For a long time, I considered myself safe only if there was no presence of danger. That makes sense if you look up the word “safe” and “safety” in the dictionary. Merriam-Webster defines safe as “secure from threat of danger, harm, or loss.” That’s how I’ve tried to live my life: not running with scissors, wearing my seatbelt, looking both ways when I cross the street, etc. It’s been my prime objective to avoid danger. However, if you live long enough, you soon realize you can’t avoid danger.
To be alive means to encounter threats. They could be in the form of other people, like a mugger or a drunk driver; a wilderness threat like a snake or a wasp; or a natural disaster like a flash flood, fire, or earthquake. There are more threats, of course, I’ve just named a few, but the point is, no one can live in a safety bubble. It’s not possible. How then do we keep ourselves safe? What does safety even mean in that context?
To go back to etymology, the word “safe” was derived from the Old French word sauf, which means protected and watched over. I like that definition because it means even in dangerous situations, I can be safe because I’m protecting myself, I’m watching over myself. In other words, I’m making good choices to ensure my eventual safety. That could be slowly backing away from a mountain lion, carrying pepper spray to ward off an attack by a person, or evacuating my home in the case of a fire. Just because there’s risk of harm doesn’t mean harm is inevitable.
Do you know what to do when confronted with a mountain lion? Photo by Zach Key on Unsplash
When it comes to safety, that’s the piece that’s been missing for me. I discount my ability to take care of myself, to show up for myself in dangerous situations. Instead, I’ve believed the worst possible thing will happen and I’m helpless to prevent it. Um, not true. I keep a cool head in stressful situations, choose wisely, and prepare as much as I can in advance, like looking up what to do if encountering a mountain lion. That’s called keeping myself safe.
For someone like me who is perpetually worried about safety, who’s scared of danger, and tries to outsource my safety to someone else sometimes, recognizing the power and ability I have within me is huge. That may not be you. You might be a person who already feels confident in yourself and your abilities, but for the person who identifies with me, the anxious scaredy-cat, I hope you hear me when I tell you: You can do this.
I’m reminded of the quote by A.A. Milne, author of Winnie the Pooh who said, “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know.” Yes. We are. I don’t know about you, but I often sell myself short. I don’t want to do that anymore. Having an inferiority complex is not accurate because as my spiritual teacher says, “A person must not suffer from an inferiority complex, because that person and his or her friends and siblings are all the progeny of the same Progenitor. They come from the same origin.”
That means I’m just as capable as anyone else. That means I absolutely have the power within me to protect myself, to keep myself safe. Not because I’m avoiding danger at all costs, but because I’m making choices in the moment to minimize risk. That matters. A lot.
I dream of a world where we recognize we are safe not when we avoid danger, although that may be a part of it, but rather due to what happens after the threat arises. A world where we remember we have a force within us, an instinct to keep us alive. A world where we understand we are capable people and we create safety for ourselves.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
This weekend I surprised myself. I did things I’d consider out of character — things other people do, but not me. I flew up to Ashland, Ore., for a quick up and back trip and started chatting with the woman next to me on my flight. During the course of the conversation I told her I didn’t have a car and wasn’t sure how I was getting to and fro. She said, “Well, let me give you my number and if you need a ride while you’re out there, give me a call.” I said, “Actually, what I really need is a ride from the airport to my hostel.”
She told me her parents were picking her up but she was sure they wouldn’t mind dropping me off. “Really?” and she replied in the affirmative. So I got into the car with a stranger that I didn’t pay to transport me. In my world you don’t do that sort of thing because it’s dangerous. Even getting into a lyft or a taxi provokes anxiety within me so trusting a total stranger is antithetical to my normal behavior. My whole weekend was like that. I made conversations with strangers. I stayed in a hostel and socialized in the evenings. Even staying in a hostel is unusual for me.
I looked for “character” and this is what I found. I like it. Photo by Антон Воробьев on Unsplash
Normally I stay in hotels or airbnbs because I enjoy my personal space. I’m highly particular and want to control as many variables as I can. However, due to financial limitations, and also the desire to stay close to town, I slept at a hostel. I’ve heard stories of people making friends with strangers or the magic of connection during travel experiences, but my magical experiences tend to involve thinking I missed my train but the train was running late. I barely ask strangers for directions much less make conversation with them.
