A curious fact about the family values held by most Indigenous American tribes north of Mexico is shared in Dale Van Every’s 1966 book, Disinherited: The Lost Birthright of the American Indian. The parents, he explains, were “constitutionally reluctant to discipline [their] children. [The child’s] every exhibition of self-will was accepted as a favorable indication of the development of maturing character.”
That’s not very American.
Yes, we’re free. But free to be normal. Free to follow what we’re told. Free to live life the way it’s been prescribed. Even though we really didmake it all up.
If you were being your true self, what societal expectation that you’ve been performing would you walk away from today?
And what’s that thing you’ve been wanting to do, if only people wouldn’t look at you weird?
A thousand unique you’s and me’s may be hiding a million different beautiful adventures that should be loved and celebrated. Unique is beautiful. Unique is good. This is why we have spice cupboards.
Life is short. A lot of rules are silly.
So color your vibrant color vibrantly outside the lines.
Would you like a coloring-outside-the-lines cheerleader? I’ve got you:
How are you doing? Are you exhausted? Like deep in your soul, exhausted?
I have some thoughts.
We made up that you have to text someone back.
We made up that you’re supposed to be positive all the time.
We made up that you’re supposed to eat three meals a day.
We made up that you need your own home.
We made up that people are better if they have lots of friends.
We made up shoes.
We made up that you keep your parents’ last name–and not even across the whole world.
We made up school and debt and school debt.
We made up that you should part your hair down the side. Then we made up that you should part your hair down the middle, and that if you part your hair down the side, you’re not with the times.
We made up that you should strive for career success. We thought we made up what success even means, but nobody seems to agree or be happy when they get there.
We made up that you’re boring if you don’t like going out.
We made up that you’re supposed to play it cool when you finally meet someone you have a crush on.
We made up that feeling sexual interest in others means you love your life person any less.
We made up that sexuality has to be strictly organized in an arbitrary way, and oh my goodness are we taking a long time to unmake that up.
We made up that you’re supposed to have a life person.
We made up that you’re supposed to work 40 hours a week.
We made up “boss.”
We made up multi-level marketing and product parties. We also made up corporations and weirdly pyramidy looking corporate pay structures. Either way, a lot of us are struggling.
We made up that kids need to excel in academics.
We made up that it’s vitally important that you show up not a moment late to your daily shift.
We made up that you should tough it out when you’re feeling like you’re breaking down.
We made up that you’re supposed to save hand-holding for your sexual partner.
We made up that girls wear makeup and boys don’t.
We made up the words for girls and boys and we made up how important those words were.
We made up that women are better parents and care-takers.
We made up that men are tougher and stronger and more apt to lead.
We made up that when you order the big ass Denver omelet, you should say “we’re going to volleyball tonight,” instead of “god I love food.” I did this yesterday, and I didn’t even play.
We made up that buttons on your shirt means you respect the people you’re talking to. Or a long strap of silk and polyester choked around your neck.
We made up that robes or bare feet are weird.
We made up that natural hair on your face or your armpits or your privates is anything besides “there.”
We made up the word “privates” so that genitals could be saved for shamey conversations and for powerful men to control in private.
We made up that you’re supposed to respond graciously when old men talk to you in a way that makes you feel yucky.
We made up that it’s somehow on you when you are hurt by people.
We made up that when you’ve been hurt, you have to forgive.
We made up that forgiveness looks like reconciliation.
We made up that family is for life.
We made up so many damn things about the word “family.”
We made up that it’s okay for people to bully, manipulate, abuse, and take advantage of you, as long as they’re related by blood. We refuse to admit we made that up, but we did and we’re shockingly loyal to it.
We made up that you owe anyone an explanation.
We made up that extroverted is better. And then we learned from some really thoughtful psychologists that that’s not true, so we make all sorts of posts about how awesome introverted is. But we still lowkey judge introverts.
We made up that it’s weird to sleep in a tent in your backyard.
We made up that sleepovers are only for kids.
We made up that kids have to grow up and leave kid stuff behind.
