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If we want to support each other’s inner lives, we must remember a simple truth: the human soul does not want to be fixed, it wants simply to be seen and heard. If we want to see and hear a person’s soul, there is another truth we must remember: the swoul is like a wild animal — tough, resilient, and yet shy. When we go crashing through the woods shouting for it to come out so we can help it, the soul will stay in hiding. But if we are willing to sit quietly and wait for a while, the soul may show itself.
~Parker Palmer
This is a talk I shared during a Sunday service at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington as part of the church’s series on the six sources of Unitarian Universalism. My writing was inspired by this source: direct experience of that transcending mystery and wonder, affirmed in all cultures, which moves us to a renewal of the spirit and an openness to the forces which create and uphold life.
For two years I spent a good chunk of my waking hours talking and writing about this church. As a member of the ministerial search committee, I met with my fellow committee members weekly, and we worked doggedly to discern what the congregation needed in a new minister. Surprise–Unitarian Universalists have a lot of opinions! Our committee had to digest, synthesize, and transform what we learned into UUCA’s church profile, an incredibly elaborate version of a job announcement. Then we spent months reviewing applications and sermons of prospective ministers. This role and its attendant responsibilities were heady–and hard–and ultimately richly rewarding. It was a privilege to serve UUCA in this capacity, and if I’m being honest, it made me feel kind of important. It’s easy for me to make the mistake that what I do for a community is more valuable than who I am.
Now, raise your hand if you were part of UUCA in any way in the spring of 2020. You may recall that, just as our committee was preparing to recommend Rev. Amanda as the candidate for our senior minister, the pandemic shut everything down. All of our plans to introduce her to the congregation, celebrate a new beginning, and enjoy the fruits of our committee’s labor were funneled online or simply forgotten in the crush of a worldwide crisis.
I know every one of you here in the sanctuary or watching online has a story like this–or a very different one. There are likely a million variations on the theme of how things changed in 2020. Now, four years later, I am still feeling the effects of those changes, for better or worse. Maybe you are too. Who knows how long the ripples will expand throughout our lives?
Church has always meant community for me. Throughout my life, community often outweighed theology in my choice of a congregation. I feel lucky to have found in UUCA a place where I feel both a sense of belonging and alignment with the tenets of the faith. From the moment I arrived at UUCA, I felt seen. I felt valued. I understood that my being here mattered.
Unfortunately, for a good portion of the years since 2020, I lost that sense of belonging, not just here, but really anywhere. Does that sound at all familiar to you? The isolation of the pandemic was soul crushing. And I am a big believer in silver linings. I love my family so much, and I am so thankful for the hours we spent playing board games, watching movies, making art, and going on hikes. But the four of us did not a whole community make. I need different kinds of people and multiple communities to nurture various aspects of my personality and my identity. All of us do.
There’s a wonderful graphic novel series called Heartstopper, which is now an amazing Netflix show, that my kids adore and introduced me to and which I love now as well. First of all, Heartstopper creator Alice Oseman does a masterful job portraying the pain and beauty of making your way as a teenager, particularly as you come into your gender identity and sexual orientation. Secondly, in book four of the series, Charlie–one of the main characters–comes face to face with what feels like an insurmountable struggle. His boyfriend, Nick, wants so badly, as all of us do when we love someone, to be able to fix Charlie’s problem, but of course he can’t. And Nick realizes that, no matter how much he loves Charlie, he can’t and shouldn’t be everything to Charlie. Charlie needs a community to help him. As do we all.
I took baby steps to return to UUCA. I co-facilitated a covenant group for parents of gender-expansive kids. That was an easy one–a way to test the waters by creating a small community. Coming back to church on Sunday mornings, however, was a challenge. The first few times I tried, I felt confused and out of sorts. When we were all masked, I felt embarrassed because I didn’t recognize people who I had known for years. That kept me home for a while longer. When I came back again, I felt like I had somehow forgotten how to interact with other humans. Once after the service ended, I just sat in the back and cried. Holly saw me and sat with me. She didn’t ask me to explain myself. She just kept me company.
When I heard about the LEAD program that Greg and LeeAnn were running, I knew I had found a path back to community. I wasn’t sure what my role was supposed to be in the congregation, but this was an opportunity to meet new people and reconnect with old friends, so I took it.