It may seem like a small thing, but for me it’s indicative I’m trusting myself and the universe more. I’m starting to view the world as safe and friendly as opposed to scary and antagonistic. It’s for many reasons — the chiropractor I’m seeing, the work I continue to do in therapy — but what stands out to me is the way we experience the world and ourselves can change. How the world appears to us is not stagnant or stale. It’s dynamic and vibrant and we are the same. The title of this post is “out of character” but it’s just as true there are many facets to my personality and perhaps this Rebekah is someone I hadn’t met yet, but she’s been here all along.
My spiritual teacher speaks to this through his words and actions. His first initiate was a dangerous criminal who tried to rob him. That criminal completely turned his life around and became ethical, sincere, and devotional. No one would have predicted that person existed inside that criminal, but he did. And the same is true for all of us. There are internal people we know and internal people we don’t know, but it’s all us. And maybe “out of character” is like the people I met this weekend — strangers that become friends.
I dream of a world where we recognize there is more to us than we think. A world where we understand acting out of character just means a part of us is unfamiliar and unknown. A world where we realize we all have many parts and facets to our personality and perhaps it’s time to say hello.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I interviewed for a job recently that sounded perfect for me. When I told my friends about the position they all laughed because it seemed like such a great fit. It turns out it wasn’t because the company decided not to proceed with my application. It stings and also doesn’t make much sense to me.
I started puzzling out why they didn’t hire me, trying to comprehend their reasoning. My therapist told me, “Some things don’t make sense and sometimes suffering happens.” Ouch. Can that not be true? Thanks. It’s interesting to notice how much I don’t accept this perspective. I want a reason for everything. I want to know why. Why did a man try to run over pedestrians because he thought they were Muslims? Why did someone open fire on a synagogue during a Passover service? Why did a man shoot elementary school students?
This picture will make more sense as you keep reading. Photo by Ardian Lumi on Unsplash
There are lots of possible answers — people are sick, they’re hurting, etc. — but there are many sick and hurting people that don’t kill others. Can I allow myself to instead grieve over the fact I don’t understand why people act this way? My adult self can rationalize ad nauseam, but the young part of me doesn’t understand. Doesn’t understand why a job that seemed so perfect slid away, doesn’t understand why people disappear, and certainly doesn’t understand why people are cruel.
I think part of this is because I prefer to live in denial, or an idealistic fantasy. I mean, I know bad things happen, but I like to rush by them as quickly as I can like walking past foul-smelling garbage. It’s hard for me to accept the harshness of life.
In my spiritual tradition, we say God is an acronym. It stands for Generator, Operator, and Destroyer. I can totally get behind the generator and operator part. I’m all about creation and maintenance. The destroyer though? Surely that’s not God, is it? It is. Black holes are God and death is God and decay is God. It’s painful for me to admit that, I don’t want it to be true, but it’s true nonetheless. This is the cycle of life, a never-ending rhythm of creation, operation, and destruction.
My spiritual teacher says, “An indivisible cosmic rhythm which started from beginningless time marches ahead to infinity. No creature can remain away from this internal divine flow.” He also says that which is beyond the scope of causality is liilá. What we don’t understand, what we can’t explain, is called liilá. I could spend my life trying to figure out things I’ll never have an answer for, or I can give in to the rhythm and join the dance.
I dream of a world where we realize we won’t understand everything. A world where we allow ourselves the time and space to grieve the senseless and the tragic. A world where we understand that, too, is God, and that, too, is a part of life. A world where we keep dancing with the universal rhythm.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
My apartment building is up for sale. Suffice to say, I’m freaking out about it because I’m worried I’ll have to move. To be clear, the building hasn’t been sold yet, there’s no evidence to support my anxiety, but it’s here nonetheless. It’s here because finding a place to live has proved challenging for me. I’ve moved 31 times in 33 years. From 2012 to 2015, I moved on average every three months. Something always forced me out – my landlady’s dog biting me and drawing blood, bad neighbors, an inhospitable landlady, etc. It’s always been something out of my control so my current situation is resurrecting a lot of trauma because this, too, is out of my control.
