I was bike riding by the lake this bright Saturday morning, navigating in my lane with hundreds of other Chicagoans going south and observing the many shapes and sizes of the hundreds traveling north.
The lakefront does not discriminate for age, gender, race or physical ability. Occasionally you will observe a warrior expressing frustration with the less capable folks getting their exercise, but generally, one encounters people enjoying their experience.
I found an open bench near 41st Street Beach, dismounted and sat for a few minutes before beginning my return trip north. Two girls in their 20’s stopped at a neighboring bench. They each had put much more effort into selecting the attire for their outing than I had. Each wore form fitting black exercise pants with neon accents and a neon top (one pink, one yellow). The blonde girl had a headband and the brunette wore a cotton band around a ponytail.
Both girls appeared perfectly healthy to me, but I overheard each taking turns making negative comments about their own bodies. Their tone was more than polite humility, almost a preoccupied frustration. It was clear that neither was comfortable with the way they looked.
I don’t know these girls, but I do know their level of current fitness and youthful appearance will likely deteriorate greatly over the next 40 years. As I began the ride back, I found myself hoping that each would find something positive about themselves that would become their focus. Then I flashed back to an experience I had with a friend who lives in Northern California.
I met Gina 40 years ago. We dated briefly, lost contact, then regained our friendship a few years back through the magic of Facebook. She has lived a valuable life as an educator and mentor to at risk youth, a mother and now grandmother. She was following my writing of a memoir, commenting and supporting my efforts as I would draft chapters. When the memoir arrived at her place in my past, she commented about it during an exercise for a writing club she had joined. Her perspective was heartfelt and moving. She later told me some of her audience was in tears at the end.
Her words follow:
“Word of the day: coach.
I went to a conference once and the topic was coaching…and the
difference between teaching and coaching. It was inspiring but I don’t
know why I’m talking about it because I really don’t remember what the
differences were. Probably because I stayed up too late last night.
I was talking by FB messenger to an old friend of mine from high school.
He’s writing his memoirs and emailing them to me so we can discuss his
writing. He’s good. He has a strong voice and great descriptive
ability. Most of what he has written has the ability to elicit some
kind of response from me…laughter, tears, joy, fear, shame…and I
cannot decide if I feel these things because I know him and can hear
his voice…the nuances and inflections in his expressions – physical
and written, or if he is, indeed, as good as I think.
But here’s the thing: my old friend finally wrote about
high school and his description of me kind of threw me for a loop, you
know? He described me – the way he remembered this hot little
16-year-old girl, but he didn’t describe a single physical feature.
I was pretty cute…just saying…and at 5’8” 130lbs with a
cheerleader/athletic body and cute hair…well, I was surprised I guess.
What blew me away is his description of me still holds true
today – and I can’t believe that. I am pretty open and honest…I am
self-reflective and tend to be hard on myself…I have that Catholic
guilt thing down to an art. I feel strongly about my spirituality and
I feel the need to confess immediately and to any who will hear when
I’ve done something that I feel has bruised my morality…just to wash
it off…and I still get off on intellectually stimulating
conversation. I am still pretty comfortable in my own skin…though I
would be more comfortable in that 16-year-old size 6 skin. My family
is close but not suffocatingly so and we do obviously care about each
other very much.
All this time I thought I’d lost that girl because I don’t look like
her so much anymore. But all HE can remember is the part of her that
still exists.
I have to think about this.
I’m tired coach…can I sit this one out?”
Friends can often see the good in us easier than we see things in ourselves. That insight can be of great benefit as we align ourselves to our purpose and struggle with our challenges.
A river’s energy and the strength of its current comes from its banks! Friends possess material that can help fortify them. Unreinforced by its sides, a river spreads itself thin and becomes a flat standing pool. Friends at their best serve as our foundational banks, propelling our energy, fortifying our strength.
As humans, we all fight battles, against our limitations, against environmental influences, against father time. Understanding our gifts helps us focus and select our highest ground to engage.
People, like plants, have no choice but to grow from their roots. Today, my bike break brought me a reminder that I can support my friends by reminding them how strong their roots truly are and helping them see that this foundation prepares them to reach for the future with confidence. I hope this post inspires you to do the same.
