I’m Not the Church Lady | Step away from the pedestal, Rosie

Or, maybe I need to notice where life keeps putting me

||| I’M NOT THE CHURCH LADY by ROSIE KUHN |||

Over the past couple of months, I’ve become a member of two Boards of Directors here on Orcas. This has never been on my bucket list. In fact, being in a leadership position where I’m expected to make decisions is almost comical. My life’s work has been about empowering others to make their own decisions—not being the person making decisions for them. And yet, here I am—serving on two boards.

My Radio Show Co-Host Don Yerly and I also just completed Episode #26 of I’m Not the Church Lady. It was never my intention to become a radio show host. And then there’s my writing. I write and publish a post pretty much every week. Now I’ve begun a YouTube series called I Want to Be a Better Writer. And, oh, did I mention that I started attending a knitting group? What the??? Jeesh!

When I put all of this together, it feels like a lot more people time coming at me all at once. It certainly doesn’t sound like the life of someone who considers herself reclusive—someone who relishes being alone at home, quietly knitting, writing, napping, and walking with my cat.

Something is afoot. Something bigger than me is—Is. I can feel it, and it’s kind of weird. Sometimes there are aspects of living life that are difficult to explain. These specific unfolding circumstances aren’t sourced in ambition. I’m not trying to build my Paradigm Shifts Empire.

I’m no longer attempting to become a media personality. I’ve given up my master plan for expanding my reach as a coach and trainer.
And though I’m not retired by any means, the proving, performing, and promoting days are behind me. Truth is that they never worked anyway. So, I’ve trained myself to drop all activities that are not inspiring to me and just do what’s fun to do. And fun stuff keeps showing up.

Volunteering at the Co-op. Beginning the radio show at KIXP. Starting a video series on writing. Now, sitting on two different boards? And a knitting group? Am I coming out of my reclusive phase? I’m baffled by this transition!

Step Away from the Pedestal, Rosie!

There’s a part of me that feels vulnerable without the pedestal I put myself on decades ago. I’ve mentioned in past posts that, over these past few years, I’ve been in a recovery process—withdrawing from my addiction to Pedestal Dwelling, also known as Terminal
Uniqueness.

Who am I off the pedestal? Who am I without my degrees and blah, blah, blah? That’s what’s been revealing itself. It’s uncomfortable to be me without all that. And this process is far from over. Bottom line? I’m learning to be nobody special.

As all good addicts know, there’s always the desire for just one drink, just one more high. Just one more, “Let me tell you how unique and special I am!” Please, just one more time!!!

I learn a lot about myself through movies.

Recently, I watched Pearl Harbor. At one point, Rafe—the handsome Ben Affleck character—has volunteered to fly with the British Royal Air Force during WWII. A British officer questions his eagerness to fly into combat, asking whether all Americans are so anxious
to get themselves killed.

Rafe responds, “Not anxious to die, sir. Just anxious to matter.”

That stopped me.

Just anxious to matter.

There’s something about those words that could easily sound egoic. I want to be important. I want to be somebody special. I want to save the world. But that isn’t what I heard Rafe say. What I heard was something closer to: I want my being here to matter. I want to participate in making a contribution to mankind. I want to give myself to whatever is mine to give myself to. Maybe that’s why people become firefighters or nurses or teachers or soldiers or parents or artists or hospice workers. They don’t necessarily know why they’re drawn toward what they’re drawn toward. Something calls. Something in them responds. Perhaps mattering isn’t about importance at all. Perhaps it’s about participating, contributing, engaging—even when it is dangerous. It’s not about looking good. It’s about something else.

Back On the Local Front

Boards, Co-op, knitting group, even the radio show—people aren’t particularly interested in my credentials. They’re interested in me being me. Most of us work so hard to be somebody, only to discover that maybe being a somebody doesn’t actually matter. What matters most is simply being who we are.

And here’s the uncomfortable part. Sometimes I still want people to know! I want to slip my credentials into the conversation. Just casually, of course. Nothing ostentatious. Perhaps a little mention of my PhD, or the books I’ve written, or the decades I’ve spent working with people. Or how I crossed the Atlantic Ocean in a sailboat. You know, just so they understand how unique I am!!

And that’s when I hear it: “Step away from the pedestal, Rosie!”

I’ve begun noticing something about what happens when I introduce my uniqueness into a conversation when nobody actually asked. Sometimes an almost imperceptible energetic barrier arises. Instead of creating more connection, I’ve inadvertently created distance. Hmmmm!

