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Letting go of happy endings . . .

Sep 30, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Sacred Stories, Women's Wisdom

I’ve been ensconced in fiction lately. There is a LOT to be said for getting lost in the pages of a book, stepping vicariously into the realities of others, witnessing their happy endings and imagining them as my own. I often feel a palpable ache when I turn the last page; I’ve become so attached to the characters. It’s like their story is somehow connected to mine.

Which, of course, it is. That is the power of story! When we immerse ourselves in it, we more acutely feel our own desire, disappointment, loss, loves, trials, tribulations, and hope. The very best stories are ultimately less about the characters themselves and far more about us! Even in the most fantastical or tragic of tales, we find ourselves between the lines; we see aspects of ourselves mirrored back in actuality and in aspiration, again and again.

For all that is the same, one thing is vastly different: most of the stories we read or watch have a happy ending. Perhaps not perfect or Disney-esque, but wrapped up nicely with some kind of bow, some kind of resolution, something that makes sense of all that’s gone before. Understandably, we want the same for ourselves! And there is absolutely nothing wrong or wasted with such a wish. The problem occurs when we compare the goodness or worth of our own story, our very life, to that which can (only) be captured so neatly in fiction.

Unlike the books we read or movies we watch, our lives are not neatly packaged. They are messy and unresolved, difficult and confusing. The plot is not clear. The characters are conflicted. Bad things happen. Good does not always triumph. Any sort of ending feels illusive and often far from happy. Ours is a story that is “true.” 

In Untamed, Glennon Doyle says this:

“The truest, most beautiful life never promises to be an easy one. We need to let go of the lie that it’s supposed to be.”

She’s right, of course. Not “happily ever after,” but most definitely true (and beautiful).

I would love to tell you – with conviction and personal experience – that “everything works together for good;” that your endurance (and compliance) guarantee success and/or bliss and/or endless love; that if you just persevere, everything will eventually turn rosy and bright – an amazing story with an enviable “happily ever after.” I cannot promise or speak to a bit of this. But if you want to know what is true, I can both promise and speak to that with vast personal experience and lots of conviction.

The hardest realities in your story, the loose ends, the impossible twists and turns, seemingly no fairy godmother (or god) to be found, are exactly what make your story worth being told…and lived. 

Little consolation, I know, but no less accurate or important to know and name.

When I look back over my life thus far, I see so much that I would have never predicted or foretold. The most painful seasons have invited profound growth and transformation. My biggest mistakes have been converted into a mostly-unswerving belief in my value and worth. My fear and anxiety, depression and grief, anger and frustration have somehow, miraculously and unwittingly, become the most gracious of teachers, the closest of companions, and my dearest of friends. No pretty bow. No tidy conclusion. Unwieldy and unpredictable. Hardly easy or perfect, but honest and real and “true,” even beautiful.

Pages worth turning. Stories worth telling. A life worth living. And uniquely, surprisingly, amazingly…mine.

“Happily ever after” remains to be seen. It’s all that happens along the way that matters most, that we remember, that makes a story – your story – worth writing, telling, and living. 

1000 Words on Aging

Sep 23, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Wisdom

Being 61 is not what I expected…though I don’t know that I could tell you, with any degree of specificity, what I did expect. I’ve never given it much thought; at least not in practical or concrete ways.

I have friends who have been super intentional about planning for their future; others who are afraid of it. Both ends of this spectrum feel alien to me. I’ve barely considered savings or retirement, have not stuck with a job long enough to accumulate much in 401ks, and rarely-if-ever reflect on the “what-ifs” that could yet exist – whether related to the economy, my health, or the circumstances of my life (not to mention the world).

I’m not suggesting this approach (or lack thereof) to aging is a good one, simply that I’m now here and constantly surprised by what it looks like, what it feels like, what I look and feel like!

The reality of aging, of being “old,” has always felt incredibly distant, like mist and shadow, a someday I’ve not planned for or given much attention.

Whether I’ve prepared for it or not, had expectations of it or not, it is clearly here – at least according to the world around me. I cannot spend more than 60 seconds on Facebook or Instagram without being bombarded by posts, reels, and ads for miracle skincare regimens, exercise programs for women “my age,” and clothing for the “mature” woman. I rarely fall prey to such messages, but still, they take their toll – subliminally (and blatantly) reminding me that if I don’t do something (translate: buy something), I’m going to fade into obscurity, that “more” is required of me to remain viable and valued, that I’m not enough.

*sigh*

Despite the fact that I don’t give cultural messages/demands much credence, that doesn’t mean they have evaporated from my consciousness. Especially when I look in the mirror. 

