Once again, I report my special moments at the storytelling festival. There were some funny ones and some hard ones, all unexpected as many great stories are. I even was able to tell a story to an audience of about 60 people. I told a story I wrote about my experiences with my grandpa who died before I was born. It is a story of learning to process and use perspective when reconciling positive and negative information about people you don't know all that well. It was powerful. I made at least 3 people cry. I guess I'll be a good therapist after all... :)
The best moment, however went like this:
I had been following Carmen Agra Deedy around for most of the day, walking from tent to tent, wherever she was performing. She's a favorite and always has been, but something was extra special this time. I was drawn to her, not only from her stories and skill, but something about her and the way she walked off stage said, "Jill, she's one of your people!"
Several of her stories from the day echoed something her spicy Cuban mother, Ester would always say, "If dju don't ask, dju don't get!" and I began thinking of things I didn't and don't ask for, and don't get, even when I need it very badly. I did a little check in with my heart to see what it needed for the day, so I could make sure it got a chance to ask during this favorite time of the year, the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival.
You see, I often speak of the great divide between my head and my heart, especially in social situations. I have even given my head and heart separate identities, because it feels that way. My heart cry for connection is one that sings poetically to the other hearts around me. And it sings most often through my writing, I mean, read that last sentence, seriously (says the other identity, my analyzing brain).
There are not many, though I am sure that there are more than I think, who hear my heart's voice and feel comfortable with it and even talk back. There are only certain times, places, and people that are safe for my heart's voice. I know this because I have suffered the consequences of choosing the wrong place, time, and/or person to sing to. I have been sorely set aside and acutely misunderstood before from that heart's voice.
But, my heart has also suffered from not having its say. Like Ester always said, "dju don't ask, dju don't get." So, my heart has become quite attuned to finding the right people, places, and times by working with my heart and head together (though it mostly feels like bickering rather than working together at times). Both parts acknowledge the others' importance and try to help each other out most of the time now. It has taken quite the road to get my head and heart to stop trying to kill each other, let alone help each other out. Throughout the story, the silent conversations between my head and heart are demonstrated in red.
So, back to the story, my heart focused on Carmen Deedy. I knew I could connect to her. The Storytelling Festival is a good place for me to find my people. The right timing and places to connect are a little harder to work around at the festival. So, what did my heart want to get? Well it wanted to sit down and chat and talk about lots of different things of the heart and stories of how Carmen has heard her stories have affected others.
My head chimed in, "She doesn't have time for a chat like that with you, though. There are thousands of people who would like that. You can want that, but you can't ask for that. Think of something else more logical with our time constraints that you could ask for."
"Fine. Then I want an 8 second hug from Carmen Agra Deedy. There is enough time for that." my heart replied.
"You weirdo," my head chuckled. "Okay, well, I agree, she might understand a heart request like that, but the thirty people standing around her waiting for their turn to talk to her after her performance may not understand such a request. We don't want them to hear you ask for an eight second hug. So you'll have to be last in line to talk to her. Or maybe, could you just settle on a quick hug and telling her you are grateful for her work?"
"No," said my heart. "eight seconds. Nothing else will say it right. Nothing else will help me hear it right. I know what I need. I need eight seconds. Besides, could you see me saying some silly cliche fan club speech? That would be so sickening to me, I might vomit from the fakeness. If I can't chat, I want eight seconds of a hug."
"Okay, but just in case she doesn't have 8 seconds for a hug, what will you do then?" My head said, planning for all the ways it could go wrong.
"Relax. She is my people. When she hears my heart, she will make eight seconds for a hug if she didn't have them in the first place." My heart felt confident.
So I hid behind a tent pole after she finished her story, and I waited to catch her as the line got shorter to meet her. But, the line never died, there were always a couple people waiting. They just kept popping up as people noticed the line was small to shake her hand or mention a connection to her story or ask her to sign their program. She began to walk away, with a couple people still following behind her. She caught my face, excused herself momentarily from the group waiting to talk to her and came over to me. "Hi," she said, "We need to chat don't we?"
"SHE IS MY PEOPLE!" My heart soared.
"I can't talk with you right now, but did you need something before I go? If you want to talk later, catch me before I leave." Carmen was giving me her full attention, despite needing to go elsewhere with other people.
"I was just going to ask you for an eight second hug." I said.
My head was panicking. "What?! You actually said it. Eight seconds? What does that even mean? Quick, why eight seconds. What is the reasoning there?"
My heart explained the best it could through analogy - the only way they can communicate effectively with each other. "Well, I need eight seconds because sometimes broken hearts in the process of mending get wrapped up in bandages, and I just feel like eight seconds is the appropriate amount of time it takes to unwrap it so it can be touched and healed a bit more."
My head accepted that picture logically. "Ok. That makes sense, but we cannot tell her that! We don't know her well enough to tell her we've been wounded. Quick! Think of a joke or witty comment about it so that you have something acceptable to say if she asks why eight seconds!"
"Relax," said my heart. "Look at her. She is my people - She already knows we are wounded!"
"But-" started my head, but it was interrupted.
Without a moments hesitation of flicker of a question, Carmen threw her arms around me. She whispered softly in my right ear, "One one thousand, two one thousand..."
"See!" Said my heart, beaming. "Told you so!"
"...Three one thousand, four one thousand..."
"Yeah," replied my head, not quite believing it. "but what if eight isn't enough. We always underestimate what you really need from others."
"...Five one thousand, six one thousand..."
"Then she will know. She is my people. Don't you feel it?" my heart reassured my head.
"...Seven one thousand, eight one thousand... Nine one thousand!" Carmen said with excitement.
Tears welled up in my eyes as the last bit of bandage was unwrapped and she touched my heart softly. And it felt really good! She grabbed my face in her hands. We were almost nose to nose looking into each other's eyes. I was shocked. Nine one thousand still echoing in my whole body. "So," I said softly, "Sometimes, I guess, if you don't ask,..."
Carmen finished my sentence with a huge smile as she shook her head with emphasis, "... YOU GET!" She kissed my cheek and said if I needed to talk with her, I could find her.
I was not able to find her later. I would have LOVED that. But I certainly got what I needed most, which was more than I asked for. I guess sometimes Grace lets our heart song mingle with another, and when there is a harmony of grace going on between two people, you needn't ask to get precisely what you really need most - To know that you are worth Nine one thousand to someone when you weren't sure you were even worth eight.
I want to grow up to be a Nine One Thousand Giver. And as I thought this, my mind held hands with my heart. My heart had the power, and my brain took off with it, making plans for all the ways I could be a little better one of my people for someone else. Maybe we were all meant to be THAT kind of people.