We made up stuffed animals, and this was a good invention that provides so much comfort, and then somewhere between the ages of “7” and “you’re not a child anymore,” we tell people they no longer need comfort.
We made up that you have to be good at dancing to feel confident doing it, and we enforce it by laughing and making fun and sharing videos online.
We made up that everyone gets roads but not everyone gets medicine.
We made up that you should go to college.
We made up that you need to have a clear life and career plan.
We made up that you will be happier if more people think you’re really awesome.
We made up that people think you’re really awesome if they pay attention to you online.
We made up that it’s childish to try to get attention.
We made up that saying things to the people in your life like “Hey I just need some attention right now!” is needy or obnoxious.
We made up that needy is obnoxious.
We made up that crying in front of people isn’t a thing to do.
We made up that you shouldn’t live in the woods.
We made up relationships.
We made up workplace structures.
We made up work.
We made up money.
We made up goals.
We made up purpose.
So if some of what we have made up isn’t quite working for you, that’s understandable. There’s a lot of it. It would be weird if you matched it all, and honestly the world would be pretty boring.
Which bits don’t work for you? And what will you make up for yourself instead?
Sending love and courage to be weirdly, honestly, colorfully you.
PS – We made up that dirt is dirty and that sand is messy and that messy isn’t the best thing in the world. But Junko knows better. I learn a lot from her.
How about you and I help each other stay off track? I’ll send you sparks of weirdness. <3
When I was a kid, I did have happy times. In fact a lot of my childhood memories feel happy. Even some of the stuff that, as an independent-minded adult, I now look back at as creepy or dysfunctional.
I wish people understood that just because someone has some happiness, or feels like things are also good, or has some of what they need (like food or clothes), or smiles sometimes–that doesn’t mean that their situation is okay.
All the dysfunction finally bubbled over. And now, as an adult, a pretty strong person, who has been on my own for years–the effects of my dysfunctional childhood leave me struggling some every day.
Even while I was finding some happiness as a teenager–listening to Ne-Yo and Fergie, watching Modern Family in my closet where my parents couldn’t know, playing out mental fantasies where I actually had friends I got to hang out and spend time with–even when finding my own happiness, I was simultaneously drowning in stress and fear and anger and hopelessness. And all the happiness volume in the world doesn’t somehow balance out toxicity.
It’s good to remind myself that I’ve come a long way.
Now, day to day stresses get to me. I feel frustrated when I can’t slow down and breathe or think, like when my phone rings fifty times in a day. It makes my heart beat harder. Or when I see yucky things on the news. Or can’t see friends face-to-face for the duration of a pandemic. Or keep having to take breaks from running with leg and back pain.
And here’s where I want to sit today:
Now, I come home to someone who loves me. Someone who will hold my hands when things feel too big. Someone who lets me have feelings and needs and wants and dreams, and who encourages me to chase them all, even if they’re not her own. Someone who wants to hear me speak from my heart. Someone who deeply values me. And when I walk in the door from a long workday, I have a furry buddy who tells me, with all the whines and jumps and wags and licks, that I am so good and so important. And now I do have those beautiful, wonderful, amazing, fun friends in my life to hang out with that I wished I was allowed to have as a teenager. And now I have all these things in my life and about myself that don’t have a good-or-bad, wise-or-foolish, acceptable-or-unacceptable label to them. Now, I don’t feel like the most important people in my life are ashamed of me for watching my shows or staying up late with my friends or not-still-wanting-to-be-a-preacher-when-I-grow-up, and I never really have anyone raise their voice at me anymore (except, of course, the occasional experience in the any service industry). And nobody snaps at me when I’ve played the same piano piece too many times in a row. And nobody hits me anymore.
The people who don’t love me–I don’t have to be with them. I don’t have to take the phone calls, play the games, suffer through the holidays, bite my tongue at the cruel conversations.
Now, I’m free.
It’s easy to forget how free I am, because nobody graduates from all stress and hurt and struggle, and those things will probably always feel big. It’s easy to forget just how dark things were. Just how NOT free I have been.
Now, life–no matter how lifey it gets, is better. Now, I live with LOVE.
