To Be Vulnerable

I’ve been debating how to write about vulnerability without talking about my own.  Like everyone else, I am living through the age of Covid and Donald Trump.  Each day has the potential to be fraught with worry for myself, those I love, the country and our common home; planet earth. And, like everyone else, I have my own personal story to add to the mix. An upcoming arterial surgery in my brain will relieve the chronic migraines and double vision I’ve lived with for a number of years.  I am grateful it can be remedied but I’m also acutely aware of the trust I am placing in a procedure that just, in recent years, has been invented.  My doctor, an experienced neurosurgeon, has done only thirty-five of them. 

By now I had planned on having finished my training as a coach and launched myself into finding new clients. I thought I would be enjoying the benefits of a smaller, easy-to-manage home. I had looked forward to long walks around the pond and arboretum.  I would get back into my new communal studio and make the art I have been thinking about for months.  But all of that has been postponed maybe for weeks while I recover.  It is frustrating to have to regroup.

Perhaps, it is impossible to think about vulnerability without acknowledging its very nature; to be vulnerable can actually mean being in a state of want, exposure, powerlessness and sensitivity. We are needy. We are focused inward, deeply examining our internal responses to external stimuli.  To not be these things is impossible. Yet, even more difficult than the feelings which, may feel uncomfortably self-centered, is accepting them.  Vulnerability is not a state of being that gets much credit. We value resilience and determination and, rightly so.  Out of humility we don’t want to draw too much attention to ourselves, ask for much, seem in need.  Do we ever encourage our children to be more vulnerable?  

Yet, vulnerability, in leveling us, also has the power to uplift us.  In vulnerability, there is anxiety and powerlessness but there is also openness, trust, kindness and connection, friendship, love and longing. 

Among other things, in the past week I have moved house while the next one remains unfinished, dealt with a fallen tree at the construction site and said good-bye to my youngest son who set off to live in Colorado.  Everything I own is in storage. My head pounds day and night.  

I am doing my best to trust in the universe for all to be well.  But I am frequently anxious and sometimes tearful and overwhelmed.  I am acutely sensitive to how little control I have over most things.  And, at the same time I am deeply aware of relationships in this time of vulnerability.  I miss my son because the love is deep and we have delighted in seeing each other on a regular basis.  I am glad, in such an unpredictable age, to have a good friend and broker who sold my house in record time.  The tree was quickly removed by a local arborist who also told me where to get a great sandwich in my new neighborhood.  Chuck, our kindhearted contractor, finds the most creative solutions to the problems a very old house poses and keeps moving the project forward. Bishal, our “adopted” family member who has lived with us since the lockdown in March, sweeps the empty rooms before returning to New York City to work.  I will miss him terribly. So many connections.  So many kindnesses big and small.

Yes, I am very exposed right now.  But I am also very open.  In that state of need and lack of control, is an unexpected yet pleasant surrender.  My heart is full.  Often, the tears are for joy too.