I recently participated in a remarkable course through USC called Community Arts -- Healing & Social Justice. It’s been a while since I’ve been a student.
It was wonderful, incredibly exciting, very interesting and somewhat burdensome, burdensome because it was an intense course. Four Sundays for five hours each time.
I adore the professor who is teaching this class. I have known about him for years. He is an expert in this field and is deeply connected to the work. He is so incredibly good at what he does, he really, I mean REALLY, knows his shit.
He gave us an exercise for homework. We had to create or take an image in our community of something that makes us feel safe and something that makes us feel unsafe.
There must be at least one million things I could have taken pictures of for both. There must be at least one million more images online that would or could paint the images of the things that keep me up at night, or the things that bring me solace. Somehow, I went totally blank and could not think of anything. Nada. Nothing.
I was driving in the car with my middle daughter and told her about the exercise. She looked at me shocked that I didn’t have an answer. “Well, that’s easy. Take a photo of the car. You always say how unsafe you feel when we drive. I mean, seriously that’s a no-brainer. And for the safe one, take a picture of the Sukkah (the hut we sit in as Jews to celebrate the holiday of Sukkot). You love the holidays. You love being Jewish. Geez, Ima, what’s wrong with you? This is easy! Wish my calculus homework was this easy!”
I wasn’t sure how she knew exactly what to tell me. I felt that what she suggested was perfect. Of course, when everybody started sharing their pictures, I started second guessing myself. I find it amazing how easily what we know to be true can be shifted and turned into what we think we don’t know!
Knowing.
Owning what we know.
Letting ourselves know.
Sometimes I see a kid and I know.
I know they can make it.
Maybe it is my faith. Maybe it is intuition.
Maybe it is simply my will.
“Ms., I don’t know what to do.”
“Yes, you do,” I say.
“Fucking hell,” she says. “I don’t know what to do, really.”
I push back.
“Yes, you do.”
“Ms. Tell me. Tell me what to do.”
“I can’t,” I tell her. “This is your choice, and you have to make it.”
I fervently wish I could tell her what to do. This is a tough one.
She is pregnant.
She also got into college.
She is the first in her family to graduate high school.
She is no longer in a relationship with the father of the baby.
“Ms., I don’t know what to do.”
“It is your choice,” I tell her.
There were 1 million things I could say to her.
They were 10 million other things I didn’t want to say. This is a loaded topic. Various colleagues of mine have strong opinions about this. I believe a woman has the right to choose what works for her, her body, her life, her being.
As a mom of three, I know that once that kid comes into this world it is a lifelong commitment. No one has the right to force someone to make that commitment.
I tell my students all the time that they are the experts on the subject of themselves.
No one else can be in their shoes and know what is right for them. And while I think advice is important and sometimes helps us, deep down in our gut most of the time we know what to do. We just need the courage to listen to that voice.
On the next phone call, I tell her again, “This is your choice.”
“I really want someone to tell me what to do,” she answers.
“This is a huge decision.”
I asked her why she wants someone else to make this decision.
She said, “So I’ll have someone to blame when it sucks.”
We went back-and-forth. I supported her not knowing journey.
I took her to places where she could get information.
I told her it will suck and it will be amazing.
I will not write here what choice she made because it could be used the wrong way by people who have an agenda on this subject.
She made the decision that was right for her. She made the decision that she had to make.
“I know what I need to do,” she said. “I have known from the minute I found out.”
“I know,” I said.
“I had to walk the path to what I know.” She laughed.
“That’s okay,” I said.
“You know, Ms., I just need to listen to the voice inside me and trust it.”
“Yup,” I said. “That’s a hard one.”
“Why is it so hard?”
“Because we trust ourselves the least, when we really should trust ourselves the most.”
“Well, I have done some shitty shit in my life. I am not sure I’d trust a bitch like me.”
I laugh and say, “Trust the you inside who isn’t connected to the shitty shit.”
“How do you know there is a me that isn’t connected to the shitty shit?” she asks. “And I ain’t all shit.”
I look at her. I am quiet.
I see her.
I make sure she sees me see her.
“I KNOW,” I say. “I simply know.”
She laughs and says, “Well I ain’t fucking with what you know!”
“Perfect!” I say, hoping I remember with conviction not to fuck with what I know either.