The irony–or perhaps the true intention–of joining LEAD was being reminded that I didn’t need to have a leadership position or a particular responsibility in the congregation to belong. When I arrived for that first workshop, I was so warmly welcomed back. Wendy and Kristen, among other folks, let me know that they were genuinely delighted to see me again, without asking why I hadn’t come back sooner, or what I was going to be doing for the church now that I was back, or without any other expectations of me whatsoever. After the session, I gave Kristen a ride home and we sat in my car, parked outside her house, for an hour catching up. It was such a relief to renew that connection. I know I’m name dropping a lot this morning. I intentionally want to recognize the people who have shown me so much grace and love in building and rebuilding community here.
One of my favorite activities during the LEAD workshops was using the World of Experience as a tool to examine where I’ve been and where I want to go. If you’ve never seen it before, you can check out the World of Experience at the LEAD table in the fellowship hall after the service. In the meantime, picture this in your mind. A map that, at first glance, looks like it could be a two-dimensional representation of the Earth. On closer inspection, however, the familiar continents and oceans are replaced by other geographies, named for elements of the human experience. For example, the sea of possibilities, mountains of work, and plains of solitude.
On several occasions we used the World of Experience as a way to articulate the challenges or adventures in our past and present, and where we hoped to navigate in the future. In all of my conversations, my partners shared their journeys with unapologetic honesty, and invited the same vulnerability from me. The guiding principles practiced during the LEAD series were touchstones created by Parker Palmer and the Center for Courage and Renewal. One of these is “no fixing, saving, advising, or correcting each other.” In our type A problem solving culture, that’s a particularly tough one for many of us to follow, but it’s so important. Participating in the LEAD workshops reminded me that this congregation is a safe place for me, where my wild animal soul can show itself. That’s how I experience moments of mystery and wonder–when I feel truly seen and understood.
This year I attended General Assembly, the Unitarian Universalist Association’s annual gathering, for the first time. I had long wanted to experience GA, but to be honest I was also super anxious about it. When I arrived in Pittsburgh and checked into my airbnb, I texted Gay and Elizabeth. What am I doing here? I asked them. Of course, they were both kind and reassuring. I felt their hugs from 250 miles away. Then I arrived at the convention center, and I found Diane and Bruce and I knew everything would be ok. I had tacos with LeeAnn, and reconnected with folks who I first met at UUCA but who have moved on to other churches, and I made new friends. Knowing I was among so many people who share my UU values and commitment to repairing the world was exactly what I needed and hoped to experience at GA.
Of course, church is far from the only community that can nurture the soul. Some communities are intimate and some are vast but both can offer sustenance. My 16-year-old is a member of the seemingly infinite community of Swifties–devotees of pop star Taylor Swift. While her knowledge of Taylor Swift’s catalog and every minute detail of every concert on the Eras Tour may verge on obsessive, it is clear that she and other Swifties find joy and meaning in listening to the music, experiencing the music, and talking about the music with each other.
The community my 10-year-old thinks of as their second home is SMYAL, a DC-based organization that provides resources, connections, and activities for LGBTQIA+ young people ages 6 to 24. My kid has found kindred spirits, role models, and unwavering and unconditional support for their whole self. Their wild animal soul feels free to lead a dance party whenever they’re with their SMYAL peeps.
As Parker Palmer wrote, “If we want to support each other’s inner lives, we must remember a simple truth: the human soul does not want to be fixed, it wants simply to be seen and heard.” I am thankful to be a member of this and other communities where my soul can be seen and heard. Cultivating that kind of community–something greater than any of us individually, which can only be created with intention and love–is a sacred act. Sometimes we can build community, and other times we just stumble into it. We don’t always know where we will find community, or where we will experience that sensation of truly belonging, but we surely know it when we feel it. Some may call that providence, or divine intervention. To me, that certainty of belonging is a product of the mystery and wonder of the universe. Whatever you call it, I wish for you the comfort, safety, and nourishment of community, wherever you may find it. May it be so.
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I realized today that when friend after friend from church hugged me this weekend and said, “I haven’t seen you for so long! I’ve missed you! I’m so glad to see you!” that not a single one of them was trying to make me feel guilty about not coming to church or accusing me of being a bad friend. Every single hug was accompanied by genuine joy. Every single person made me feel loved and valued just for being me and for appearing right in front of them at that moment. I wasn’t required to do or accomplish or prove anything. They were just happy to see me because I’m me. And I was equally happy to see them. Now why is that so hard to believe? I’ve been letting that sink in all day.