It’s not necessarily what I’ve shared that creates the barrier. It’s why I’ve shared it. Am I inviting someone into my experience, or am I trying to establish that I’m someone unique? One creates the possibility of connection. The other can create distance. Pedestal dwelling! MAN!!!!!

And here’s the question I’m sitting with: Is being recognized as someone special really how I want to matter in the world?

Last week I wrote about marketing as a spiritual practice. I see more than ever that I’ve been confusing promotion with sharing. Promotion asks, “Where should I put myself so more people see me?” Sharing asks something different: Where do I experience myself as mattering? Where am I connecting to myself and others in a way that enhances life? Where am I alive?

That’s a completely different question.

I notice I’m most alive when I’m writing. I’m alive doing I’m Not the Church Lady. I’m alive creating videos about wanting to be a better writer. I’m alive helping a woman in the knitting group who’s stymied by mistakes showing up in her knitting. I’m alive at the Co-op, stocking shelves and helping customers. I feel alive creating and sharing my writing on theOrcasonian and Substack. I’m alive in so many places—I just hadn’t noticed it!

And here’s something else I’m discovering. Sharing what I know doesn’t necessarily require telling people what I know. Sometimes it’s how I listen, how I respond, how I participate. Sometimes everything I’ve learned and experienced is simply present in the way I show up.

I don’t have to explain where it came from or establish why someone should pay attention to me. I can just be here, bringing whatever I have to offer into whatever is happening. And this is where the whole thing gets funny. What if my job isn’t to figure out where I should be? What if my job is to notice where Life keeps putting me?

Where Does Life Keep Putting Me?

I certainly didn’t put Radio Show Host on my vision board. I wasn’t sitting around thinking, You know what this world needs? Another YouTube series. These things appeared. And something in me responded: Yes.

This reminds me of what I’ve been reading in Oneness about becoming sensitive to the energetics of our lives—to what has energy, what doesn’t, what we’re being drawn toward, and what no longer feels alive. Instead of determining strategically where I’m supposed to go or what I’m supposed to do, perhaps I’m being invited to notice what is happening here, now.

Where is there energy? Where do I feel myself becoming more present and connected? These might be far more useful questions than, “What should I be doing? Where should I be headed?”

There

We’ve been trained to look somewhere else for the answer. There. There is where my life will finally make sense. There is where I’ll understand my purpose. There is where I’ll have enough readers. There is where I’ll know what I’m supposed to be doing. There is where I’ll finally become whatever it is I think I’m not yet. Our attention is constantly being trained away from here.

And yet, here I am. The boards. The radio show. The writing. The YouTube series. The knitting group. The Co-op. Here is where I am, and here is where I’m being invited to BE.

And then I ask: Well, where is here?

At this stage of my life, do I really need to know? Can’t I just be here and watch myself show up as me—regardless of who or what that may look or feel like?

Here. For now.

Perhaps becoming nobody special is part of this realization. It isn’t about becoming less than who I am. It’s not about denying my adventures and accomplishments. It’s about discovering that I don’t have to establish my specialness in order to experience my own fulfillment. I don’t have to prove my worth to be invited, announce my expertise to participate, or know where I’m going to be fully present where I am.

Everything I’ve learned, everything I’ve experienced, everything I’ve become is already here, in me, with me, as me. I don’t have to announce any of it. And I don’t have to diminish it, either. I can simply participate.

Perhaps the practice is to notice what Life keeps putting in front of me. What has energy? What feels dead? What am I doing because someone told me this is what I’m supposed to do? What am I doing because something inexplicable in me says, Yes. This.

And here’s the funny thing. Life keeps putting me in places where nobody particularly cares about my credentials. They don’t need me to announce my brilliance or establish my expertise. They might just need someone to fill a seat on a board, stock a shelf at the Co-op, help untangle a knitting problem, or have a conversation on the radio. And that someone, right now, is me.

Just me.

Of course, there’s still that part of me that wants to climb back onto the pedestal. Just for a minute. Just to make sure everybody knows who I am. And that’s when I hear it again: “Step away from the pedestal, Rosie!”

Maybe I don’t need to know where Life is taking me. Maybe I need to notice where Life keeps putting me. And be there. I don’t know where I’m going. And knowing where I’m going may no longer be the point.

Right?