I spoke with a friend on Friday and she reminded me that even if I bought a house, something could happen like a wildfire or flooding. Those are real scenarios as we’ve all seen. There’s no absolute certainty, no guaranteed safety, and for an anxious person, that’s the last thing I want to contemplate. My friend and my therapist remind me real safety comes from the ability to respond to a situation. To pivot as necessary. Safety means rolling with the punches.
Not my house but I like the mix of something steadfast with a home. Photo by Seth kane on Unsplash.
Right now I’d rather not roll with the punches, thank you very much. Right now I’d like to hide away under the covers and withdraw from the world. I don’t particularly want to write this blogpost either but I am because this is what I do, I write. I also know there are many people who feel similarly – maybe not about housing, but about something else.
Where do I go from here? From here, I fall back on my spiritual practices, where I always go. According to my spiritual philosophy there is an unchanging, absolute, eternal entity. Some people call that entity God or Cosmic Consciousness or Source or the Universe. The name doesn’t matter so much. My meditation is an effort to move ever closer to that unchanging, absolute, eternal entity and then to merge with it. One of the names for this practice in Sanskrit is Iishvara prańidhána. Iishvara means controller of the universe and prańidhána means to adopt something as a shelter. Therefore, Iishvara prańidhána means to adopt the controller of the universe as a shelter. It means to take refuge in the controller of the universe. That sounds academic, I know, but in essence it means to align myself with the divine.
What does that mean about my fear surrounding housing? It means one way to deal with the fear is to put myself in the Cosmic flow, to allow myself to be sheltered by something bigger than me. To accept the protection of my higher power with the nuance that bad things happen and good things happen and through it all I have a permanent, unwavering shelter.
I dream of a world where we take permanent shelter in something bigger than us. A world where we recognize certainty doesn’t come from things staying rigid but rather shoring up our internal strength and resilience to respond to stimuli. A world where we recognize there is an unchanging entity we can attach ourselves to and that’s where real security lies.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I feel vulnerable writing this post because the issue is alive in me. I haven’t moved past it. I can’t tie it up in a neat bow. I’m sharing though because this is the only topic that came to mind to write about, and also I know there are other people who feel the way I do. I’m hopeful my experience will help.
I am deeply unsettled by the murder of Nia Wilson from a few weeks ago. It speaks to one of my worst fears – a random act of violence. (I should mention here police don’t know for sure it was random. It could have been racially motivated but the murderer didn’t say one word to her or her sisters before attacking. Also, women of color experience higher rates of this kind of violence because the consequences are lower.) As for me, instead of viewing strangers as friends I haven’t met yet, I view strangers as people who mean me harm. In public I am constantly on guard. And considering Nia was murdered while at a BART station that I frequent, I’m more fearful than usual.
A sweet picture that I hope conveys my sentiments. Photo by Ravi Roshan on Unsplash
My therapist suggested I acknowledge the fear and remind myself what I can control. I’m in control of my breath, of whether I eat or not. I’m in control of how clean I am, etc. It helps me to think about those things. It also helps to remind myself my perspective is skewed.
This weekend I attended the San Francisco Aerial Arts festival, which was glorious. I went by myself and rode public transportation all the way there and back. Doing so I realized the vast majority of people don’t care about me one way or another. The vast majority are neutral. If I don’t bother them, they won’t bother me. Also at the performance, the sash from my trench coat trailed to the ground and a woman tapped me on the back to tell me so. She demonstrated to me while the vast majority of people are neutral, the remainder of people are good. They want to help. They care about complete strangers and will tell you if you drop something. And then a small minority of people wish me harm. Often it’s not personal and I could easily be swapped out for someone else.
Am I still reeling from the random act of violence? Yes I am. Do I still want to barricade myself in my apartment? Yes I do. And I have to reconcile those feelings with another truth: The world is delightful. People dance on the side of buildings. People sing so well they move me to tears. People paint something that engrosses me for hours. The world is wonderful and terrible. It’s beautiful and hideous. I wish that wasn’t so but it is. All that I can do is what anyone can do, which is continuing to be a good person. To serve others where I can, to stand up for injustice, to sow love instead of hatred, and do my part to leave the world better than when I entered it.