While are long past the “stay in your bubble” phase of the pandemic, collectively and individually we’ve had to retreat into new bubbles, emerge from them, retreat again, and sometimes the bubbles just pop. There’s no more universal wisdom. I assume there is new science but if there is legitimate and agreed-upon public health guidance based on the new science, I sure haven’t heard about it. And so everyone has their own extremely specific ideas about what they should and shouldn’t do, although they might change from day to day or situation to situation, and they remain emotionally fraught. As of January 2023, every time you leave your house you have to take into account your tolerance for risk, the tolerance for risk of anyone you might be interacting with, and the house rules for anywhere you’re going to go. We’ve never been so aware of the fact that our behaviors can seriously affect others, even though we may still be unsure of exactly how.
Ever since I was a teenager, being part of a faith community has mattered to me. And because of my personality, my DNA, my enneagram type (two), or whatever other measure you might use, when I am in any community, I mean to make a difference. When I do not have a specific role to fulfill, I can feel lost and useless. I am not saying this is a good thing or a bad thing. It is simply how I have felt for most of my life. I have spent some amount of energy in recent years reminding myself that I am important not just for what I can do, but for just being me. You would think it would take the pressure off.
Being in a faith community can also be hard as hell. Yesterday I participated in a workshop at church for people who want to be–or already are–leaders in the church, about how leadership in a congregation should not simply be out of duty, but should be about. sharing our gifts with others to make the community better, and should include elements of holiness, joy, and fun. As Rev. Amanda jokingly reminded us, however, the challenge of church is that it’s made up of people. And people are human. And humans make mistakes. And sometimes church (or any other faith community) breaks your heart. She asked how many people had experienced that particular kind of heartbreak when the community you revere disappoints you. Most people raised their hands. I realized that every single congregation I’ve been a part of has broken my heart. I take that back–the church I attended in college did not at any point crush my spirit, but I’m not sure I was involved enough for that to count. I was part of the college ministry of the church for a few years and I don’t recall anything bad happening there. But four other congregations rocked by some kind of scandal or rift or bad behavior is plenty. Rev. Amanda said making the effort to repair and heal from the brokenness matters, and makes the community stronger. But it also requires a lot of courage and commitment to put yourself back into the fray.
In my current congregation, the Unitarian Universalist Church of Arlington, I was asked to be a leader soon after I arrived. I had come to the church warily, certain that I could not find a community where I both agreed with the theology and would be treated like I mattered. Immediately, I felt a sense of belonging. I served as a worship associate, helping craft and lead services. When the minister had to leave (i.e. heartbreaking experience #4), I was asked to help orient the temporary minister to her role until an interim minister was found. I helped the interim minister as a worship associate. Then I was asked to serve on the ministerial search committee to find a permanent minister. This was a two-year obligation that was beyond time-consuming and also incredibly rewarding. And just as we were concluding the search, the pandemic hit. Our new minister (the aforementioned Rev. Amanda) was called to a congregation that largely existed at that point as hundreds of little boxes in a zoom meeting. And then, my job was done. I tried to do zoom church for a while, but it made me too sad, for so many reasons. I did some church classes and workshops and meetings through zoom. Some of them were good. Some were frustrating because I had to do them from my bedroom, propped up in my bed, in an effort to find any semblance of privacy. There is no privacy in my house. I just got tired of it all. I’m an extrovert. Zoom is exhausting. There are no hugs.
At some point church reopened. Then it closed again. And reopened. I hate wearing a mask. I do it, of course, when called upon. But it still makes my face sweat and my glasses fog up unless I go through various machinations to adjust and readjust it. And I realized during the pandemic that I have a hard time understanding people speaking when I can’t see their mouths. I also realized I have a hard time recognizing people who are wearing masks, especially when I haven’t seen them for a couple years. So when I went back to in-person church for the first time in a while sometime last year, I felt so lost and confused. After the service I just sat in the back and cried. I felt like I had completely forgotten who I was or how to be with other people. It was awful.
