Friday, February 24, 2012

Somebody Save Me


The week may be pretty much over but since I've spent the past few days on an extended job interview in NYC with little to no time to blog, I'm answering this week's question today. Honestly, the experiences I had this week were absolutely necessary to me answering this question in a truthful, honest manner proving once again that I have no idea what's best but someone else does. So here's my answer to this week's Burning Question, What's one dumb thing that you used to believe in? (Be warned, this may get long.)

Growing up all kids have superheros that they look up to and secretly wish would swoop down and save them from having to do their chores. They learn that when things get tough it takes super human strength to stop a speeding train from derailing, to rescue an old lady from a burning building or to save the world from an evil genius. As they grow up their heros become a little less kryptonite resistant and a little more real. They learn that Superman, like Santa and the Easter Bunny, is just a story and that the real heros are the people who stand up for what they believe in and go against what is popular to do what is right. Their heros go from She-Ra, Batman (my fave superhero because his super power is being super rich), Wonder Woman and the like to Martin Luther King Jr, Ghandi, Barack Obama and perhaps their parents. While it's great to look up to people and have archetypes to relate to, our society's hero worship has one major flaw--perhaps more than one but I only care about one--and it is that salvation comes from someone outside of you.

 Batman has a bank account and a butler with nary a superpower.

I've believed most of my life, and kinda still do a little bit, that someone else has to save me. Whether that meant Jesus, Batman, Han Solo, a hot guy in a black Audi, my mom, my dad or Oprah, I have always believed that I was a frail, damsel in distress that needs someone stronger to make everything ok. I don't, and neither do you. While it took years for my mind to accept that my salvation was totally relient on the kindness of strangers, it only took a few short flights for me to recognize my problem and a few even shorter minutes for me to allow the solution to be revealed.

I hate flying, probably because I don't fly too much. When I say I hate flying, I mean I break into a sweat when the plane hits a bump and have had panic attacks on three flights in three years. My wonderful ex boyfriend used to hold my hand and soothe me on flights, giving me the confidence and support I needed to not freak out everyone on the plane. This past week flying without my training wheels had me a little antsy, and when I say a little I mean doing rounds of EFT in the airport to clear my fear of every part of flying. I found myself reaching out to hold the hands of strangers and calling for a flight attendant when things felt less than safe. I eventually landed at Newark with a new friend, happy to be on solid ground, and still oblivious to the fact that I am unable to self soothe and constantly seeking salvation on the outside instead of on the inside. It wasn't until my return flight when some guy who was trying to pick me up no doubt--FYI I am not the kind of girl that meets men on planes especially when the live in a different part of the country and have a touch of the chauvinist in them--sat next to me after out flight into Baltimore explaining how he wanted to have 4-5 kids. Not only was that insane, I've known you for all of an hour and you're telling me about kids, but it was a huge wake up call. Had I not been seeking someone to hold my hand and tell me that everything is going to be all right, I woud not have ended up on a "date" at the airport with a man who clearly believed that a woman was only good for making babies! (Wrong country, wrong decade.) Now I didn't have this revelation in the Baltimore/DC airport, I actually had it on my second flight while alternating between bothering the woman sitting next to me, reading A Course in Miracles and meditating. Between all of that, and praying that the plane wouldn't crash, a ton of bricks fell into my lap and said "You think you need someone else to save you from everything, loneliness, fear, this plane crashing, deciding on what to do on a Saturday night. What you don't know is you have to save you." I instantly relaxed in my seat, stopped bothering my people around me and finished reading my book. While the plane shook here and there I remembered that I do not need anyone to save me, even the pilot although I do need him to fly the plane because that is outside of my area of expertise.

Buffy Summers is still my hero.

Is my fear of flying completely done, I won't know that until I get on my next flight but I do know that my addiction to finding salvation outside of me is done. I am not some princess in tower waiting on a prince to rescue me from the clutches of a wicked witch, or some old maid waiting on a man to save me from the misery of being single. I got this! More importantly, when I feel like I don't I know that there is a higher power inside of me who has this.

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