Old habits die hard. I remember staring into that glass as a teenager, wishing/praying that I looked different and better, sure that the latest makeup application technique in Seventeen magazine would change my life. I have known long seasons of getting dressed in the morning and offering my reflection nothing but scathing critique for its weight, shape, and very being. These days, most days, I lean as close to the mirror as I can and most-definitely see aging’s evidence in visceral form. I am reminded, yet again, that this IS my reality. I see it in my very face. But unlike decades before, I can (almost) let go of a lifetime’s demands – internal and external – and just be.

I could never have imagined that “old” age would be the thing that invites me to fuller self-acceptance, wholeness, and love.

Alongside the unexpected assimilations into this “age,” are grace-filled perspectives I couldn’t have foretold; ways of looking at, even experiencing life that I couldn’t have predicted or dreamed when I was younger. 

My two daughters are now in their 20s. I watch them ask so many hard questions of themselves and their reality – ravenous for clarity, certainty, and dreams fulfilled. They wrestle with unmet expectations – the trials of “being a grown up,” paying bills, making money (or not), being in relationships (or not), and figuring themselves out. In varying forms and contexts, I hear them saying, “It shouldn’t be this hard!”

Whether I watch from afar or get far too enmeshed, I am subsumed by memories of what my life looked like when I was their age, all that I wanted and didn’t have, had and didn’t want, and thought would never change. It was hard! And I am surprised, yet again, when I realize that all the things they are feeling and experiencing right now ARE NOT what I feel and experience AT ALL anymore.

It’s stating the obvious: I am not in my 20s! I have lived decades and made it through many seasons of unknowing and frustration. I have survived – along with massive mistakes and profound heartbreak and upsetting setbacks and incredible growth. I have actually lived to tell the story. I see how fate follows its course, how life does go on. And in the midst, how I have not only survived, but become a woman I am proud of. Here. Now. 61.

Finally, perhaps more unexpected than anything I’ve named thus far, is this:

Over and over again I am surprised by the spaciousness of the present and what it feels like to stay right here, right now. It is unexpected, expansive, and generous. 

61, in and of itself, is hardly distinct or significant. Soon I’ll be 62 and eligible for early withdrawal of Social Security benefits! Then I’ll be 65, 70, and then some. Though I anticipate more changes ahead, more things I can’t possibly predict, there’s no “out there” or threshold or “someday” that I’m reaching for. I’m just here. Right here. Right now. This body, this mind, this heart, this life. It’s amazing.

You could not have convinced me, whether 10, 20, 30, or 40 years ago, that there would ever be a time in which I would feel at home in my own skin, that I would not feel lacking, that I would be able to rest from the tyranny of past and future, others’ (and my own) expectations, the dull ache of discontent and demand that has permeated so much, too much, of my life.

Perhaps that’s what all of this is about: nothing of what I expected, endlessly surprised, more than enough. This could have been just as true at 21, 31, 41, and 51, but I didn’t have the wisdom or perspective or years-lived to appreciate it like I do now. And that IS the point…

I appreciate it all.

About Time

Jul 8, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Sovereignty, Women's Wisdom

I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately; struggling with it in some ways. And oddly, it’s not because I don’t have enough of it or feel like I’m on some endless treadmill; rather, just the opposite!

I find myself uncomfortable with, even avoiding, the spaciousness of time.

I’m a do-er. Super task-oriented. Motivated by efficiency. Profoundly satisfied by getting all my to-do’s checked off on a daily basis (and as quickly as possible). And I’m quite good at this! I get a lot done in a relatively short amount of time. So, to slow down, to stop working, to not take on one more thing just because I can, feels not only frivolous and irresponsible, but damn-near impossible.

When I ask myself why, I don’t have to search very far to find the answer.

Underneath my busy-ness, my schedule, my constant doing, is a deeply ingrained belief: my value and worth are determined by how efficient and productive I am.

I’m guessing it’s not just me.

A few questions:

  • How do you feel about yourself when, at the end of the day, you’ve not checked everything off your list?
  • What emotions show up when you look at the still-unanswered emails sitting in your inbox?
  • What is your mood when you get up in the morning to a kitchen that was not cleaned the night before?
  • What is your response to the latest post on Instagram that tells you it’s not only possible, but damn-near required that you accomplish more, earn more, be more — and all available to you if only you hustle harder (and buy the program that will teach you exactly how to do so)?
  • What would your mother say if you slacked off or took a sick day or gave yourself a break from your endless inventory of tasks and to-do’s? (I know: what your mother might say is not really relevant. But you do know her answer, don’t you?)