I am thankful for freedom.
I am proud of the courage to step out of toxicity, out into freedom. Proud when I see that courage in myself and proud when I see it in others.
And I am thankful for the life that freedom brings, that courage brings. It’s not too perfect, too fancy. It just has kindness and peace and boundaries and love.
Despite the day-to-day struggles that are a fact of life–has your life gotten better? Have you found some more freedom? Chosen more love? Grown? It’s easy to forget how far we’ve come. And it helps to remember it. Feels hopeful.
What about you?
P.S. I know navigating unhealthy family situations is a hard, scary, and misunderstood thing in our world. So much pressure. So many expectations. If it’s something you’re struggling with, I’m happy to listen. And if not me–there is someone else in your life, ready to talk, who has had to step out into freedom. Say your stuff, no matter how messy. Find your freedom and love. Rooting for you!
How many unsaid things do you have simmering inside of you?
Saying things out loud helps in so many ways. It helps us think through things, solidify things, feel things, get over things. Sometimes just letting out a frustration makes it stop hurting, or putting an anxiety into words suddenly reveals its harmlessness. Many of us learn what we believe and care about by talking through our thoughts.
There is power in saying our stuff.
We are all surrounded by people. If you know a hundred people, you know two hundred ears. That should be enough, right?
And yet . . . how many unsaid things do you STILL have simmering inside of you?
A really wise friend likened a marriage to walking on a plank over the Grand Canyon. The view couldn’t be more beautiful, but the height couldn’t be scarier. Lay the same plank on the grass in your backyard, and you’d do it with your eyes closed.
The value and depth of our relationship and attachment to someone significantly impacts the fragility, the fear, the pressure, the importance. Saying the wrong thing–or even saying the right thing the wrong way–to your co-worker is, you know, oh well. . . . Saying it wrong to your best friend, to your life partner, to your mom, dad, daughter, son . . . those moments leave bigger scars.
Obviously–bla-bla-bla get “better” at your close relationships, go to therapy, learn to open up, etc. (Legit, actually do those things.) But the truth is still: The more Companionshipy a relationship, the higher the stakes when it comes to what you say, how you say it, when, why . . .
So we clam up. Because the people we talk to are people that need us to say this, to not say that–people who need us to keep showing up the way we’ve shown up for them, people in whose lives we function a bit as an anchor–stable, consistent, strong–dependably us. They’re people who we want to speak extra gently to, people who we want to be extra positive toward. And sometimes they’re people we’re extra worried might have a problem with who we are becoming. The people I’m close to know Peter as Peter. Some of them need Peter to keep being Peter. They stand to lose more if Peter suddenly sounds more like Jason or Jack or Jimothy. (#fortheofficefans)
On the other hand, we’re surrounded by thousands and thousands of people every day who live and sleep and think and talk and listen less than a mile away from us who don’t know that we’re Peter and don’t need us to sound today like Peter has sounded all his life. What if you could talk to one of those people today? Do you think maybe you’d get some stuff off your chest? Try on a new perspective? Find some freedom to learn who you really are, what you really believe and care about? Would it help to practice the tough, weird, scary topics with people who aren’t going to be as worried or sad or stressed or hurt if you don’t get it just-right today?
I feel like I need to say a thousand times: A good goal is that you feel this freedom in your close relationships. AND . . . I bet that’s a goal you’ll never stop working toward, so in the meantime . . . what freedom is waiting for you in conversations with everyone else?Everyone you haven’t talked to yet?
Conversation is different than companionship. It’s not better, just different. They’re not totally separate: You find companions in conversation. And then you get lifelong conversation from those companions. But we frequently limit our conversation to those with whom we can already claim companionship. And I think this limits us a lot. Robs us of a lot of magic.
I propose that you and I should talk a lot more to a lot of people who we know a lot less.
This year, I’ve been part of a movement that is spreading across the world. A movement that has connected brave voices with listening ears from Minnesota to California to New Mexico to Florida to Manitoba. I’ve seen people try on their voices and discover they can make an impact. I’ve watched people voice their anger about “those kinds of people” and then learn that “those kinds of people” turn out to be you and me and then discover that we actually can connect. I’ve witnessed people express their biggest fears and insecurities only to find a bunch of people waiting to hold them up in loving support. I’ve heard people open up about their mental health, their traumas, their loneliness, their struggles, their demons, and their dreams.