I dream of a world where we remember the world is more good than it is bad. A world where we realize most people are neutral, and those that aren’t are more likely good people than people who want to hurt us. A world where we help others according to our capacity.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Last week my neighbor’s car was broken into while it was parked in our gated lot. Normally when something like that happens, I immediately assume I’m next. Never mind that I don’t have a car, a break-in of some sort is inevitable! It doesn’t even have to be a break-in, it could be getting bit by a spider; if we’re in the same vicinity and something happens to you, I think the same thing will happen to me.
I had an interesting experience the other that showed me this is far from being true. What happens to other people won’t automatically happen to me. Two people can occupy the same physical space and have completely different experiences.
As I rode the bus on Thursday, I looked out the window and noticed the barest glimmer of a rainbow, which I tried to capture on my phone.
It was so hard to capture this rainbow. Sorry you can barely see it. =(
I started texting everyone and my mother, so excited was I about this rainbow, especially when the bus crested a hill and I noticed the rainbow ringed the sun – it wasn’t a vertical rainbow like I normally see, this rainbow arced from one side of the sun to the other.
In contrast, the two women sitting in front of me on the bus didn’t notice a thing. They were caught up in complaining about their health problems and various other troubles. Here I was having a transcendent moment, marveling at the beauty of the world, and in the same physical space, the women in front of me were not. This episode demonstrated to me that sharing physical space is not an indicator I’ll share the same experience. This means my neighbor can get her car window smashed and I can be fine. This means I can be safe even when others are not. This means other people’s realities don’t have to be mine.
I’m not sure I can convey my sense of relief here, but there’s something freeing about coming to recognize what happens to other people won’t necessarily happen to me. That I can occupy the same zip code but not the same reality. I can witness rainbows and butterflies while other people are gabbing on the bus. My life can be different even when we’re sharing the same oxygen and there’s something hopeful and liberating about that.
I dream of a world where we all live in rainbow realities. A world where we understand our realities are different from those around us, even if we’re in the same spot. A world where we recognize we each have our own lives and what’s common may not apply. A world where we witness the rainbows.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I am a firm believer that every repeat experience, every emotional overreaction, comes up so it can be healed and released. Having said that, I am also a slow learner and usually want to change my outside circumstances instead of determining what the internal, personal lesson is. However, the universe is tricky and makes sure I confront my stuff.
Yesterday, I went to water my neighbor’s garden and I noticed her back door was ajar, which it hadn’t been the day before. I immediately assumed the worst. “She must have been broken into! She’s been robbed and ransacked!” I don’t think she was robbed, it doesn’t really make sense that she was considering we’re in a gated community, nobody else reported a burglary, she’s at the back of the property, and somebody would have to know to walk to the back of the house to find a door. Anyway, I don’t know for sure, that answer will be revealed when I speak with her.
I’d like to think that explosions can also be good things, like supernovae creating something new.
The point is I freaked out. As in, inconsolable, shaken, incapable of much rational thought, unable to sleep or calm down. When I dug a little deeper I realized it’s not because I was worried about being broken into myself, but rather because I was having flashbacks. Almost two years ago, some friends of mine were broken into while I was housesitting for them. I was, and am, traumatized by the experience. Walking into a space with the back door ajar, ransacked, books thrown on the floor, drawers pulled out from the dresser, all the lights on, has been burned into my brain. So when I saw my neighbor’s door ajar, I wasn’t seeing her situation, I was reliving one from my past. That, my friends, is called a trigger.
I hadn’t realized I’d carried so much fear with me about the experience two years ago until yesterday. I thought I was over the whole thing but now I understand I’d only buried it. Instead of lamenting the possible break in, I see what’s really happening on my end is that I need to release this junk. I need to let the trauma out of my body and I’m thankful I have the tools like EMDR to do so. That’s the nature of triggers, they precede an explosion, and instead of running away from triggers, it’s far better for me to deal with them as they come up so I am no longer triggered with quite the same severity.