About Being an Outlaw

Jun 24, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Yes, about being an outlaw…but also archetypes and exhaustion and self-care and then some.

The dictionary defines an archetype as a recurrent motif in literature, art, or mythology; a typical example of a person or thing. You’ve heard of the maiden, the mother, and the crone. There’s the lover, the hero, the magician, the sage, and more. Then there’s the outlaw.

Here’s some description:

  • The Outlaw yearns for liberation from oppression. They’re risk-takers, progressive, and exude bravery in all circumstances.
  • They have a penchant for revolution to help change the world — and if anarchy is involved, so be it — to make the world a better place. They are rule-breakers, despise being regulated, and oppose conformity.
  • They denounce the normalized, what’s accepted, and status quo for something better. To do this, disruption is their tool. They run counter to the crowds. (The Brand Leader)

You can relate, yes? These things describe you — at least in part. Me too.

Here’s another definition that I find even more powerful:

“A woman who begins to take charge of her own life drawing not from patriarchal notions of individualistic success but from a desire to escape these norms is committing an act of social deviance and rebellion. She is the outlaw…” ~ Danielle Dulsky, The Holy Wild: A Heathen Bible for the Untamed Woman.

There’s much in me that aspires to this archetype, that wants to be the outlaw. I’m all about liberation and risk-taking, revolution and rule-breaking. It feels required, quite frankly. But to only be this, leaves me feeling tired, sometimes discouraged, and often overwhelmed by just how much remains to be “disrupted” in order to make the world a better place.

I want to be the outlaw AND I am more. I am the maiden, the mother, and the crone. I am the lover, the hero, the magician, the sage, and more. All of these at the same time. As the poet Walt Whitman said, “I am large. I contain multitudes.”

So, I wonder how to hold fast to the passion, intention, (and critical necessity) of the outlaw while holding on to all of myself — all at the same time.

And then I wonder, “What if I just let the sky fall? The falling sky is what Chicken Little was deathly afraid of — certain the world was coming to an end when, in truth, a single acorn had fallen out of a maple tree and landed on their head.

I am not comparing Chicken Little’s tiny acorn to the sky that we hold up.

I am NOT saying that our concerns are over-reactive or hysterical; they are real and significant; they matter. I am NOT saying that we shouldn’t worry about all that might happen were we to let go of the “fight,” even for a little while; vigilance and perseverance is needed — now more than ever. I am NOT saying that we should just kick up our heels (with or without “outlaw” boots) and forget about it all; ignore the issues, bury our head in the sand, live and let live.

I AM saying that sometimes, especially when our arms are tired and we’re worn out from fighting, that there are other aspects of who we are that deserve our time, attention, nurture, and care.

I AM saying that it is radical — and rebellious and rule-breaking — to be kind to yourself, to nurture yourself, to think of yourself first (!!!); to go within and pay attention to your emotions, to listen to your heart, to follow it; to stop holding up the sky at the expense of all else, at the expense of all of you.

I am saying that perhaps this IS the most outlaw-like choice of all.

To do any of this IS “a woman who begins to take charge of her own life, drawing not from patriarchal notions…but from a desire to escape these norms…She is the outlaw.”

Here’s what’s true: We can advocate for social justice and let the sky fall — both at the same time, at least for a time. We can think brilliantly and feel deeply. We can be (and are) more than enough and never too much. We can be honest and loving. We can tell the truth and be compassionate. We can be the maiden, the mother, the crone and the lover, the hero, the magician, the sage, and more. We can be the outlaw and nurture ourselves in the most generous and extravagant of ways. In fact, we must.

More and more, I am coming to believe that it is just as radical and revolutionary to be kind to ourselves, listen deep within, trust our wisdom, and yes, let the sky fall, as it is to decry patriarchal notions and norms and commit acts of social deviance and rebellion. Even more rule-breaking and defiant than either of these is believing and knowing that we have the capacity to do both at the very same time, to “contain multitudes.”

It’s when we acknowledge, allow, even celebrate all of this — all of who we are — that we become the most outlaw-esque of all.

From one outlaw (and maiden/mother/crone/lover/hero/magician/sage and more) to another, may it be so.

*****

I’d be honored if you’d SUBSCRIBE to my Monday Letters. Long-form. My thoughts. My heart on your behalf, to be sure. ronnadetrick.com/monday-letters

What Matters in a Broken World?

May 20, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Women's Voice & Power, Women's Wisdom

Name what’s true.

Go small anyway.

