Smuggling Grace

Unless I am very intentional about it, I am highly prone to forgetting where I parked in a parking garage. This is worse than forgetting in a parking lot because at least in that instance, you can scan the whole of it visually all at once.

When I was in my 20s, a friend gave me her own trick, and it has steered me to sharp parking-lot-memory ever since. “Before you leave your car, you have to say the floor you’re on in the voice of the Sesame Street Count.”

“Two Blue! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Works like a charm every time. I have done this for almost 20 years. My trick of the trade, if you will.

And for many years, I’ve enjoyed telling this parking garage hack to young adults, as if I am bequeathing wise knowledge that will enrich their lives for decades. Recently, however, I had two young adults in my car, and when I pulled into the parking garage, I said,

“Can I tell you a trick for remembering where you park in a parking garage? When I tell you, you’ll never forget it.”

Simultaneously, they said,

“Mark it on your phone?”

“Take a picture of it?”

And friends, in this moment, I knew I fit that article from a few years ago — that one that called people my age, “Geriatric Millennials.” My parking lot wizardry is discontinued. My ways are obsolete.

There are times, however, when we honor our commitments in this lifetime, and we faithfully pledge to be who we want to be in the world. So forever and always (unless I’m on a different floor all together):

“Three Orange! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

— Renee Roederer

When we do something we regret, or when we neglect to do something we wish we had done, we may feel guilt. Guilt can be constructive if it’s instructive — that is, if it teaches us who we want to be, and how we want to rectify a situation. But if it persists continually or morphs into shame, it’s a false story.

Guilt says, “I’ve done something wrong.”
Shame says, “There’s something wrong with me.”

And this shame storyline is always a false story.

Because here’s the paradoxical thing about shame —

As a feeling, it is real.
As a reality, it is untrue.

There has never been a life chapter, a day, or even a moment when we were not worth love and belonging.

Anything that says otherwise — a person, a family, a community, or an internal belief — is truly a false story.

– Renee Roederer

— Photos by Renee Roederer

Here’s a sweet throwback: If you were a child of the 80s, or you had children of your own during that time, you may remember this classic Sesame Street video about how crayons are made.

I’m Giving Up for Lent, Lyndsay Rush
What would it feel like to give up
self-improvement
for forty days?
Would the tightness in our chests
throat, shoulders, and hips
ease as we contentedly took the easy way out? 
Would capitalism crumble if we deleted our wish lists
and framed the before photo?
Sounds holy, if you ask me,
to be sold on life-as-is
to just exist
with only this, only us
only what these two arms can hold

–Lyndsay Rush

Do any particular words or phrases resonate with you?

Surround yourself with people who know you; value you; and want you to be you, contributing as you. Also, I recommend this documentary on Netflix:

If you’re a choral singer, or if you’ve heard someone talk about conflict, you may have encountered the corny phrase,

“There’s a reason we have two ears but only one mouth!”
(Har…)

Cheesy, indeed, but there are times when we are served well by listening more intentionally. When you’re singing in a choral setting, this is not only about how you sing, but about how you fit your singing into that of others. How do you blend? How do you practice dynamics? How do you keep the rhythms and cut offs precise and together? How do you make space for other vocal parts that should be primary in particular spots? This takes listening.

I’m just turning the corner on being sick for a week, but last night, I felt well enough to sit in the back of my choir rehearsal. I probably wasn’t contagious anymore, but just to be sure, I took some space, and instead of singing, I listened for the rehearsal.

And in listening intentionally, I perceived the music differently. I gained a larger view of the piece. I heard things that are working exceptionally well. I heard mistakes that needed more rehearsal.

This was a good exercise. And since I’ve already referenced an additional context for my corny, opening phrase, I do wonder where I need to listen more. If I listen intentionally, might I perceive conflicts differently? Might I hear needs more precisely? Might I consider community responses more frequently? Might I discern possibilities more readily?

This is a good invitation.

—Renee Roederer

Today, I’d like to offer two pieces of advice that I’ve heard over the years from loved ones. They can be helpful when you have goals but are less motivated than you’d like to be.

— A dear friend of mine is a therapist, and she often tells her clients,

“Don’t ask yourself, ‘Do I want to do this thing?’ Ask yourself, ‘Will I have wanted to do this thing?'”

In other words, are you aware that this will benefit you, and that once you’ve done it, you’ll be glad you did? How does that impact your motivation to do it?

— Another friend of mine says,

“If you’re in a place where you’re waiting for ideas, or you’re working on personal growth, and you’ve hit a plateau, ‘cultivate the soil.’ We don’t always have the energy to work at the precise goal at hand, and we can’t always expect immediate results, but we can work on the environment we’re in so that the goals and the growth are more likely to happen.”

Good pieces of advice.

— Renee Roederer

Emotional flashbacks are a hallmark symptom of C-PTSD (C stands for complex, meaning that the trauma(s) involved have been encountered continually over a period of time, rather than existing as a single incident). They can also occur for anyone who is experiencing a response to high stress from the past.

Imagine that you enter a scenario in your everyday life, and in a way that is not easily explainable, you suddenly feel a need to flee, or you’re instantly irritable, or you’re overcome with a sense of guilt or shame, and you don’t know why you would want to run, or become angry, or feel badly about yourself. These are a few examples of what emotional flashbacks can feel like, and if you don’t know that that’s what’s happening — that is, you’re unaware that you’re being triggered in the present back to an experience from the past — you can easily look for clues in your present environment to make sense of such an experience. You might make up narratives to explain the present moment:

“She must be mad at me.”

“[Problem] is insurmountable.”

“I’ll never be good enough for this job.”

“I have to get away.”

“He hates my guts.”

“I’m so sorry for [tiny thing that happened.]”

But maybe this sudden rush of emotion isn’t primarily about the present moment or about any of these narratives. Maybe the rush of emotion is rooted in a past set of experiences.

The first step is recognizing this fact. It changes things greatly to be aware. “This is an emotional flashback.” Then we are in a position to care for it.

Here’s a great video from Heidi Priebe. Referencing Pete Walker, she helps us put language to emotional flashbacks so we can identify them and then care for them.

— Renee Roederer

— Photos by Renee Roederer