If you are living, and I am gone---then please feel free to put "Passion for Change" on my memorial service program. I love these words. Passion. For. Change. I first heard them a couple weeks ago. In my inbox. An invitation from Guinevere Stevenson...a talented new film director...and so...
Last Saturday night, the eve of Easter---I had the huge, crazy privilege of seeing, for the first time, a first-cut release private screening of "Passion for Change", a documentary about five national delegates to the 2008 Democratic National Convention. And one of them is me. There we were, tucked in the backroom of the most delicious, surprising Vincenzio's Italian Bakery. Eyes lifted. Hearts remembering. Tears flowing. While the Sicilian singer passionately serenaded diners in the next room we were awash in the screenglow. Mesmerized by the energy, the spirit, the hopefulness, the conviction, the action, the showing up, the jumping up, the dancing, the stepping in, the believing that we shared in this journey---all captured forever on film. There it was. My passion, larger than life. My passion, exposed. My passion, radiating from the screen.
There's always a risk when you show up, isn't there? When you truly put yourself out there. It's a vulnerability---much like what Brene Brown points to in her totally-hit-the-mark TED talk on "Vulnerability". When I said yes to being the film subject of this documentary---to have crew following me right into my home, my refrigerator and kitchen, I knew there was a risk. I knew I was letting go of control and opening myself to impact. I did it by choice. I believe it is what we are here for. To risk showing up. 100%. Every day. And truly step in with our whole being.
As I watched myself on screen----I saw me. Authentic and true. Even talking with my hands with a big chef's knife waving. Surrounded by family love. Eating sandwiches. Sharing beliefs together. Risking living and loving so the whole world can see...and be a better place. It's an honor to risk oneself fully. Many of us never accept this honor. I choose to risk my significance...and I'm absolutely convinced that it has made all the difference. It's like the wisdom of David Whyte. He said, "If you feel both fear and excitement, great! That means its your own life you're living...and not someone else's." It's an exhilarating mix...and I believe, the ride of a life worth living.
A dedication. I learned this at the feet of my Mom and Dad. Their passion (they wouldn't use this word----they're Norwegian Lutherans, afterall) for showing up and making the world a better place inspires me. One bunny cake at a time. One Habitat home at a time. One volunteering with the "sweet old people" day at a time. One mentored adolescent at time. One "Spit and Shine" day at your church at a time. One "Meals on Wheels" delivery at a time. One heart at a time. I dedicate this to you, Mom and Dad. Without your quiet, selfless example (which continues to this day) I wouldn't know my passion. My fire. My joy.
p.s. Speaking of joy, and since this is my Red Lips Red Boots blog, afterall---I invite you to hold the vision of this film being accepted by Cannes----and me, passionately attending with Guinivere and crew!
Monday, April 25, 2011
Monday, April 4, 2011
Female Nomad in Red Boots
The world reflects us to us. If we look and see. Several years ago people were reading, Tales of a Female Nomad by Rita Golden Gelman...and saying, "Lynn---this makes me think of YOU!" Intrigued, I read it, and could see why! Well, not the divorce part. But the out-there, open, curious, adventuring woman part---oh yeah baby!
At 13, I took my first steps over the Mexican border in Tijuana. Eyes Wide Open. A suburban Minnesota girl seeing beyond my imagining. Bartering for a leather fringed jacket. I was torn even then--was it good to barter (save money) or bad to barter (these people clearly needed the money)?
At 13, I heard a Japanese foreign exchange student speak. To this day, I can remember the warm afternoon in our sunny, junior high cafeteria. I went home and wrote in my diary, "I'll be a foreign exchange student one day!"
At 16, I saved my waitressing tips from The Crosstown Kitchen, the Scandinavian cafe where we served lutefisk and lefse in our white dresses and shoes. These tips funded a 6 week trip with fellow students to Austria, Germany, and even a whiff of Switzerland, Lichtenstein and France! I was the youngest traveler. And I was bit. Truly bit by the adventure travel bug. Bit by the clear knowing that it is in connecting that we find ourselves. I had connections with gasthof proprietors. Bus drivers. Soldiers. Boys. Single mothers. Trees. It is in these reflections of culture and humanity, by likeness or contrast, that we see who we are. In community, we become more of who we are.
At 17, I applied to be an AFS Foreign Exchange Student. In those days, you didn't pick your country. You were saying yes to anywhere in the world. Which suited me just fine. I pictured the depths of Africa. I was chosen and sent to Tasmania, Australia. And blossomed. And struggled. And communicated. And connected---over cups of tea & bottles of rum. Legs of lamb and mixed grill on the barbie. Over hundreds of kitchen tables. I joined in. Joined up. Joined the conversation. Joined a family for a year...and for forever. It's really profound now, as I pause and write. As a 17 year old, you're almost by definition, self-centered. (I certainly was--even tho global questions had already begun to burn in me.) Now, I realize what a wildly generous act this was for my host family... to fling open their doors and invite me, a stranger, in! Risking...and receiving. Last night they were in my dreams.
At 21, I accepted the job of my dreams. But first, I turned my '67 Chevy Malibu south for an inland Mexican odyssey...of course! Who knew when I'd be free to travel again?? Brass ring, grabbed!
At 24, it was Korea. To follow and check out my love. It landed and lasted. Ben and I just celebrated 31 years!