It’s really not a complicated movement. We call it 5K Everyday Conversations, because every single day, some place (or places) at some time (or times), we gather–three of us or eight of us or twenty-two of us–to spend 3.1 miles (ish) having conversation. Some people run 3.1 miles with each other fast and talk about the stuff they’re angry about, or the habits they’re building. Some run it at a calmer pace, listening to each other share about a stressful family relationship or dream out loud about the work they’d like to do. Some, understanding that that the conversation itself is magic, show up for the conversation without worrying about the movement. And some hop online in Canada to be an ear for someone holding conversation through live video from their home in Wisconsin.
Why the running part? Hmmm . . . helping rid the world of the superfluous statement “I’m not a runner.” And because movement is fun. Happy. Because a few run every mile they can, and a few have been looking for motivation to run. Everyone has their own reason. . . . What I’ve found, though, is that running turns out to be the best anesthetic to the pain and fear of saying hello to someone you don’t know. Nothing quite like panting and sweating to make us immediately drop all the posturing and see that you and I are just two humans. Movement breaks ice and warms hearts. It fuels the conversation.
So yes, it really is as simple as conversation. And it’s a powerful thing.
Experiencing so much no-strings-attached conversation this year, I’ve noticed a few magical things about it:
Conversation can hold no expectations for it to be more than conversation. Free. Pressureless.
Saying things out loud helps us get over things, release things.
It helps us see things clearly, helps us think through things.
Helps us feel seen, heard, appreciated, cared about, accepted, loved.
There is something really freeing about talking through the yucky stuff, the hard stuff, the delicate stuff–with a total stranger who doesn’t expect or need anything from you.
The braveness and freedom you get to practice with a stranger is easier to bring back home to the people you love deeper and therefore stress about more. No-strings-attached conversation is like a gym for your speaking-your-truth muscles. . . . Sort of like with that plank-over-the-Grand-Canyon analogy. What if you could practice walking on that narrow plank from not quite so great a height. Like–practice saying how you actually feel but with someone who doesn’t need quite as much from you. I wonder if you walked that plank in the grass every single day if next time you had to walk it over the Grand Canyon, you might trust your feet just a little bit more?
Not only do you get to try on bravery, you get to try on new ideas. Maybe I don’t usually speak kindly, or I’m not usually really open-minded, or not very accepting of this or that “type.” And maybe I want to try changing that–try a new way–see how it goes. What better place to try on a new way than in conversation with somebody I may have never spoken to and may never speak to again? It’s a free space. A safe space to try something new. (For example: I think a group run with a bunch of new faces was the first place I ever answered the “What do you do?” question by saying “I write a blog.” It felt good.)
Conversation with random-people can also be a helpful place to talk a little about your demons. I know there can be great risk in sharing, depending on the context. It’s hard to know where and when to open up. But . . . I’ve been really amazed–in a no-strings-attached conversation space–amazed at the stuff I’ve heard people get off their chests or open up about, and at the acceptance I myself have found as an also-complicated human being. Sometimes it’s easier to finally get words out like “I don’t think I can keep up this façade anymore” or “I think I have a problem” or “I need help” when it’s someone who doesn’t already need stuff from you. There is some safety in . . . strangers. Weird? Yeah . . . but it works.
