The First “Hurrah?”

Well, today I get the Grand Shipley Send-off. Although this treatment may be completely in the school’s character, it is not at all what I expect. Surprise! Teaching 4th and 5th graders at the school where I taught 19 years is heavenly. I don’t remember students ever hanging on my every word as these dear folks do. Adventure? Hike? Excursion? Jaunt? Trip? Voyage? Pilgrimage? — a walking story captures the imagination and can fit any curriculum from “Westward ho!” (even though I’m heading east) to the Greek Odyssey. And then comes the all-school people-path from Lower to Upper campus to wish me well; the street is lined on both sides first with lower schoolers shouting “Ultreya” and waving their “Buen Camino” signs, then middle schoolers holding out their hands for high fives, then the upper school cheering me on, then filling in behind me to accompany me to Upper School. What a high! Now I really have to get to Boston. Although addressing a huge crowd on the Shipley Quad and giving an impromptu speech are not my forte, a gentle rain shortens its length. Could this be a Nathaniel meteorological intervention in light of my anxiety? Courage and grace can make anything possible. As if this isn’t enough, I am then presented with extraordinarily generous contributions to support the IOCD Foundation from students and staff. Thank you, dear Shipley Community. You’re the bomb! My steps in the afternoon, as two friends and I head toward Bala Cynwyd, are definitely lighter. I ride on the wings of this morning’s “Buen Camino.” See more photos on the Shipley Website.

“The Circle of Life”

Melissa’s sweet voice and Fred’s heartfelt piano accompaniment of this Lion King piece play in my head as I walk today. What an amazing “Singing Us Forward” Concert last Saturday night, thanks to the hard work and artistic talents of Kim & Hilary, the founders of the event. But why does this song linger? I get it! Yesterday I walked past where Nathaniel took his own life, and today, I stop at The Birth Center in Bryn Mawr where he majestically entered it. Between those two geographical points, I walk by an enormous cemetery on Rt. 320 as well as countless Christian churches persistently advertising the resurrection. And I’m surrounded by the vibrant bursting of spring. There is no holding it back. The circle of life is not about a straight horizontal line between birth and death, and there is so much we do not understand about our passage here. At the Birth Center, I learn that Nathaniel was baby number 820, and now the number of births is in the 8000s.  There is no stopping life, is there? It was here on August 21, 1986 that I witnessed for the first time a real miracle. And 24 years later, Nathaniel chose to end it. How do we accurately measure the quality of life? In the number of years lived? In accomplishments attained? In goods acquired? Or is there a different measuring tool used, what I would like to call the “Positive Impact on People Factor”? If the latter, then our dear young man died very old and very wise.

Beginnings can be both exciting and daunting. I just need to start, but Boston feels rather far away today. Nevertheless, I walk out the front door like a big boy—there goes step number 1. A cool sunny day bids me welcome. I turn the GPS on, check the phone, close all the flaps on the backpack, tug on tangling strings and straps, zip the pockets close, say goodbye to Judy and Carrie, and then take several more steps forward. Now I’m officially off. It feels somewhat like Spain, but where are the yellow Camino arrows pointing out the path? I just see the Mack trucks barreling down Creek Road to greet me in their own special way. Inwardly, I hear my brother Robert’s warning words, “Be safe!” My friend Alan and I navigate the twists and turns of this country road brilliantly, enjoying Nature in all of its wonders, except for the one turn we overlook, a mistake that takes us to Media by Route 1 (yes, the very one from Maine to Florida). Ugh! What’s an extra mile when you’ve got 8 to go before lunch? Carrie catches up with us effortlessly on her morning jog, joins us for awhile, and then leaves us in the dust. Definitely not a pace I can do! But I’m adjusting. Beginnings are all about taking these first steps with courage and getting used to a new reality. And I slowly am. So when Day 1 ends, I can proudly say that the mileage from Cheyney to Boston has just gone down by 12.

