"Aggressively Shy"
I spent my reading week with men who demonstrated their mettle in the crucible of war in the middle of the 20th century. The warrior who stood out to me as most heroic, though, gilded her efforts with none none of Churchill's bluster, FDR's reserve, Kennedy's cool, or even William Manchester's attempts at command presence as a sergeant in World War II. This week's example of courage let her fear show, but she followed her notion of servant leadership, anyway. For almost half her life, this seventh grader's interest has been in serving people in other countries. Her inexperience didn't dissuade her from dreaming this dream. Her mom's job loss the previous year didn't distract her into what for some of her peers are all-consuming adolescent pursuits. The visible discomfort that came with talking to grown-ups about what she was called to do would not prove more powerful. She didn't write the Dr. Susan Jeffers's book Feel Your Fear and Do It Anyway. For ten terrifying minutes, she was writing her own edition with her life.
Days later, grown men would spend about that long reflecting on how unpleasant the middle school experience was. What was it that made this young lady in middle angst so different? I suspect her mother and "coach" who was in the front row as she explained her vision of herself as temporary global adventurer had a lot to do with the distinction. Mom let this middle schooler do what she feared and contemplate a trip that came with its own set of fears for any parent. She allowed her daughter to focus on the next phase of her identity, but Mom's presence in the present provided scaffolding between what is now and what is next. Parents, mentors, disciplers can inspire us to mature and advance as individuals, while providing support for the questions to which we don't have answers. If we wait until we don't need help or until we can at least plausibly pretend we have every answer, we will remain static characters in our own story.
A wiser perspective on what we have been can also bolster our resolve in the process of becoming. Here also, authority figures can help. One father says that as he has watched his son's development more closely, he understands more fully how frustrating even putting a block in an opening can be. This sense has helped this father, in turn, concentrate on celebrating when his son experiences one of life's "small" victories. Authority figures can bestow only part of this validation. We find more reliable resilience in what we tell ourselves about our own past victories and setbacks. Kahlil Gibran writes in The Prophet, we all bury our former selves. Few of us do it, he says, with a smile and a song. If we can grant grace to the person we used to be, the smile and the song may become a habit. Once familiar, the refrain of smile and song might still play when the inner cacophony of anxiety intrudes on a new experience.
As we dance our dance in spite of distraction, others may hear the tune. The Dugger family of reality television fame has lived out this kind of flawed but persevering testimony through scandals that would have led others to retreat to a more private and less vulnerable life. Little wonder, then, that Ben Seewald, who married into this legacy and its accompanying media circus was willing to risk channel change or ridicule. He went on camera gagging at the slightest exercise and talked about his struggles with digestive difficulties. In perspective, he says, others who struggle similarly with such a humbling condition might benefit. Besides, he confesses, "Whenever you talk about things that are difficult to talk about, you end up growing anyway."
The growth we see may not be on an even trajectory or a predictable chart. If we make the iconic John F. Kennedy our standard, we see both perseverance and pretense. Meeting him as an unknown in the beginning of his first congressional campaign, Kenny O'Donnell and Dave Powers write in Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye, "He seemed aggressively shy," an endearing description that could be applied to our middle school hero. After building on these initial efforts in experiencing much success and affirmation, the same writers and admirers say that as a US senator Kennedy "hated being seen on crutches more than he hated the pain." Even if we can't make one decision once and for all to be seen as a work in progress, we can make the decision in front of us with that in mind.
Days later, grown men would spend about that long reflecting on how unpleasant the middle school experience was. What was it that made this young lady in middle angst so different? I suspect her mother and "coach" who was in the front row as she explained her vision of herself as temporary global adventurer had a lot to do with the distinction. Mom let this middle schooler do what she feared and contemplate a trip that came with its own set of fears for any parent. She allowed her daughter to focus on the next phase of her identity, but Mom's presence in the present provided scaffolding between what is now and what is next. Parents, mentors, disciplers can inspire us to mature and advance as individuals, while providing support for the questions to which we don't have answers. If we wait until we don't need help or until we can at least plausibly pretend we have every answer, we will remain static characters in our own story.
A wiser perspective on what we have been can also bolster our resolve in the process of becoming. Here also, authority figures can help. One father says that as he has watched his son's development more closely, he understands more fully how frustrating even putting a block in an opening can be. This sense has helped this father, in turn, concentrate on celebrating when his son experiences one of life's "small" victories. Authority figures can bestow only part of this validation. We find more reliable resilience in what we tell ourselves about our own past victories and setbacks. Kahlil Gibran writes in The Prophet, we all bury our former selves. Few of us do it, he says, with a smile and a song. If we can grant grace to the person we used to be, the smile and the song may become a habit. Once familiar, the refrain of smile and song might still play when the inner cacophony of anxiety intrudes on a new experience.
As we dance our dance in spite of distraction, others may hear the tune. The Dugger family of reality television fame has lived out this kind of flawed but persevering testimony through scandals that would have led others to retreat to a more private and less vulnerable life. Little wonder, then, that Ben Seewald, who married into this legacy and its accompanying media circus was willing to risk channel change or ridicule. He went on camera gagging at the slightest exercise and talked about his struggles with digestive difficulties. In perspective, he says, others who struggle similarly with such a humbling condition might benefit. Besides, he confesses, "Whenever you talk about things that are difficult to talk about, you end up growing anyway."
The growth we see may not be on an even trajectory or a predictable chart. If we make the iconic John F. Kennedy our standard, we see both perseverance and pretense. Meeting him as an unknown in the beginning of his first congressional campaign, Kenny O'Donnell and Dave Powers write in Johnny, We Hardly Knew Ye, "He seemed aggressively shy," an endearing description that could be applied to our middle school hero. After building on these initial efforts in experiencing much success and affirmation, the same writers and admirers say that as a US senator Kennedy "hated being seen on crutches more than he hated the pain." Even if we can't make one decision once and for all to be seen as a work in progress, we can make the decision in front of us with that in mind.
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