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On Self-Awareness or Fake It Until You Make It

 

It's Black & White - Colleen Friesen

Black & White – Colleen Friesen

 

“We don’t see things as they are; we see things as we are.” – Anais Nin

You know what I hate most about becoming more self-aware? That I’m responsible for every situation (not that I create the weather or whatever’s happening but it is my choice in how I respond).

Some days I would really like to just rail at something, or someone, and scream, “You’re a jerk! It’s all YOUR fault!” But there is always this next pompous-assed voice that pops up somewhere in a little chunk of my brain, that says, “Nice try, Colleen. Are you ready to really look at the situation?”

Well, shit.

The deal, as I see it, is this… the very things I find annoying in others, are the things that I don’t want to look at in myself (Insert sigh here. Very big sigh).

In my defense, I think some of the annoying situations are really overwrought versions of my worst traits. So, even though these people are helping me to learn and to see my own ‘stuff’, I still think they’re taking the whole thing too far.

For example…someone gets on the Canada Line talking loudly on their cellphone, bumping into everyone with their overstuffed backpack and then rudely pushing their way through the crowded train.

I have a couple of choices here. I can be indignant and blather on about the event to myself or to any poor sod that makes the mistake of talking to me, or I can think about times when I have been less than stellar in my approach to the world, realize my teacher has just arrived, and immediately start practising patience.

Hello!! Who better than me needs to practise patience and tolerance?

So. I reframe the situation and send myself (and that aforementioned buffoon) some calm and happy thoughts (this will be the part that’s a bit of a stretch).

Then I tell myself, “Hey Colleen, you said you wanted to learn to be more patient. What a great opportunity to practise!” Then I do the inner eye roll and imagine slapping that little church lady smirk right off my inner better-self’s face…I sigh again, knowing that I need to get down to business.

First off…imagining my better-self and my not-so-better-self slapping each other around makes me grin. Once I’m grinning I immediately realize that it’s not so bad.

In fact, I see this guy as, a) my opportunity to learn how to be patient and kind, and  b), a cautionary tale on how NOT to behave on public transit, and c), kind of funny.

I reach down and turn off the ringer on my phone, smile at someone nearby, and breathe deeply and slowly. When it’s my stop, I am over-courteous to help offset Mr. Bad Example.

Hell, if the Dalai Lama can forgive the occupying army, perhaps I can work on a random stranger?

Check it out! I am a living breathing vision of patience.

To paraphrase Aristotle, “Fake it until you make it.”

 

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Shared Words, Shared Worlds

 

Flight - Colleen Frisen

Shared Words, Shared WorldsNaomi Shihab Nye

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,

I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.