The Sitbacktivist

Barbara: I am not proud of the following story. We can’t be proud of everything we do (or don’t do, as this case may be), right? But herein lies my truth, which I will share with you, and for which I promise to try and spin a happy ending.

Yesterday I was describing my dear friend Charlotte’s turmoil to my husband—she is embroiled in a bit of a messy mess right now, she is in fact embroiled in more than a few messy messes right now, and NOT because of her doing, but because of her caring. Darling Charlotte is committed to righting the wrongs of this world.  She is the best, most dedicated activist I know. She is that person who doesn’t look away from the most terrible injustices in our world. She fights to stop the wrong, or to change it. She rallies, she marches, she emails, she calls, she petitions, she endorses, she gets frustrated, she gets discouraged, she gets sad, she rails, and then she picks herself up and begins again. She also supports and comforts and loves. Deeply.

And because she faces injustice head-on, injustice always seems to land on her doorway clutching a gunnysack over its shoulder and asking if it can crash on her couch.

Phil shook his head in support of Charlotte’s challenges and then asked if I was ever tempted to fight the good fight with her. I had to answer the truth, which is this: as much as I hate injustices in this world, as much as they make me angry and frustrated, as much as I want the world to change and develop its consciousness and compassion, as much as I see the HUGE necessity for this, I am more comfortable dealing one-on-one, being the quiet supporter, the shoulder, the injustice-whisperer and not its warrior. Partly because I am scared of being ill-informed and taking the wrong stance (not Charlotte’s problem, btw; she is an encyclopedia of pertinent information), partly because it takes too much time (I’m sorry, I said I wasn’t proud of this!), partly because I am not a warrior by nature. I’m just more comfortable dealing with fallout than dealing with weaponry.

Without missing a beat, I told my husband, “I’m not an activist, I’m a sitbacktivist.” It’s not the same, I know, but it feels like I’m still doing something. It’s why I love the blog so much. Here I get to sit back and share the experiences of the world with all of you without doing any homework or picking up any tools or getting any blood on me. I am here for you … but I’m here for you, not, like, over at your house with signs and petitions and stuff.

I always used to think that one day I might be a real activist, maybe join a noble cause and get my hands all dirty. It was an ideal. But, aside from confronting bad teachers for my kids and donating money and that kind of thing, I will have to face the fact that I did not grow up to be that woman.

The happy ending? Well, Charlotte does make the world a better place. She has done so all her life and she will continue to do so, one signature, letter and law at a time. Thanks god for people like her! Me? I know I’ve done a share of good in my own small way. I know that I will always try and spread some love, that I do give a damn, and that even the minor efforts of a caring sitbacktivist can change the world a little bit at a time.

Deb: This is a tough subject to judge. To me it’s like the Oscars. Can’t judge art. Nor do I think we can judge the good deeds and charity work we do, whether it is close or far from home, or close or far from your heart. We all have gifts and if we are lucky enough to know what they are, hopefully we are benevolent enough to share them.

Showing Up

Deb: Barbara and I spent the better part of a day with a darling friend who is in considerable pain right now. She is faced with her sister’s sudden and advanced cancer. The hope the doctors are offering is minimal at best. It seems to be untreatable and inoperable. Our friend is shocked and sad. Or, I should say, profoundly shocked and sad. She is feeling her sister being ripped from her, and her sister I think is feeling the same way towards her entire world. Yesterday we set out to have an oasis day. The three of us got together to do something delightful. And it was the best thing we could have done.

I worried that the day would be a mirage rather than an oasis. I worried that she would want to enjoy the day but would not be able to, as thoughts would creep in to invade this fertile place of friendship. I mainly worried because we are not old friends, we three. We do not know her sister, nor do we have the history of their family to call upon. We cannot console her with lively memories and great stories. We cannot speak to her sister’s courage or resolve because we simply do not know her. We can’t reassure her in any specific way at all because we don’t have the background of their family.

And yet, as we walked along, into this beautiful September day, we took solace in just being there. The three of us. We were there just to be with her and she was there just to be with us. There was no mandate. We talked about it, we didn’t talk about it. We were just there. It wasn’t even about conscious support. We were just letting the day unfold into the lovely day our friend needed and that we also needed in the face of her sadness.

