Stretching

The sentence, "who do you think you are," rings loud in my ear...

Note: Sue’s piece today (shared from her excellent “Ring Around the Basin” newsletter) is a response to “Stretch,” the most recent creative prompt from Fran Gardner. This is exactly what I hoped to see from Fran’s prompts. Sue has taken the initial inspiration and let it run free, pulling whatever it will from her mind and memory. I’m so pleased to be able to share it… TM

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Lately, when I lie flat in bed and try to stretch, my body stiffens and muscles spasm. This sensation first happened to me years ago in the recovery room after knee replacement surgery. The nurse seemed shocked as if she'd never seen a patient react to the invasion that had occurred. There was a long gash in my leg. Its heft had increased ten-fold, laying there stiff and inert as if drained of its vitality. Each time I moved, my entire body raged with pins and needles, as if my spirit struggled to escape the insult upon my flesh. It would take years to relearn how to relax after a good stretch. The residue of that experience remains. My attempts to stretch physical abilities have waned under the weight of bionic parts that serve a purpose, but not the will. Thus, I've given up on trying to reach that hilltop a mile away from my house and now focus on intellectual stretches.

Photo by Zoltan Tasi on Unsplash

That's not as easy as feeling my body expand in every direction as I rise from my chair. Instead, there is discipline to achieve a goal. Mastering a complicated skill, such as playing an instrument, requires daily attention to the process, while controlling frustration when I forget a piece of what I learned the previous day. There is a small not-so-still voice yammering on about how I can't do this. I'm not smart enough or physically capable. No one in our family does this, so why am I trying so hard. Who do you think you are?

That last part carries-over from a family dynamic that still follows me around despite the fact those who said that are deceased. Any time I struggle with a task, I can almost see their faces, hear their derisive laughter. You don't need to do that. Why make life so hard for yourself?

You would think parents would love to see their children succeed, but some parents either dismiss that success by pressing for a better outcome or they lay a guilt trip about stepping over some invisible line into taboo territory. It's an odd reaction where families hold their members hostage to belief systems and customs that were perhaps appropriate for their generation, but are probably more of an excuse for their own failure to exceed expectations. Envy is often expressed in spiteful put-downs and anger rather than a pat on the back for advancing the family's status.

The sentence, who do you think you are, rings loud in my ear. Both of my parents endured deep poverty during their Depression-era childhoods. I often heard my mother say that after I had expressed a desire to pursue a certain goal. There were many goals in those early days when I was testing my interests to see how I could make a living with those activities. I usually discovered a lack of discipline, talent, or persistence created stumbling blocks. I failed in just about everything. When I did succeed, praise for that was quiet and cautious. My mother had a deep fear of showing pride. It's one of the Deadly Sins, after all.

My cousins followed paths that led them to success in business or the arts. They were praised for their renown in the community, but there was also the expectation they would adhere strongly to the confines of their religion. As long as their works didn't step outside the boundaries of their culture, and didn't inspire pride and greed, they were the stars of the family.

I was that one child, however, who dared try something beyond my class level or the desires of my mother. Mom wanted me to be the church pianist or maybe even the organist. I wanted to be in a rock band. While a musical career was not in my particular deck of cards, anything outside of church music or the "standards" was not acceptable.

My grand leap of faith came when I moved from my home town to California. I felt it was okay because my cousins had all fled to the Bay Area for work and made successful lives for themselves. Why was that out of the question for me? Of course, it was a stretch. A mighty one. If I failed, well… it served me right for venturing beyond my family's level of success. But I succeeded. I established a home and family that my parents couldn't imagine.

It surprised and, at some level, troubled them to believe I'd actually pulled it off. I started a small typing business that fed me for a few months while I explored further possibilities. I had a lot to learn, and the stretch into a business venture taught me lessons about the need to "sell myself as a business owner." It meant making myself visible to potential customers. Visibility was tantamount to pride. Once again, who do you think you are? Our family doesn't do that! We're working class people.

That's when stretching becomes a rebellious act. It was necessary for my soul as well as my economic well-being. I pushed myself out there, advertising in local outlets, taking jobs I barely knew how to do. Each one taught me more lessons, more skills, more about my personality and what I wanted in life. My small voice nagged me every day about keeping in my proper place. As an elder, I've finally been able to silence that little voice … most of the time.

Failure to stretch and explore wild and crazy ideas is not a boulder in the middle of the road. It's a stepping-stone. The learning gleaned from each experience builds understanding that remains in the muscle memory. Now that half my body grumbles when I exert physical energy, I concentrate on honing those old pastimes that were so difficult then. No matter what things I have to surrender, there are still lots of areas where I can stretch.

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You can read more from Sue Cauhape on her page, “Ring Around the Basin”:

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