Dear Friends: This summer I did two things that seemed very different from each other, but both have been my teachers about experiencing presence.
Kayaking: I love being on the water; it is the most direct way I know to become calm, centered, and deeply present to myself and to the natural world. Several months ago I decided to try to find a kayak that I could easily handle by myself. The lightest one around these parts is 43 lbs and that is more than I can lift. To make an adventurous but longish story short, I discovered (on the internet) a kayak-builder in the Adirondacks who has been designing and building lightweight kayaks for 30 years. Jim and I made the 8 hour drive to try-out and bring home a 16-foot long, 23 lb kayak! (Think of it, half the weight).
Two days later, excited but a little scared, I tied my new kayak to the car (anxious that it would fall off, or blow away), and drove the 40 minutes to a nearby estuary of the Chesapeake Bay. Could I lift the kayak down off the car (more anxiety)?—Yes. Could I get in without tipping over (the hardest part)? Yes. And then, at 6:10 am, with the sun just coming up and the sky a beautiful mix of blues and pinks and purples, I slipped away from the shore and felt an immediate and complete calm as I glided into the smooth still water. I was alone except for a few herons and terns flying overhead and the occasional fish jumping in front of me. The morning was absolutely still. It was exquisite. I felt so alive, so easily and fully present to every nuance. All I had to do was let go.
Acting: I had earlier taken two 5-session classes in theatre improvisation. It was such fun and I was learning far too much to want to stop. And so, on impulse, I asked my teacher if he would coach me in acting, and when he said yes, we arranged for six one-hour sessions. I loved the idea of opening myself up to learning in new ways (having neither a preconceived notion of what that learning would be, nor a sense of how or whether it might be “useful” to my life and work). I learned more than I could have dreamed and, unexpectedly, it was also about presence.
We worked with “The Glass Menagerie”—me taking on the part of the mother (who, if you remember, is an over-controlling, somewhat pathetic, vivacious woman whose life’s dreams are coming apart). I first discovered that acting isn’t taking on someone else’s persona, but rather, connecting with what another might be feeling and thinking, and then finding those same aspects in yourself to bring to being an amalgam of yourself as that other. Not easy. Over time, I realized that I had experienced every emotion and stance that this mother embodied (I hated her on first reading, and it wasn’t easy to let myself identify with those parts). But that was at an intellectual level. I couldn’t begin to feel those things myself until I had memorized the lines (which was surprisingly hard and took a long time). Before that, I was a little nonplussed by not being able to access my feelings at all. I thought there was something wrong with me. But after I memorized the lines, I was able to let go of the anxiety of ‘getting it right” and be in the moment—and there they were, all my feelings, intact!
At last, I felt what this woman was going through and experienced the merging of me and her. I said her lines and cried in sadness, and yelled in anger as I felt her/my emotions during that monologue. I “was” her. I embodied her emotions. It was a remarkable and magical moment—a moment in which I was present to myself, to her, to the daughter, to the scene in a completely alive way and was both totally focused and able to let go. (It gave me a renewed respect and awe for great actors)
Reflections on these experiences:
I know I have a lot to learn from the juxtaposition of these experiences. Here is what I know at this time. I’m aware that both kinds of presence are essential in my work. The first is a letting go to what is—simply and wholly being open to and held by the world. I find it an essential “preparation” for living and for all of my work. It is not a new learning, but a reaffirmation of its importance. It is why, for instance, I come to my retreats a day early and hike in the mountains, or walk on the beach before gatherings.
The second kind demands the discipline of preparation and attention to detail. In the theatre experience, I was invited to think about every aspect of posture, voice, dress, gesture, intention, and strategy; and to memorize lines so that I could discover a depth of presence that combined focus and letting go. In my work, say, in preparing a retreat or workshop, it feels similar. Only when I am as prepared as I can be, can I truly be in the flow of the work, bringing my feeling, thinking self to the moment, and also able to respond to what is happening around me with empathy and clarity. The work before the work is filled with the discipline and sometimes tedium of preparation and attention to detail, as well as letting go when the time is right. There are no shortcuts. A simple “letting go” doesn’t cut it!
Some reflections on Absence
Penny Williamson September 11, 2006
Just nine days after writing the reflections on “presence” I had a serious illness that I completely ignored until I was on the verge of hospitalization, with a high fever and a rapidly spreading infection, a bacterial cellulitis on the left side of my face that might easily have put me in the hospital and even caused my death. This event caused me to reflect and write about “Absence” –the extreme opposite of “presence”. It feels important to put these reflections in the same place.
What was it that so pulled my attention away from my own bodily experience (or allowed me to ignore or deny it) that I literally did not connect what I was feeling with the thought that I was ill? A schizophrenic state? Focusing on my “important work” while leaving my poor body to fend for itself? I had a lot of hints (severe chills the first afternoon to which I responded by covering myself in a blanket while carrying on with two, long business conference calls; that night, shaking chills all night with me simply putting more blankets on and never once thinking “fever”, as if I had never heard of “sick”; my left ear, that got so red and swollen that it was finally 2 ½ times the size of its partner and had a bizarre and leathery feel; to say nothing of swollen lymph nodes). Even the next morning, I spent two hours on the phone “doing work” instead of seeing the dentist (I originally thought I had a tooth abscess)...
It was only as I was walking out of the dentist’s office that I thought “all these things are connected; the chills, the shakes, the ear. It was then that I finally called my physician.
What I find so interesting (in an alarming kind of way) is that I am almost obsessed with “presence” and the intention and commitment to show up fully in every moment; and yet I was absent to my own senses for about 48 hours and it could have resulted in death had I become septic. I was too busy with plans and living, and doing for others to notice the warnings until Tom (my doctor) said “You are really sick”. Actually he said “you have an acute and raging infection, a bacterial cellulitis, and going anywhere for 4 days is non-negotiable; in fact, you can’t do anything else until you heal. This thing is in your blood; it’s systemic.”
I “got it”, a little late (two by fours work well). The words “I am seriously thinking of putting you in the hospital” helped me to hear. But “you have 103 fever” clinched it. (I responded, “Holy Shit”.)
I have pondered on the many lessons from this stunning episode: that being present to what I don’t “want to see” in me, my body, unexpected hurdles, etc. is as important as presence to the beauty within and without. To be able to continue to be present to the world and to my place and work in the world, I had to let go of all of that and acknowledge and honor the fragility of my body until it healed. Ignoring or pretending was costly, almost irretrievably so. Paying attention to my body which serves me so well is not an option.
Penny Williamson, Sc.D., is a founding Senior Associate of Relationship Centered Health Care (a consulting practice), Associate Professor of Medicine, Part Time, Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine and senior mentor for the National Center for Courage and Renewal. She facilitates formation retreats for healthcare leaders, teaches physicians leadership and teaching skills; and coaches leadership groups, working teams and organizations to build sustainable capacities in collaborative learning and relationship-centered practice.
Penny Williamson, Sc.D., FAACH
Relationship Centered Health Care
4611 Keswick Road
Baltimore, MD 21210
(410) 235-0344
penwmson@comcast.net
www.relationshipcenteredhc.com
