Stumbling upon a time...

If I owned a cool smart phone with a European Sim card I could update my location elephant by elephant. Yes, there’s a parade of painted elephants placed all over this town as a way to raise money for conservation efforts in Asia. The creativity of the Danish artists astounds me so while I have found the traditional tourist sites, these little guys are the greatest attraction…and just one of the things I stumbled upon during my time in Copenhagen, Denmark.

Traveling by myself can be lonely especially as I come across sites or experiences that I know my people would appreciate. But it also has its perks, the greatest being getting lost and stumbling. With a flexible spirit I tour by foot, going in and out of streets sometimes with purpose and sometimes out of unknowing. That’s how I found a grocery store just before my low blood sugar knocked me out.

On my first day I discovered a wonderful garden area. As I would have said in my younger, speech-impaired days, “That’s a nice pawk." The sky had flooded the city two days before my arrival so the King’s Garden with floral arches and small ponds had overflowed into the grassy lawn. But the stillness of that moment in time gave me an opportunity to capture a new kind of photograph for me, a reflection. Today, after returning to eat my picnic, I walked along the outer path where there happened to be a puppet theatre. Children and grandmas had gathered to watch the performance scheduled just 10 minutes later. So I snagged a seat by a small child and reveled in the simple but beautiful story about a girl on a bike tour who has to deliver goods to multiple people. It was certainly a highlight.

As was the prayer services I attended at 3pm the last two days. The Helligaands Church hosts summer prayer services starting yesterday and thru August so I was one of a handful of guinea pigs on the first days. In the short 15 minutes we sang Taize songs, prayed and heard scripture, all of which spoke directly to me. Today the service included a special English piece sung by an opera singer and accompanied by their huge organ. Angelic.

I stumbled upon a very aesthetically pleasing café with walls lined with old books, delicious Chai tea and free Internet. Along with the Little Mermaid that attracts tourists like the Mona Lisa (with a similar overrating exhibit in my opinion), a mock mermaid stands just a little bit further down the path. While the famous one is Disney rated, the other one would be better for South Park. I found places with free toilets instead of paying $1 to pee. And if you want to make a quicker get around the city, one can rent a bike for $4. The best part is that once I insert the key to lock the bike up again, I get my money back. And the bike can be returned at any of the 30 locations in town.

I leave tomorrow for Oslo, but I will miss my stumbling moments in Copenhagen. With each moment, I feel like I’m opening a new children’s book, ready to finish the opening line, “Once upon a time…”

no broken bones

When I was 11 years old remember distinctly wishing to break a leg. To break it for one day. I wanted to experience the pain, the crutches, the extra “get better soon” popsicles and ice cream and the test of maneuvering through school. As I had only had stitches once and no other major hospital visits, I desired the extreme. The extreme of senses and pain, emotion, challenge and in all honesty, attention. Now as a wise old woman (ha!) I realize everyday how lucky I am to be whole, at least with two unbroken legs.

Yet, as a wise old woman I still have childish fancies. I seek extremes in different areas of life. And like that of a broken leg, the extremes are those I’ve seen or heard about happening to other people. When I went to Africa, I so appreciated visiting the village and kind of wanted to stay there overnight. Never before had I been in a place or position of such humility and poverty. When my friend worked as a “sound gal” for a Tony Award winning Broadway musical, I wanted to experience the adrenaline rush of tech rehearsal, post show excitement and drinks, and the feeling of pure genius. And when my closest friends and family are sick or sad in a way that I can’t do anything but stand by, I instead want to feel the extremes of their pain and sorrow, if nothing else but to empathize with experiential clarity.

This thought process is probably the most unproductive wishing though, because not only would my life be completely altered by these circumstances, and not for just one day, but my role as I am meant to play (and am playing) would be lost. What good is a crippled friend to another crippled friend if they need to get somewhere? What good is another tech person when the show needs an amazed audience member? What good is extra heartache in comparison to the dry and waiting shoulder?

This life has offered me a great many opportunities to live out extremes of emotion, senses, excitement, desire, fear, and hope. I’m utterly grateful for these experiences and the ability to embrace them in their proper time. So as the weeks move beyond days of celebrations, heartache, suspension, limbo and the extremes that others knew, I’m praying that I can content myself with my wholeness as is. May I better grasp how that wholeness is a gift to connect me to others instead of the sign of empty empathy.

Questions

The past couple weeks have taught me a fair amount about questions. We’re all meant to know how to ask them, who to ask, how to ask, and certainly how to write that weird backwards S with a dot at the end of a question sentence. So why then is all of these tasks (save the last) so difficult to really answer?

Innocence?
A conversation I had today with a 5-year old I babysit ignited this train of thought. As we were getting her brothers ready to play in water outback, she asked about swimsuits. “Why do boys only wear shorts and girls wear a swimsuit that covers everything?” Oh the birds and the bees-do I get paid extra for this? ☺ I explained in 5-year old terms the reason and on we merrily went, happily running through the water in a moment’s time. Oh to have her innocence that frees to ask about any and all curiosities. That’s what I miss.

Vulnerability?
One thing that keeps me from asking good questions is the fear of being vulnerable. Oh the assumptions one could make from my question. Oh the inner-character I’m revealing from this inquiry. Oh, the possibility of rejection. Telling it straight is a fine art especially when it comes to relationships. Somehow expressing those thoughts and questions seems as difficult as climbing Mt. Everest, but rarely is anyone that cold to warrant such a fear.

Ignorance?
Sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know. I took a friend to small claims court last week and despite the frustration of the reason for being there, I tried to stay calm when talking to the clerk. But for the majority of us who never have to file a small claim with the County Clerk for such was the case with me, this “talking” us really a lot of staring, searching the clerk’s eyes for any hint of help. What do I need to know? How does this process work? Am I making a good decision? Have I crossed all my T’s and dotted the I’s? I thought of every conceivable question I could and my friend, a refugee from Africa, certainly had no better idea than me.

Insecurity?
Who am I to be here, doing this, with them? I don’t want other people to think I’m stupid, uncultured, or naïve. Early last fall I began work as a stagehand. I handled equipment that was both expensive and unique, making it all-around very valuable. At points I was assigned to do tasks that boggled my mind. You want me to do what, how, where, why? And those questions, though elementary, might have reduced risk of injury and a blown circuit. Yet, among my colleagues, whom I assumed were wise and rolling their eyes at incompetent rookies, I clammed up. I just watched with extra diligence and worked slowly (this is a common trait for rookies seen a mile away). But now, as a seasoned rookie, but very much still a rookie, I learned that part of what make my colleagues wise are their questions and mine to them. We keep each other sharp.

So I offer up a few general questions to contemplate. What question needs to be asked? What keeps you from asking? What can you do to overcome that obstacle?
If you were an animal, what would it be? (Not a general question, but fun don’t you think?)