  • A job in which you are miserable.

Acknowledge default behavior.

Name what’s true again.

Go within and look closer.

  • The miserable job: I can pay attention to where I am compromising myself, complying, people-pleasing, and not telling my truth. And I can choose to do things differently.

Now, widen the lens.

Name what’s true. Again.

Do the math.

About angels in black tights…and signs…

Apr 15, 2022 | Hope & Encouragement, Spirituality, Writing

This post is about signs. Looking for them. Spotting them. Trusting them.

‘Seems right to start things off with a sign that showed up for me recently.

Just over my computer monitor — smack in front of me — is a print by Brian Andrea of StoryPeople. Here’s what it says:

I used to wait for a sign, she said, before I did anything. Then one night I had a dream & an angel in black tights came to me & said, You can start any time now. & then I said is this a sign? & the angel started laughing & I woke up. Now, I think the whole world is filled with signs, but if there’s no laughter, I know they’re not for me.

When I sit down to write — whether my weekly newsletter, a Medium article, or a blog post, I have spent days in advance. I decide on the topic. In this case, “signs.” I gather things: quotes, definitions, thoughts that flit through my mind, a story that comes to me. Then, at a set time on my calendar each week, I begin developing form, structure, and hopefully something meaningful and relevant for you! This post was no different: five days of “collecting” on my chosen topic before I sat down to compose.

And then, then, I saw the print. The one I quoted. The one that sits smack in front of me — just over my computer monitor — every day and all the time.

That felt like a sign in and of itself!

Signs are everywhere. But that doesn’t mean I always see them. Even — and maybe especially — when they are right in front of me.

How many times do we miss the signs that are ours to see, listen to, and learn from?

I don’t want to miss them. I want to walk through my days certain that signs are everywhere, mine to discover and cherish:

  • 12:34 on the clock
  • The flower growing in the crack on the sidewalk
  • The clouds
  • The sun
  • The book that came in the mail
  • The podcast episode I can’t get out of my head
  • The limp houseplants asking to be watered
  • The dust on the TV
  • An empty water glass
  • Cold coffee
  • Unread emails
  • The bill that came in the mail
  • The lump in my throat
  • The tears in my eyes
  • The catch in my voice
  • The dream I just recalled
  • The chocolate I crave
  • The shoes I still haven’t put back in the closet
  • The text from a friend
  • The to-do I keep procrastinating over
  • The print on my wall — smack in front of me

I could go on. Clearly.

What’s on your list? Your whole world is filled with signs. You deserve to keep track!! I’m sure of it. It’s said that signs often appear as confirmation of the things we are interested in, what we’re pondering, what we’re questioning or wondering about. Sort of like when you decide you want a red Mini Cooper and then you start seeing them everywhere.

Yes, we can read meaning into pretty much anything (a la my long list above). And I suppose it’s possible we can take it too far. But I’d rather lean in that direction than worry about it. Here’s why:

When we trust that “the whole world is filled with signs” that long to be seen and are speaking to us, we walk through our days with heightened curiosity, a profound sense of openness, and a general spirit of receptivity. Doesn’t that sound far more lovely than the alternative?

We have opportunity and invitation to walk through our days as though we are in the middle of a cosmic game of hide-and-seek. What might be possible with that level of anticipation and joy?

It feels important to name that signs can be hard things — not always surprising and pleasant; sometimes difficult and painful. Maybe more often than not.

An example:

Fear is one of the most significant (and consistent) signs of all; an invitation to profound and powerful discernment!

Fear is a sign that says our worry or anxiety or obsessing matters and deserves to be paid attention to. Fear is a sign that helps us know we’re on track and moving in the right direction (or it wouldn’t have shown up in the first place). Fear is a sign that calls us to courage and levels of self-trust we would otherwise not know, make manifest, or rely upon!

Other significant (and hard) signs include: resistance, procrastination, frustration, rage, sarcasm, despair, consumption and, and, and . . . It’s not about getting rid of these things, purging them somehow from your life. No! It’s about coming to see them as signs in and of themselves, as invitations to meaning and understanding, as opportunities to discern what is calling you deeper into your own life.

Whatever you feel, whatever your emotions, whatever is showing up in your life is a sign that invites you to step more and more fully into the wisdom that is already and always yours — into discernment. I’m sure of it.

It’s true: the whole world IS filled with signs. Sometimes hanging on the wall right in front of you. Sometimes hidden and waiting to be found. Always taking you deeper, and then deeper still. And what you’ll find there is far more glorious than an angel in black tights. I’m sure of it.

*****

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