Wearing Slacks in Ellettsville

I attended high school in the small southern Indiana town of Ellettsville. (You remember Ellettsville—I wrote a song about it). Back then, girls were not allowed to wear slacks in high school; it was Against the Rules. Don’t even ask about jeans—that would have really been pushing the envelope.

My 16-year-old heart was outraged at this injustice, especially in the dead of winter as I shivered waiting at the bus stop in my pantyhose and skirt uniform. One icy February morning I defied the rule, and wore a very nice pair of sea green tweed wool slacks to school. My father was called at work and had to come get me and bring me home to change. My mother, a teacher in the school system, was called on the carpet. Needless to say, my parents were not thrilled with my rebellion.

I also wrote a letter to the editor of the Herald-Telephone suggesting that in enforcing this rule the all-male school board was driven more by prurient interest than the best interests of female students, since they benefited from clear views of young girls’ legs in the bleachers at the gym during basketball games. The authorities remained unamused, and unswayed.

Oddly enough I never wrote a letter to the editor about another matter at the time. Abortion in even the first trimester was illegal and a girl that wanted one had to take a shady trip to Indianapolis and pay cash for a dangerous procedure rumored to involve coat hangers.

Now I watch events unfold in Iran. Courageous women and men face injury and death to stand up for their human rights. The Internet obligingly carries full coverage, and a young woman named Neda (whose name means “Voice” in Farsi) dies before our eyes. You have only to peruse a book like “Reading Lolita in Tehran” to see how much has been denied the woman in Iran since 1979—the right to wear what they wish, look as they wish, read and study what they wish, speak their minds, have their votes count, be who they really are. Mixed anger and admiration surge in my 56-year-old heart as I see their amazing bravery in the new Iranian revolution.

I just saw the absolutely marvelous new Pixar film, "Up." It has an elderly widower in it with black-framed glasses who reminds me greatly of my father in his last years. The theme of the movie, that every closed door results in another new one that opens--that the adventure is never over if you can let go of what you have lost--is uplifting. The animation and colors are marvelous. The love story at the beginning is very moving. See this movie!

The Slackline of Life

Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control.
It begins with your family, but soon it comes around to your soul.
Well I've been where you're hanging, I think I can see how you're pinned:
When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned.

"Sisters of Mercy" - Leonard Cohen

In any relationship, there can be such a precarious, hovering balance between feeling trapped and feeling abandoned. Walking life’s slackline and holding onto love for a lifetime, one must somehow be independent of the person who is loved, and yet remain connected. And the idea that you can control what happens to you is an illusion—all you can control is how you respond. So it boils down to a series of choices between love and fear—fear that the one I love will turn away from me or trap me; abandon me or take away my freedom.

You can only choose love over fear if you can find it in yourself to believe in love, and love can seem so ephemeral (“if you’re not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you’ve sinned”). I remember once many years ago a co-worker and friend of mine tried to talk to me about the “L” word--the central importance of love in all our lives. It was as if she spoke another language—I wasn’t ready to hear those ideas yet.

Fear and love aren’t opposites, but I think of them together; one is the answer to the other. Stuffing fear doesn’t work, it just creates a smoldering volcano of feelings. I do know that when I’m feeling emotional pain and I stop to focus on the present moment, accepting whatever I find in that moment, I am immediately more peaceful.

An interesting twist is that sometimes strong feelings of love generate fear in me—fear of losing what makes me most happy. My life partner creates beautiful flower gardens, and I’m torn between enjoying the beauty he’s created, and fearing a day when he may no longer be able to do it. In fact, when he was not well for awhile last year and the flowers went unplanted and untended, that was one of my greatest sorrows and my fear was reinforced.

When I struggle against the truth that nothing lasts forever and all things must pass, I feel fear and a terrible grief; I lose the present and the chance to enjoy what I do have. Remembering to be right here, right now and love the moment helps – “nothing that is real can be destroyed”—do I understand that idea finally?

For myself, the fear of abandonment is the greatest—I mould myself to fit the desires of the person I’m with “because it is easier,” I tell myself, but really because I am secretly afraid they’ll turn away from me given half a chance. In truth, even strong (and quite uncharacteristic) outbursts of rage on my part have resulted in shockingly few changes in other people. People change only when they are ready, not as a result of anything I do.

Love does have indirect influence—the presence of love, asking nothing in return, can bring peace and comfort to those around you—I remember this from parenting challenges with teenagers a few years ago. I have a feeling the biggest influence was my love for them, keeping the lines of communication open so that whatever else happened they knew I loved them.

The lessons all seem to weave together to make the pattern. The path is much more spacious each time I choose love, not fear.