Shy and Awkward

Yesterday I was in some kind of zone, where everything seemed to come easy. On my job at a hotel gift shop, I had wonderful little (and some not so little) interactions with lots of guests. I was fully available – and they seemed to sense this.

Two 12ish girls, bopping around the hotel, told me I was “cool” – pretty much the best affirmation one can get. And this cool-salute was based on nothing special – just, apparently, the tone in my voice and the fullness with which I greeted them. Maybe they like the way I welcomed them – like they were not just “kids”.

Today, on the contrary, I am shy and awkward. After church just now, I found myself awkwardly and abruptly breaking off conversations with people whom I really like – with whom I actually crave more connection. I even thought I recognized disappointment in some of them – or confusion, or I really don’t know what response – as I suddenly said, “Hey, have a great day” and pulled away.

I now am sitting here in the sun, having a smoke (I’ve relapsed again), just outside the coffee shop where I promised to meet a friend. I got my coffee to go, so I could come outside and smoke - and just can’t find it in myself to go back in. There are several of our mutual friends in there – Kent will have plenty of people with whom to visit.

A few minutes ago, I was kind of roughly critiquing myself. “What’s wrong with you? What’s wrong, period? If you were really getting this Life Lived More Deeply stuff, about which you have been writing so much, you wouldn’t be so unable to hunker down and be with people – so not, today, available for connection.”

Then I got it – at least a glimpse of it. “Living Life More Deeply” means embracing this moment, whatever the content of this moment. Today’s shyness is no better or worse than yesterday’s gregarious fun. Be with this.

Then I realized that I wanted to write about this. (I’m really glad I had a good little notebook with me – though I most always do.) On this raw, windy early March day, I’ve found this delightful spot – in the sun and out of the wind – and I’m writing. This is my gift to others and my gift from life. I am doing exactly that which I am meant to be doing. And if I had not found this window into this particular form of flow - if I was still wandering around kind of lost – that also would be perfect.

Pema Chodron, the wonderful, so-compassionate American teacher of Tibetan Buddhism, would ask, “Can I soften my heart into this moment?” I have the opportunity to embrace this particular pain, knowing that it truly leaves me not alone, as I was just feeling, but intimately connected with all the thousands (millions?) of my brothers and sisters around the world who are right now experiencing this kind of pain, or something like it. I can breathe in this pain we are all feeling, open my heart to it – then breathe out compassion, not just for me, but for all of us.

I don’t have to be some kind of expert at Living Life More Deeply, some kind of oneness hotshot (there’s a wonderful oxymoron). We are always teaching that which we are trying to learn. The Course In Miracles says that if I’m not getting as much from this moment of teaching/ counseling/coaching as the person to whom I am “giving” this attention, then something is out of kilter.

So, I’ll breathe and write, knowing that none of this has taken away my shy awkwardness, that – if I do now buck up my courage and go into this coffee shop, I am likely not going to feel much more comfortable than I did a few minutes ago. But, with a little luck, some part of me will wink a little wink at this shy, awkward soul, knowing that I am, in this moment, walking my walk just as much as I did yesterday. In fact, this awkward moment is the only experience I could be having right now – is absolutely, utterly perfect.