And it made me think about pain and suffering and even death, and the handling of these things. Often I am asked when someone is going into a hospital room or a funeral parlour, “What do I say, what should I do?” My answer always, after too much experience in this area, is simply ... to go. Show up. Be there. Arrive and be counted. That is it. That is all someone needs. You showed up. The same applies to the person who is the eye of that storm, experiencing that saddest, most painful part of life. They give themselves a huge gift when they choose life in the midst of pain, or fear of death, or death. And it isn’t easy to pull those covers off of your head and get out in the world when you are in pain. I have said before on this blog that I tend to hide out when I am sad or depressed. But our friend chose life and forward movement in the middle of her tragedy. She chose to counter the stall that she and her family is up against and come out into the sun. When you are faced with little or no hope it takes huge strength and fortitude to enable you to march out to find some sun, somewhere.

The day with our new and already beloved friend was neither maudlin nor depressing. Conversely, the situation she is facing is both, in spades. But our time together was a great example of putting one foot in front of the other. It didn’t take away her pain. We certainly didn’t NOT think about it. But it was lovely nonetheless. It was a few hours in the bosom of new friendship and life affirming activity. As we walked in the park, our conversation leapt and hopped, her sister’s situation not far from our minds. But the thing is, it did not negate what we were doing at all. It was an example of living. Living no matter what. As we strolled along, we three were beginning something in the face of that which is ending. Although we are new friends, I feel we will become fast friends.

And come what may, we will never forget this day that we all just showed up.

Barbara: Well, I couldn’t have said it better myself. You know it’s funny—I find that the older I get (maybe because I am more experienced in these things, maybe because I have learned so much myself about “letting go”) the less I worry about the support I am offering a beloved in pain. What I mean by this is: I am not analyzing my own support as I try to give it, wondering if it is helping, if I’m saying the right thing. I’m no longer, in effect, making my needs paramount, as I often—unintentionally—did in the past without realizing it. I mean, what is a worry about how well you’re supporting someone if not a worry about your own needs??? Instead, I am now just being. Being there. Being in the moment. Allowing the flow of conversation and love and support to, well, flow as it does and as it will. I am moved beyond words to look back on this precious day and see that we all—somehow—did exactly that: we flowed. As you say, Deb, the miracle, the grace, is in the living.

Deb: In case our friend reads this post, please accept this bouquet from us, as an example of our friendship and the loveliest of life.

The Heart Tree

Barbara: I was incredibly moved this week by a community gesture and had to share it with you in case you might also be inspired and moved by it. One of our neighbours suffered a terrible loss recently and a young family was left reeling. Their community reached out to them in many of the traditional ways: by making sure there was plenty of food in the freezer and helping hands as needed.

But this week, they went one step further. Inspired by a story they read on a blog about a group of women in Massachusetts, several of them got together and crafted many dozen fabric hearts and then, in the middle of the night, strung them up on the trees in this family's front and back yards. (…Just writing this makes me well up...) In the morning, the family woke up and found their special gift of community love.

Angels are everywhere.

Don’t Bring Me Down!

Deb: Recently a friend was talking about an aspect of her appearance that she hated, lamenting about it. I said that I didn’t agree as I thought she was lovely, which is true. She then said––referring to said appearance-challenge––that I should know what she means given that we share the same atrocity. 

Well, I don’t mind telling you that it bummed me out for a month. A full fucking calendar month … of a 31-dayer! Firstly, it bummed me because I DO NOT SHARE THIS ATROCITY WITH HER! And secondly because ... SHUT UP. Don’t suck me into your whirlpool of despair!

A few weeks later another friend was talking about one of our dear friends and her considerable talents. She said (referring to her own perceived lesser talent) that just like US (she and I), she was just not up to snuff in this particular talent-arena. This bummed me because number one, I DO NOT SHARE THIS LACK OF TALENT, and number two ... SHUT UP. Don’t suck me into your whirlpool of insecurity.

Misery adores company to be sure, but if you have issues, they are your issues. Attaching me to them won’t make your problems go away! All they will serve to do is either make me feel badly about myself or make me resent you for your lack of tact.

