One bright, sunny spring day in Vancouver, B.C., I met a young
bellman. Because I am legally blind, his boss had asked him to
help me with the automatic teller machine across the street. Oh,
Canada!
I was in the gorgeous city of Vancouver because I was presenting
at an international conference of community educators. I had
received a standing ovation in my workshop, something I had never
seen or experienced before, and I was high, in love with Canada
and life.
Matthew, the bellman, and I had quite an adventure together in
the short time we spent traipsing around looking for a machine
that would work for me. It was one of those magical moments
,everyday moments that can enrich our lives. I like to believe
that Matthew and I were forever different after our short
encounter. I remember thinking, “Oh, if his mother knew what I
was saying to him, she would love me now!” I offer this story
in case you know any Matthews or in case you are a Matthew.
“Do you know anything I can do about my blushing?” the bellman
asked. He stood beside me, punching the buttons on the Visa
machine, trying to help me get more Canadian money.
“What had I said or done to make him feel safe enough to ask this
question,” I wondered. Maybe it was my cane and my asking for
help. Maybe it was my smile or my laugh or my wrinkles. Maybe it
was the sticker that said ‘joy’ marking my debit card. Whatever
it was that gave him the courage to ask his question, I was
grateful and ready to listen for magic.
He said blushing was a problem that had plagued him all his life
and it was a constant source of misery for him. He blushed easily
and often, and he hated it. He sounded hopeless. I suppose I
could have told him he was being silly and overreacting, but he
must have known I never would have said any such thing, or he
never would have shared his secret with this stranger.
“Well, first of all, you are telling yourself a story that
whatever is happening to you is embarrassing. Then you tell
yourself the story that blushing is terrible.”
“It is!” he said vehemently. “I hate it.”
“I tell myself a different story about your blushing,” I said.
“I find it endearing. I think some young woman is going to come
around some day, see you blush, and think, ‘Whoa! This is the
guy for me!’”
“Really?” he said, hope flooding his voice. “I thought girls
hated men who blushed.”
“The girls who hate that are weeds in your garden. Better to
throw them out fast. Leave room for the sweet-smelling flowers.”
Our conversation ventured into other stories he was telling
himself. He thought he was stupid because he had a hard time
learning to read. He was sure his whole life was over because he
was twenty and had not yet started college. He dreaded the years
stretching out ahead of him. He felt his life was over and he had
blown it.
“Your future feels like a huge anvil hanging over your head,
doesn’t it?” I said to him.
He turned and looked at me as if I were a magician. “How did you
know? That is exactly what it feels like!”
We only had about fifteen minutes together, but it felt like one
of those small miracles to me. I would not have met Matthew if
it weren’t for my vision loss. I would never have been able to
invite Matthew to change his stories if he hadn’t been brave
enough to ask me if I could help him with his blushing problem.
I think it rather marvelous that I could not see his blushing.
Sometimes I can feel it, but I simply cannot see the subtleties
of a blush.
I was simply living the mystery, surfing the mystery, and here
was this sweet boy/man known as Matthew before me in all of his
vulnerable glory. Did I help him change his life? Yes, I’m sure
I did. Did he start taking those drama classes he said he would
like to take? (After he told me with absolute despair in his
voice that he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to do
with his life, I asked, “Are you sure there isn’t something in
your belly that wants to become?” “Well,” he said, in the tone
I have come to recognize when people start listening to their
genius, “I have always wanted to be an actor.”)
Did he sign up for that class that his belly wanted him to take?
I don’t know. Will it be harder for him to resist the call of his
bliss? I think it will.
Matthew, like all of us, has a battle raging in him between what
he thinks his limitations are and what he is called to become on
this planet. The voices in our culture that tell us what is
possible and impossible for us are strong and sure. Those subtle
calls to our destiny are like the voice that told Kevin Costner
in the movie Field of Dreams,“If you build it, he will come.”
These inklings and nudges toward our greatness can sound crazy.
We don’t understand them and we are afraid no one else will
either.
So which voice in our head are we going to listen to: the Muse
with its outrageous urgings, or the Dinosaur, with its voice of
shame and doubt? We decide every day, and the quality of our
lives rests on these infinite decisions of trust vs. fear.
Can you entertain the idea that perhaps you are brilliant,
talented, fabulous and gorgeous? Try it! Invite the idea into
your mind, give it a cup of tea, and hang out with it awhile.
You don’t have to let it move in or marry it. Just let yourself
wonder, let yourself consider the possibility that you can live a
grand, full, delicious life, a life bigger than you ever thought
possible.
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