I recently went on retreat, just me and my journal, but I didn’t realize that within its pages, there was a stowaway who came along for the ride.
Now a regular journaler since the beginning of the year (thanks to Mari’s journaling programs and prompts), I realized I needed to go deeper than just chronicling the moans and groans of my grown-up life, interjected with my childhood hopes and dreams that I still hope will come to fruition. It was time to get out of the existential clouds, take a look in the mirror and claim the power of today’s reality in creating tomorrow’s. Now that’s some serious work for serious adults!
The Gift Inside
I attended a weekend journaling workshop at a retreat center with a group of women who too wanted to tell their stories. I hadn’t even unpacked my suitcase when the rustic beauty and spiritual energy of the center brought me home, reminding me that I am connected to something more than the structures that confine my being to the should’s and would’s I impose on myself.
Early in the weekend, the retreat leader gave us a pale pink strip of cloth, soft and frayed, wrapped up into a small ball. As we slowly undid the fabric to get to the gift inside, we were to close our eyes and meditate on our entry into this world and the knowings we have brought with us. As I unraveled the cloth, I thought about my place in this world -- a daughter, a student, a wife, a mother, a worker, a seeker—all roles that are dependent upon “other.” When I got to the center, I found a small toy baby—a reminder that my authentic self cannot be wrapped up in the stories of others.
This symbol became my totem for the weekend as I tied the cloth on my arm and carried my baby in my pocket. At one point, I was jarred by the vision of the fabric wrapped around my wrist, like a bandage on tight to stop the bleeding. I decided I could not afford to lose anymore of myself.
The Simple Things
I was fortunate to have the opportunity to stay at the center for a few more days all on my own in exchange for watering plants and doing a few chores while the directors were on vacation. Like a child, I felt like I was given some simple chores for great reward, and I earned a sense of accomplishment performing them as asked.
I brought my favorite things with me for this special retreat, far too many to use in the course of the three days I was staying, but I was going to be alone for a while, and I wanted to be ready for whatever mood would strike me. I packed my favorite movies, the ones I have seen so many times without worry of hearing the comment, “You are watching that again?” I also brought my favorite Beatles’ tunes and my intricate coloring books (designed for the artistic adult). And I brought some books for reading and notebooks for writing, hoping to find inspiration.
I specifically brought a new journal to mark this new phase of the unwrapping of my life. And inspiration flowed as I wrote pages and pages, more than I had written in the months before. I broke free from my “woe is me” entries and began to create stories of my days, memories and dreams that were hiding under the surface.
Start Kidding Around
With such a dramatic change in my perspective, I decided to look back at some of the journal entries I had written way back in January when I first began Mari’s 27-day challenge. (I brought my old notebook with me in my over-packed bags in case the mood struck.) As a flipped through the notebook, I was startled by Day 8’s entry. The heading read Day 8, Jan 8, Start Kidding Around in my typical “starting something new” gold star handwriting.
In this prompt, Mari invites our inner children to come out and play. “Your inner kid appreciates the simple joys of life and doesn’t worry too much about tomorrow because she is enjoying the present moment,” Mari says.
Except for the heading, the handwriting was totally unrecognizable. It looked like—no it WAS—written by a child. I felt uncomfortable and very alone. Who had written this entry in my journal? I thought. Had I done this activity with my son and forgotten? But he’s 12 years old and even his quirky left-handed writing is of a higher standard than what I saw in front of me.
Lefty!
And then it hit me—lefty! I had written the entry in my non-dominant hand, freeing my mind to become the child I once was. I didn’t recognize my own handwriting. I didn’t recognize myself.
I wrote:
I like to jump rope and play jacks.
I like playing board games and riding my bike.
I like bowling.
I like movies, music and cartoons.
I like my radio.
I like to be with people.
I like to play Barbies.
I like the Beatles and Paul McCartney.
I like my family and all the people around.
I like school.
Little Jenny Rose
After reading these childhood truths, I wept like a baby filled with both wonder and grief, as if I met myself as a child for the very first time. But where had I been, wrapped up in all those “important” things that keep our authentic selves hidden?
I happened to have a picture of myself on my phone with me, one taken when I was six years old in the days I was better known as “Little Jenny Rose.” There I was, slightly rounder, with the same eyes and same smile. How could I be so angry at this child who likes to play jacks and likes “all the people around?” How could I have let her slip away?
I spent the rest of my retreat days reading and writing, watching my favorite movies and listening to the Beatles, just as Little Jenny Rose would do. I missed my family and “all the people around,” but I was not alone. I was unwrapped, writing my story, ready to return to my adult life fully whole and able to find my place in the world again.
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