Sometimes, with life being as complicated as it is, it can be easier to be there for people as an encouraging, accepting, listening ear when we don’t know them. Again–end goal would be this level of acceptance and trust in companionship, too . . . but it’s also true that in no-strings-attached conversation, it can be much easier for us to be there for people. Take, for example, the dad who is estranged from all his kids, because he screwed up a lot as a dad. And it haunts him. His family can’t be there for him anymore. But maybe a stranger . . . can? A stranger can see the very true and very important and very safe reality that, no matter the struggles or weaknesses or history–this is a beautiful human being who is worthy of love. A lot of us have had to let go of some people, and now spend sleepless nights worrying over where they’re getting their needed doses of love and acceptance. Conversation and respect with a family member comes with a ton of baggage that can be too heavy. But that same family member can find baggage-free conversation with a total stranger, a stranger who can be there for them. Maybe you’re that person who needs a stranger’s listening ear. Or maybe you’re that stranger who gets to be there for people who don’t have many people left. Or maybe you’re that stranger who can be there for that kid who just got chewed up and spat out by the unloving world they grew up in. You never know . . . lots of people with lots of weird stories who just need an ear sometimes. Sometimes a conversation with a stranger is exactly what is needed. Hope-giving. Life-saving. Perfect.
Conversation detached from ongoing companionship is also a healthy place for those of us who are struggling, going through rough patches, to shine–to be appreciated for exactly who we are, without this pressure to first graduate to a healthier season of life. That’s powerful and really, really good, too.
There’s another reason conversation with people we’re not close to is super powerful. It’s this: I’m probably, probably, probably close to people who are a lot like me. Think like me, enjoy the same stuff, rant about the same things, see the world through the same lenses. And sticking to the conversation of my closest companions means that I’ll never ever hear all the other truths screaming to be heard. The world is a big place with countless cultures and experiences and hurts and passions and values. And so much suffering in our world comes from “my group” not listening to “your group.” The only way we’ll ever take your experience seriously, care to help, notice how we’re affecting you–the only way to improve our world for each other is by listening to each other. Not listening to each me-clone. Listening to each OTHER. Hearing different perspectives.
Those thousands of people who aren’t your companions . . . they’re holding the eye-opening revelations for you. Waiting for you to say, “Hello, who are you, and what is happening to you, and what do you wish I understood about your world?”
Nothing bad ever came from listening more, understanding more, learning more, seeing people more. And nothing good ever came from settling comfortably into our own way of life and thinking, blocking out the inconvenient reality that our world really is very diverse and complicated.
Especially this year. We clearly haven’t been listening to each other in this world. Listening to our own people, yes. But not to those OTHERS.
So . . . say hello. Start the conversation. Watch the magic. Change the world.
Oh and just because this is one fun little bit of the magic: You never ever ever know where you’re going to find your life-long companions.
This year I’ve come to believe that you and I and EVERYONE would benefit from regular conversation with no strings attached, no expectations, no pressures, no agendas. Just conversation for conversation’s sake.
Conversation. Freedom. Magic.
If all this sounds good to you, sounds . . . intriguing? A little hopeful? Magical, powerful, or like maybe there’s some hope there . . . I invite you to try one of two things:
If you don’t find any local members, pick a time and place and invite a friend . . . or a stranger. Bring the magic of conversation to your own community, and feel your community open its arms a little wider every day. The whole world needs conversation.
And when you show up for a daily convo, and find yourself thinking “How does this work?” you can look back to that simple invitation a few paragraphs ago: Start a conversation with somebody. As simple, scary, and magical as that.
“Everyday in 2020 we have held space for people to meet for conversational movement. At the same time, we have been making the term “conversational movement” a thing. For 285 days we have been working to normalize and inclusivize two things: (1) People talking with people that they don’t know regularly. (2) People feeling safe “running” together. . . . This is what we mean when we say conversational movement. We move at the pace that allows conversation to happen between two or more people. We define running as an act not defined by speed but by the way it makes you feel…alive, full of breath, moved forward by things that are filling you up and people who are lightening your steps.”
JC Lippold, who extended the first 5K Everyday Conversations invitation, sparking the magic
The whole world needs conversation. You need it, I need it. You need my ear, I need yours. We both have some unsaid stuff, and we both have some corners of the world to open our eyes to.
It only happens if one of us gets up the courage to say “Hello.”
And from there–watch the magic unfold.
P.S. I feel like I just wrote a bunch about the heavy stuff with conversations–the struggles, the overcoming . . . also,maybe even especially—conversation is just FUN and BEAUTIFUL and totally AWESOME. It WILL brighten your day.