Off to school we happily go…

Apparently Grandma Jean, Judy’s mom, used to sing these words while banging out a lively steppin’ tune on the piano to urge young Judy to happily go to school. Unfortunately, Jean’s not playing her part this morning as my anxiety grows. A conflict in schedules requires that I go to Goshen Friends today and Westtown tomorrow. However, both school appointments make me slightly anxious. Am I ready for this? Did I do my homework thoroughly? Am I dressed correctly for the occasion? What if…? Even in my 60s, the old school anxieties quickly resurface. Luckily the 6-mile walk to Goshen Friends gives me plenty of time to literally ground myself with each step I take. Arriving at the lower playground, I wonder why I even bothered to worry in the first place. Young smiling faces of 4th and 5th graders enthusiastically greet me. They listen carefully to everything I say about journeys, labyrinths, pilgrimages, Nathaniel, and my project. Their curiosity is contagious. As I unpack my backpack (finally carried one today for show ‘n tell), they just want to know. At what age does that raw exuberance to know lessen or even disappear? I hug three of Nathaniel’s former elementary teachers. There is a timeless quality about these dedicated women educators. “Teaching must definitely keep you young,” I think. “No wonder I’ve aged in the past three years since retirement.” But today, I get to feel both like a child and a teacher again. Yea! Goshen Friends remains the oasis it was when Nathaniel was there, an intimate, caring, nurturing learning environment where you still get to happily go to school, with or without musical accompaniment!

Three benches share a single purpose

During my visit to Westtown today, I unexpectedly focus on three benches: one outside the Middle School Principal’s Office, another next to the Head of School’s Office, and a third inside the Westtown Meeting House. I decide to dedicate some sitting time in all three. Let me assure you that I’m not here for any disciplinary reason, thank god, but completely of my own accord. Nathaniel so feared “The Bench” that he would probably cringe in horror imagining this activity. I confess since we shared in common that anxiety, we spent minimal time on the bench for infractions requiring higher interventions. However I have certainly done my fair share of sitting on the bench in Meetings for Worship. As I compare these three antique pieces of furniture for appearance, size and level of comfort, I realize that they actually serve a common purpose: to pull us momentarily out of imbalances in life in order to have space to recalibrate. Where would we be without those occasional tune-ups? Time out becomes tonic for the soul that has temporarily strayed from its usual state of grace. A few minutes of reflection always work wonders, provided it happens before the principal sees you or Meeting comes to an end.

 Either/or ?  Both/and ?

Today I walk out of my front door and head to West Chester on a 15-mile round trip adventure full of contradictions. It’s sunny, then cloudy and then sunny once again. I’m warm inside my fleece as I walk against the cold wind. The menu of stops includes both happy places (i.e. Good Fellowship Ambulance Company and The Athlete’s Closet) and others much less so (Chester County Hospital/ER & sick-child visits at the doctor’s office). But am I being too Cartesian in my observations of these opposites? Were there times at these places when Nathaniel was really happy, or was it that he seemed apparently well on the outside, but troubled inside, even at the happy Ambulance Company? Are the two waiting rooms (sick and well) as I enter Dr. Krishnan’s Office (Nathaniel’s pediatrician) omitting another possibility, a waiting room for “sick/well child”? At Dr. Weber’s, a welcoming dental office team gathers around me to wish me well. Can you be happy here even with a drill and gauze in your mouth? Perhaps a more Jungian both/and approach would tell Nan’s story more honestly. I delight in hearing about Nathaniel’s incredible positive spirit from his EMS friend, John. My knowing that Nathaniel struggled internally here, even on his “good days,” confirms for me that life isn’t simply one or the other. I’m only too sorry that his brain disorder took up more than its fair share of happy space. I eventually meet up with Carl, Nathaniel’s Swedish friend, at the Athlete’s Closet. Here’s a place where happy Runner’s High rules. I’m grateful for that, and I embrace the gift of Carl’s company as we both walk back home together. Yup, both/and pretty much sums it up.