A million years ago a good friend of mine told me every moment of life is a love poem from my creator. I have to believe that also includes the “bad” stuff, the triggers, the hard moments, the things I’d rather push under the rug. My creator loves me so much that circumstances are created such that these things are not allowed to stay hidden. I am so loved my creator instead says, “Hey, Rebekah, you need to look at this.” And so I am.
I dream of a world where we confront our triggers as they come up. A world where we understand every moment is a love poem from our creator. A world where we shine a light on all our dark spots and seek the help we need, in whatever form that may take.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Last night I found out the place I'm subletting starting May 1st is near a dangerous place in Berkeley, replete with drugs, violence, and desperation. As you can imagine, I flipped out. I started contemplating how I could get out of the sublet — perhaps subletting my sublet, if you will. Anxiety had me in its grips all day today as I couldn't stop feeling afraid. In my mind, the danger I could potentially experience was a given, practically a guarantee: "You're going to live near a dicey spot so of course you can expect some bad stuff to go down."
Tonight during my meditation my spiritual teacher came to me in a vision and said, "You could be in the most dangerous place in the world and still be safe." I didn't want to share that tonight, would have preferred to write about how ignorance is NOT bliss, but this issue of safety felt more important.
I feel really safe when I’m in child’s pose.
How often do we cruise through neighborhoods expecting bad things to happen to us? How often do we stay away from places because they're "not safe?" What if safety is not merely an external affair and instead included an internal element as well? What is our safety was not dependent on the outside world alone and was more about our internal world?
I'm not saying to put yourself in front of a firing range and assume you'll escape unscathed because you "feel safe," but maybe there's a relationship with the idea, "When it's your time to go, it's your time to go." Perhaps safety is like that too; when something "bad" is supposed to happen, it will. And maybe I can be safe in the most dangerous of places because there's the divine element I'm not factoring in. I've heard of many stories were people were in dangerous situations and called on angels, Jesus, their guru, etc. and the attackers became dazed and walked away. In fact, that happened to my own brother.
Perhaps instead of assuming I'll be raped, murdered, or mugged because I'm living next to a sketchy park, I can embrace the idea I'm safe anywhere and everywhere because my safety is dependent on owning my power, being in an assertive state, and calling in my divine help as needed. I don't know what I'll do about my sublet situation, but I'd love to really feel I can be safe in dangerous situations, and I have that wish for others.
I dream of a world where we all feel safe all of the time. A world where we trust we'll be taken care of. A world where we ask for divine intervention and then receive in. A world where we feel safe even in the midst of danger.
Another world is not only possible, it's probable.
When people talked to me about their "inner child" I would look at them quizzically. I didn't really know what they meant, possibly because my inner child has been very repressed, but also because now I’m an adult and there's enough distance between who I am now and who I was as a kid to distinguish the two.
It has become clear to me lately I've been letting my inner child run the show. I'm defining my inner child as the voice inside my head that likes to throw tantrums, that says, "NO!" the way only kids — or adults imitating kids — can, the voice that would have me shirk responsibility to play instead, and the voice that's really scared.
Copyright (I think) is Natalia Phenice.
I've realized all (or most, anyway) of my issues about safety stem from my inner child, and with good reason. I know I've been very blasé about this, how I often mention it in passing, but both of my maternal grandparents were Holocaust survivors. Let's have that sink in a bit. My grandpa was in a concentration camp, narrowly escaping death numerous times, often because of someone else's whim. When the Russians liberated his camp, he was so emaciated he could barely stand. My grandma lived in hiding for years. She was in a ghetto and then hid in a farmer's cellar who kicked her out once she had no more money to bribe him with.
My grandparents were attacked and persecuted for being who they were — Jewish. After the war their fears didn't disappear and in fact were passed down. My mom still gets nervous about telling people she's Jewish or that she does yoga and meditation. She has that lingering fear that she will be harmed for just being her. And I? I carry that fear with me too because of my childhood.
I've said this so many times people are probably tired of hearing it, but I grew up someplace where the KKK was active. These people burned crosses in the yards of other Jews. Many of the townsfolk where bigoted and racist, trying to kill the black student that went to our high school. I didn't realize how deeply this affected my psyche, but it did. I was scared to be myself, to let people really know me because I've been afraid they will hurt me. Physically I mean. It's not just the Jewish thing, it's the vegetarian thing too. Kids at school used to tease my brother mercilessly about what he ate — they even threw bologna at him as a "joke."