Oscar Wilde said, “It is not enough merely to succeed, my friends must also fail.” I do NOT subscribe to this theory. I cheer my friends. I support my friends. I talk my friends up! I network and name-drop my talented friends and try to work with them whenever I can. In fairness, my enemies can fail. Don’t care really. But ... it always pisses me off when I am sucked into the black hole of jealousy and insecurity that I didn’t sign up for!

So talk me up or leave me out. But as the song says, “Don’t bring me down. No, no, no. Don’t bring me down”!

Barbara: God yes, Deb! I have a loud enough inner-voice that has no problem pointing out all my ineptitudes, weaknesses, foibles, and failures. I don’t need a well-meaning friend to add to the chorus. Especially a “well-meaning friend”!

It’s like the pea in the princess’s bed. After you walk miles in the rain and finally collapse in relief atop a tower of feather-soft mattresses, there it is: the godforsaken pea. The test, the irritant, the destroyer of everything fought so hard for and preciously gained. And now your sweet sleep of self-esteem is totally screwed. 

We’ve been everything from “gossips” to “highly competitive” to “crazy spenders” (and a gamut in between). And sorry, but NONE of these things describes me either. Unless we’re talking about Scrabble with my sisters in the middle of a designer sample sale. Wait, what were we talking about?

Anyway, Deb, you and me and the readers of this blog and a bunch of other people, we’re totally awesome.

Tapas Friendships

Barbara: It might sound a little demeaning to call a friendship “tapas”. After all, tapas are just little dishes, none a full meal on its own. But think of it: each one is still a chip off the ol’ appetite, a palette-whetter, a delicious morsel in its own right. So maybe not so demeaning, after all, huh???

With the explosion of social networking, I’ve been reading a lot of articles lately about relationships suffering because people are now isolating themselves on the internet, hiding behind “false personas” and “superficial connections”. I have to say that in my experience (so far, anyway) nothing could be further from the truth.

Thanks to Facebook and blogging and email, I have never enjoyed so many tasty hors d’oeuvres of friendships in my life. I get to keep up with old but hardly-seen friends and I get to meet new ones. I know these are not the same as real-life, in-the-same-room, no-holds-barred, you-know-all-my-secrets kind of friendships, but they have turned out to be pretty scrumptious just the same. And very satisfying.

These tapas friendships offer a lot of different flavours in one sitting: the spicy one, the soft one, the sweet, the crunchy, the wild. Each “dish” feeds a different need in me. And each one has sustained me in a different way, much like the finest meals have done, just in smaller portions and in more unexpected preparations.

Tapas friendships seem to offer a lot of unconditionals––maybe because there are so few expectations. No one takes it personally if you don’t engage with every thought. And support is so easy to offer because there are no grudging personal histories. Oh my god, the support! Who had this kind of support 10 years ago? I mean, really? I never even knew it possible to feel such warmth and affection on such a grand scale. And who doesn’t thrive with extra and unexpected servings of attention, love, and encouragement?

In fact, we might be on to something. Maybe we can get rid of those chunts who insist on using the internet to spread hate and villainy by feeding the world one tasty morsel of loving friendship at a time. To one deserving diner at a time.

So don’t be offended if I consider you my tapas. Trust that it means I think you’re tasty and satisfying. And if you let me have yours, I’ll let you have mine.

Deb: I love the tapas friendship. Because in my experience––to your point, Barb––the tapas friend has surprised me again and again. It seems like tiny little tapas (yes I know tiny is redundant), but when the chips are down it serves up as a main course complete with salad, soup, and your choice of rice pudding or chocolate mousse. Because the bottom line is ... people constantly surprise me. Friends I have expected the world from, have sometimes let me down, and friends I expected very little from have stepped up and killed me––just killed me––with kindness and support.

But it does not matter because ultimately, I will happily take all the love and friendship you can give me. At this point in my life I relish every kind word and motivating speech. I will take any positive words, accolades, reinforcements, regards, kudos, loves, likes, or “she’s okay”s that you can offer. Bring me the antipasto of friendship and I will supply the bread and the oil. Happily and gratefully.

And PS: we made Round Two (last round) of the Canadian Blogger Awards for Best Personal Blog 2010!! We want to thank you all for supporting us to get to this round. You are the best readers ever!! Voting closes Oct 26 at noon for this the final round. Apparently you can vote once a day (edited to say: once every 24 hours) … but only if you love us once a day, even just a tapas little :-)