Honk Kong. Singapore. Japan. Thailand. Cambodia. China. Tibet. Morocco. Senegal. France.
At 55, Italy. Leadership on a rooftop. It was there, in Rome, that Alberto (my colleague) and I created and fired up up the "International Cooking Game." We flung out the invitation to get curious and experiment with strangers...through food, joy and play! Potatoes met fish met apples met chocolate met beans met olive oil.
At 56, I have just finished reading Female Nomad and Friends ~ Tales of Breaking Free and Breaking Bread Around the World. Real women's stories, compiled by Gelman. In these pages, I see my reflection. And so, it was last night---over my kitchen table that I pulled out this book, to share this passage by Melanie Ehler from a chapter entitled, Soul Food. "Some hunger can be satisfied with food, but there is also another more intimate type of hunger that can only be appeased by kindness."
I'd intended to just read the quote. But there I was, reading the short story aloud. It was about fried chicken---and compassion. It took about 5 minutes. Tears flowed, making it almost impossible to read. Tears that told me without a shadow of a doubt that I was right where I belonged. Looking at my true reflection. A life of curiosity, kindness, adventure, joy, gratitude and deep, deep connection.
Postscript
AFS still exists. It's a powerful organization uniting young people with host families globally. It was founded by WWII ambulance drivers---who experienced connection on the battlefield, regardless of country or politics. There, they were people saving people...and ideas of "enemy" slipped away. And so, they sought to create these human to human connections, very intentionally. One student and one family at a time. This is the enduring motto: "Walk together, talk together, all ye peoples of the lands. Then and only then shall ye have peace."
At 13, I took my first steps over the Mexican border in Tijuana. Eyes Wide Open. A suburban Minnesota girl seeing beyond my imagining. Bartering for a leather fringed jacket. I was torn even then--was it good to barter (save money) or bad to barter (these people clearly needed the money)?
At 13, I heard a Japanese foreign exchange student speak. To this day, I can remember the warm afternoon in our sunny, junior high cafeteria. I went home and wrote in my diary, "I'll be a foreign exchange student one day!"
At 16, I saved my waitressing tips from The Crosstown Kitchen, the Scandinavian cafe where we served lutefisk and lefse in our white dresses and shoes. These tips funded a 6 week trip with fellow students to Austria, Germany, and even a whiff of Switzerland, Lichtenstein and France! I was the youngest traveler. And I was bit. Truly bit by the adventure travel bug. Bit by the clear knowing that it is in connecting that we find ourselves. I had connections with gasthof proprietors. Bus drivers. Soldiers. Boys. Single mothers. Trees. It is in these reflections of culture and humanity, by likeness or contrast, that we see who we are. In community, we become more of who we are.
At 17, I applied to be an AFS Foreign Exchange Student. In those days, you didn't pick your country. You were saying yes to anywhere in the world. Which suited me just fine. I pictured the depths of Africa. I was chosen and sent to Tasmania, Australia. And blossomed. And struggled. And communicated. And connected---over cups of tea & bottles of rum. Legs of lamb and mixed grill on the barbie. Over hundreds of kitchen tables. I joined in. Joined up. Joined the conversation. Joined a family for a year...and for forever. It's really profound now, as I pause and write. As a 17 year old, you're almost by definition, self-centered. (I certainly was--even tho global questions had already begun to burn in me.) Now, I realize what a wildly generous act this was for my host family... to fling open their doors and invite me, a stranger, in! Risking...and receiving. Last night they were in my dreams.
At 21, I accepted the job of my dreams. But first, I turned my '67 Chevy Malibu south for an inland Mexican odyssey...of course! Who knew when I'd be free to travel again?? Brass ring, grabbed!
At 24, it was Korea. To follow and check out my love. It landed and lasted. Ben and I just celebrated 31 years!
Honk Kong. Singapore. Japan. Thailand. Cambodia. China. Tibet. Morocco. Senegal. France.
At 55, Italy. Leadership on a rooftop. It was there, in Rome, that Alberto (my colleague) and I created and fired up up the "International Cooking Game." We flung out the invitation to get curious and experiment with strangers...through food, joy and play! Potatoes met fish met apples met chocolate met beans met olive oil.
At 56, I have just finished reading Female Nomad and Friends ~ Tales of Breaking Free and Breaking Bread Around the World. Real women's stories, compiled by Gelman. In these pages, I see my reflection. And so, it was last night---over my kitchen table that I pulled out this book, to share this passage by Melanie Ehler from a chapter entitled, Soul Food. "Some hunger can be satisfied with food, but there is also another more intimate type of hunger that can only be appeased by kindness."
I'd intended to just read the quote. But there I was, reading the short story aloud. It was about fried chicken---and compassion. It took about 5 minutes. Tears flowed, making it almost impossible to read. Tears that told me without a shadow of a doubt that I was right where I belonged. Looking at my true reflection. A life of curiosity, kindness, adventure, joy, gratitude and deep, deep connection.
Postscript
AFS still exists. It's a powerful organization uniting young people with host families globally. It was founded by WWII ambulance drivers---who experienced connection on the battlefield, regardless of country or politics. There, they were people saving people...and ideas of "enemy" slipped away. And so, they sought to create these human to human connections, very intentionally. One student and one family at a time. This is the enduring motto: "Walk together, talk together, all ye peoples of the lands. Then and only then shall ye have peace."
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