I had dipped my toe in the church waters in the fall when I volunteered to co-facilitate a covenant group for parents of gender-expansive kids. I’ve remembered how satisfying it is to choose readings and music that make people think and feel. (See quotes sprinkled throughout this post.) Yesterday at the leadership workshop I remembered how, even though I cannot sit still for very long, I love being in a room with other humans who are trying to nurture themselves and use their spiritual gifts to do something good for their community. Tikkun olam! These are my people.
Today I went back to church for the service. I sat near the front where I love to sit. I wore my mask and had to adjust it and got a little sweaty but survived. More importantly, I listened to the wisdom lesson which was one of my all-time favorite children’s stories and beautifully illustrates what Unitarian Universalism is. I geeked out on the sermon about why the history and principles of the UU tradition matter and how we are still evolving and transforming, as individuals and as a faith. I sang hymns, some of which I like and some of which are just ok. And I hugged people. And they welcomed me. It’s been a while, but no one judged. My heart was full and I was home again. AMEN.
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As a birthday present to myself, I got up at 6am on Tuesday to attend a 6:30am metabolic conditioning class at a gym I’d never been to but that I’d seen an ad for on Facebook. This is not something I usually do, and to be honest, something I am likely to do again. Metcon, as it’s called, is when you do several sets of an exercise for 30 seconds at a time with 10 second breaks in between, then switch to a new exercise and do it all over again. The exercises were hard and I had to take a few breaks. By the end it was clear to me that this kind of class is not for me. The owner of the gym talked with me during one of my breaks and said, “it gets easier every time,” and then as I was leaving, one of the other women in the class said to me, “I’ve been doing this for a year and it’s still really hard.” But I’m really glad I went.
Tuesday evening during Niki’s martial arts class I talked with my friend Brian, the general manager at EvolveAll, where my kids have done martial arts forever and where I have occasionally taken classes. Brian is extraordinarily kind and understanding and I knew I could be candid with him about my desires and fears. He explained the options for classes and training at EvolveAll and I decided on an assessment as a first step. Meanwhile, I signed up for a 10-class pass at Sun and Moon Yoga. And yesterday morning I got up at 6, again, for a 6:30am yoga class. I have intermittently loved yoga. I hadn’t been to an in-person class since before the pandemic. I tried online classes for a while but my house (especially when the kids were home from school) was not conducive to a peaceful, focused yoga practice.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a morning person and I am typically at my most alert and creative late at night. But as a mom, I’ve learned to do plenty of things that are not in my nature. Since she’s been doing crew this spring, Zoe has had to get up at 4:30 or 5:30 for various practices and regattas and I am usually the one to drive her to the boathouse when it’s still dark. If she can do this, which I know she does not enjoy, I can too. But I am old enough to know that if I’m getting up early, it needs to be for an activity I will enjoy at least a little, and not dread.
By yesterday afternoon I was quite sore. And sleepy. But I did have a salad for lunch! And I took naps. And of course Zoe told me last night that today was one of the days she had to be at the boathouse at 5:20, so I woke up at 5 to drive her. It would be nice if I could coordinate my morning classes with her morning practices, but that would be too easy, right? I mentioned to her last night that I might try to take a walk in Anacostia Park while she rowed, but it was completely dark when we got to the boathouse and I did not feel like a walk along the river in the dark would be super safe. I am determined to take a walk sometime today. Maybe I can convince Niki to walk to martial arts tonight instead of drive.
On my birthday I also went to DSW to buy new sneakers, but of course they didn’t have the ones I wanted in my size (11). I ended up ordering them online and was amused to discover that my two colleagues on the communications team at my office also have generously proportioned feet (size 11 and 12 wide). Is there a correlation between communications skills and big feet? Probably.
I know I’m not the only person to have gained weight during the pandemic. It’s a lot easier to justify eating your feelings and sleeping too much and lying around like a sloth when you’re in lockdown or you think this whole mess is going to end in a few months. It seems like a few months has become three years, and when your clothes don’t fit anymore you’ve got to take steps. Or I have to take steps. I won’t presume to speak for you. I will never be skinny or fit into my high school prom dress (why would I even want to?) but I am ready to regain some strength and be comfortable in pants without an elastic waist. That doesn’t seem overly ambitious, does it?
You Ask a Lot of Questions 
