me to belong to anyone or anything else.  I desired to belong to myself.

Such a simple concept yet so much more difficult to achieve.  

Those decades of distorted thought patterns in my head had been compelling me to walk through the world looking for confirmation that I didn't belong.  As a lot of us do, I was scouring people’s faces and listening to their voices for evidence that I was not enough.  And by seeking that evidence I was going to find it.  I could not keep doing that and expect a different result.

"True belonging and self-worth are not goods; we don’t negotiate their value with the world. The truth about who we are lives in our hearts. Our call to courage is to protect our wild heart against constant evaluation, especially your own. No one belongs here more than you." - Brene Brown

The last time I remember feeling total self-love and acceptance was around the 5th grade.  During this time the styles of the 80's were in full effect.  Big bangs and shoulder pads were ubiquitous in my world at Stockdale Elementary school (go Stars!) and everywhere else.  I embraced, specifically, the big bangs with a fervor only rivaled by the Cookie Monster when given his plate of cookies.  I never actually measured the height ratio of bangs-to-head but I'm going to guess I had a decent 6 inches.

And although this style was quite popular at the time I definitely stood out as an extreme.  It was enough to receive snide comments from my older brother, gentle suggestions from my mother on how to “calm the bangs down”,  teases from my peers and even an uncomfortable conversation with my father (who typically avoided discussing anything appearance related).  And yet I was undeterred.  All of this external input fell on deaf ears and in no way lowered my confidence.  I knew what I liked and what I wanted to see when I looked in the mirror.  And those bangs were IT.

Looking back I think this might be one of the last moments in my life where I didn't care at all what other people thought of me.  I was moving through the world head high and shoulders back and “get out of the way if you don't like it!”.  I admire that girl.

I was channeling that inner 5th grader when I climbed a cliffside trail on the eastern tip of Ireland near the little harbor town of Howth.  In Ireland, every piece of earth exposed to the elements has something growing on it.  The different shades of green seemed endless.  Each curve and bulge of the trail unfolded another coastal cliff formation, different and more beautiful than the one before.  I was lucky enough to have a gorgeous day with blue skies and puffy clouds. 

I like to live life through a soundtrack of music most days.  If my life were to be made into a movie there would be very specific compilation of songs for certain times, especially the big stuff.  So it's no surprise, to those that know me well, that I had curated a playlist for myself before heading overseas.  It was in this setting, as I climbed a narrow single track offshoot to the highest point in Howth, that the song "Villains" by Luca Fogale came on through my earbuds.  The lyrics were speaking to this point.  

Over and over and over again,

I want to scream from the rooftops
"No, this ain't the end!"
But amongst all these villains
I will be a friend.
Amongst all these villains
I will be a friend.

As I always do with art, the song had meaning that applied directly to what I was going through.  The "villains" were those negative thoughts and self judgement that had been my near constant companion.  And I was going to be my own friend.  I was going to be a friend to that 5th grader that loved those sky high bangs and felt pretty damn good about herself.  And I was going to scream it from the rooftops over and over again until I believed it.  Those villains were going to hear me.  Let the girl go.

As tears streamed down my face, wind whipping at my hair, I crumpled to the ground.  I sat in the cool grass and hugged my knees to my chest and let those emotions fill me:  

-Regret for all those years of being my own worst critic. 

-Sadness for the pain and insecurities and self judgement I suffered.   

-Tenderness for the brief moments in life that I'd seen my self worth

-Compassion for the many evolutions of Emmy that was just doing her best

-And love.  Overwhelming love.  

Because no matter what the world thinks of me -- No matter what flaws I possess -- No matter what mistakes I make or imperfections I have....

I am enough.

Moving through the world feeling like you are enough is a lovely way to live.   But the most surprising yet exquisite icing on that cake of self-love was how much more I could give that love to others.  It was a positive feedback loop that I could get on board with.  I desired nothing more than to do good in the world.  I wanted to give back to the universe during the relatively short time I had on this planet.  And I was realizing that the more I could love myself, completely and utterly, the more I could do just that.   This lesson was monumental. 

It was magic.

Metanoia - noun: a transformative change of heart; a profound, usually spiritual, transformation; conversion. (yup, sounds pretty accurate)

As I continued on my adventure through this island in the North Atlantic, the openness and authenticity I'd found created space for true connection and awe.  I believe the wonder of truly loving and accepting myself brought some people and experiences into my life that would not have otherwise materialized.  These people are the results of said magic:

Kerry, 48, from Belfast, mother of two, nursery school principal, sassy, full of life and love, gives no fucks.

I met her on the airplane ride over as she was just finishing her own 10 day solo trip in California. (#universewink)  Kerry spent an entire day driving me around the southern tip of Norn Iron (as the locals call it).  She and her boys showed me her childhood hiking spots, local ice cream joints and where she grew up.  I met her father and toured her childhood home.  I learned how her childhood included police paroling the streets of Belfast, rifles in hand, asking for identity papers.  I heard about the segregation of catholics and protestants and the views of the northern Irish towards the Republic of Ireland.  Kerry's husband dropped us off in downtown Belfast that evening where we enjoyed food, drink, deep conversations (including her own mid life crisis) and dancing.  As we parted that night we hugged and cried, moved by the beautiful connection we had made and a promise to see each other again.

Alanna, 33, from Limavady, elementary school teacher, suffering infertility, recent miscarriage, sweet and kind and curious.  

I met Alanna and her husband at a restaurant one night and initiated a conversation.  Sitting alone with my American accent and journal in front of me, there was a lot to talk about.  Alanna and Damien spent an entire day that weekend showing me the other side of Northern Ireland.  We had lunch on the sea with her parents, Eric and Evelyn, who asked me to come to their cottage in the country to have tea and cake and see his garden.  Alanna shared her experiences growing up on a private "lane" and hanging the laundry out to dry on a line near the pig enclosure.  She took me to see the beach she frequents every summer and the Giant's Causeway where volcanic cooling created geometric rock formations.  As we parted ways there were more hugs and tears and invitations to bring my family back to stay with Eric and Evelyn in Limavady or Alanna and Damien in Belfast.

Kieran, 31, from Dublin, bartender and political science masters student, born and raised in Dublin, member of the Irish Republican Army from age 15-22, wicked smart and secret writer of poetry

Kieran is incredibly proud of his country and its history.  He knows more than any Wikipedia page and wants to share it.  Kieran walked me around Dublin city at night, told me stories of the low income housing district and showed me hidden copper plaques on the buildings.  He is a lover of the outdoors and drove me to the nearby Wicklow mountains to see obscure German burial grounds, hike among the peat bogs and watch the locals swim in the ice cold lochs (lakes).  Kieran told me of the cultural expectation of men to keep their struggles hidden and only show the "good times" side of themselves.  He shared his tattoo representing the love and respect he has for his grandmother (owner of brass ovaries) who was the "boss lady" of an entire faction of the IRA.  We hugged goodbye and Kieran promised to visit here so he can meet my husband and boys and see what smog looks like.  

And that's what I call magic. 

The art of self acceptance and love. 

 I'm a convert.

Kerry 

Alanna

Kieran