Notice I've mentioned family members but nothing specifically about me. That's because I was always shielded. Through the grace of God or I don't know what, I have never come to harm for being myself. (OK, so I was bullied a teeny bit in middle school for like two weeks but after one trip to the guidance counselor that was resolved and now we're friends on facebook.) I have never been hurt in that way but my inner child is so scared that I will be. It's gotten so out of control I have trouble sleeping at night. That is, until recently when I realized I've been letting my inner child call the shots.
I've had to tell little Rebekah it's safe to be her. And I've had to remind myself my grandparents were survivors. They survived and even thrived — my grandpa started his own business selling clothes in Manhattan. I'm also a survivor, I'm a thriver, and it's time to employ my logical mind. It's time to be an adult and look at the evidence. Hell, there was a break in and I wasn't home and none of my stuff was taken. I'd call that being pretty darn protected and safe. In the spirit of reparenting my little darling, I gather her up, let her cry, and ask her to remember while the world may look scary, she's safe and I've got her.
I dream of a world where we all take care of our inner children. A world where we reparent our inner kids if necessary. A world where we love and approve of ourselves and a world where we know we are safe, loved, and protected because we are here. We made it.
Another world is not only possible, it's probable.
This dude from the Congo has been emailing me for more than a year saying, “I love you, I kiss you, you my baby angel.” He’s not a scammer, he’s a desperate, mentally ill man who will not get the message to stop contacting me. And I’m pissed. I’m pissed because I have to block him. Pissed that people harass others. Pissed that as a woman I have to deal with this on a frequent basis. Pissed that it makes me feel unsafe.
A friend pointed out she feels unsafe with other women and that men have to deal with this stuff too. I completely agree and absolutely dream of a world where all people feel safe. But for the purposes of this post I’m focusing on women, primarily because there is more often a threat of violence against them. One in four women is sexually assaulted and it occurs every two minutes in the U.S., according to RAINN. I haven’t seen that same statistic for men. People, this is wrong. We do not have to accept this as a point of fact.
I dream of a world where all people feel safe.
What also has me up in arms is this column about how some creepy dudes are allowed to continuously make unwelcome advances on their female friends because the men in their circles are not admonishing the dude for his behavior. His behavior so often gets excused because he is a “nice guy.” Being “nice” should not give anyone anywhere a free pass. If the Dalai Lama punches someone in the face there should be consequences. We cannot say, “It’s the Dalai Lama so it’s OK!” We cannot allow anyone anywhere to inflict harm on others through thought, word, or deed, except in certain circumstances. And believe me, the weirdo who continues to email me saying he’s coming to the U.S. and plans to marry me is harming me with his words.
It’s not enough that I as a woman say he has to stop. There needs to be peer pressure from men too. The only way any of this behavior will change is if we get both genders involved. Otherwise, feminists will still get portrayed as man-hating, bra burners who think women should be treated better than men. We see this all the time in the media as straw feminists. For the record, that’s inaccurate. As a feminist, it means I believe people should be treated equally, not the world should be man free.
I know this post is ranty but that’s because I’m filled with righteous indignation. And even though things are not moving NEARLY as quickly as I would like, I’m heartened by other recent events. One, that a male comedian drove home the point of why rape jokes aren’t funny after the Daniel Tosh incident. Two, that on Friday night I ran into a guy I’ve seen around my recovery meeting place but never actually met. He walked me all the way home and didn’t ask for my number or do anything but be an absolute gentleman. He respected my boundaries 100%. I’m also heartened by you, my male readers and friends because you know how to treat women with respect. You remind me, in my life at least, the good men outweigh the jerks. You remind me that for every perv who thinks women need to be “worn down” and “persuaded” to date them, there are at least three who understand, “No” means “No.”
I dream of a world where men and women can walk around at any time of day or night and feel safe. A world where men and women are treated equally. A world where peer pressure is enacted to keep everyone in line and there’s a clear sense of what’s acceptable and what’s not. A world where all people are respected. A world where we treat others the way we’d like to be treated. A world where we understand equality begins with we.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.