Survival Tips for Free Spirits

We, as free spirits, try following the dictates of society sometimes only to spend our days walking through life on burning hot coals. We've witnessed our parents walking on them, our teachers, neighbors, bosses, colleagues and even friends all walking through life with scorched souls (soles) leaping from one painful red, hot ember to another while silently wondering, "is it them, or is it me?" - and being even further perplexed when told how necessary and enjoyable it is to step this way through our days.

We, in contrast, prefer moving through life like a warm summer breeze, navigating uniquely through and around the open surroundings of our lives, but instead we frequently find ourselves seeking an open window inside the hermetically sealed buildings where we have come to reside. We seek to be free only to discover a teeny tiny crack in the only window available in the factory complex that has come to define us. How, we ask, can we escape through that, the only opening?

How we cope...

1. We go along with a life of walking on hot coals while taking prozac, zoloft, and klonapin to numb the pain.
2. We recite affirmations hoping to believe hot coals are no different than ice cubes.
3. We try varying forms of alternate realities. Do I need to explain?
4. We transform from a summer breeze into a raging typhoon and find ourselves without friends or family.

Raise your hand if you've tried them all? 

Well, free spirits, I don't claim to have it all figured out, but here's what I've learned about surviving with your spirit mostly in tact: 

1. Free spirits just by their nature bring oxygen to closed and stuffy environments. Others can't initially appreciate the breath of fresh air that we are because we remind them of their containment. It's not personal or even conscious. They just aren't ready to break free. The only way they can handle us is to make us conform to their confinement. It's the only way they know. In these instances (of which there will be many) reflect on and remember who you are and what you bring to any environment and patiently step back and allow your magic time to gently penetrate the resistance.

2. Is freedom external or internal? Free spirits over time learn to seek freedom from within. It lies in the choices we have in responding to life rather than being able to do whatever we want whenever we want.

3. Free spirits feel trapped by external rigidity. We may feel a desperate need to flee situations devoid of creativity, air and light and do so impulsively. I believe a good rule of thumb, however, is not to be overtaken by the need to flee. Leave when you need to but on your terms. Leave only when YOU are ready and when it makes sense. 

4. Free spirits recognize that solitude has healing powers. Sometimes as free spirits we need to prioritize solitude over time commitments and even certain friendships and relationships that can't and ultimately don't offer us the degree of growth and joy we can attain from solitude.

5. For free spirits, the attainment of status and money are generally not high priorities. Free spirits struggle with this as society overall has different priorities in mind. For the sake of our spirits we may need to trade time for the attainment of material wealth. Time to pursue what is meaningful to us is a prized commodity. We need to accept that trade off and claim it for our well-being.

There you have it, free spirits. I hope this has helped. Leave a comment to let me if this resonates; or add any additional strategies that have worked for you.

Liberating the Scapegoat

My Story

In my family, I have had the difficult role of scapegoat. After my mom died, that fact was more prevalent than ever. I would like to share with you what I have learned both as my family’s scapegoat and a former counselor.

My family was troubled. My father was an alcoholic. My mom had been terribly abused as a child. Those were the people who produced me – who raised me. My family had the classic distribution of hero, lost child and scapegoat roles which you find in many challenging family dynamics, but the lines blurred between the scapegoat and lost child roles with me and my middle brother. When my mom died, however, I was 100% thrust into the role of scapegoat. It wasn’t much fun growing up in this dynamic, but became awful once she was gone. At that time, the voice I had spoken strongly and confidently with had been taken from me as was the value my mom bestowed upon me.

Quite simply, being a scapegoat meant that no matter what I did, how well I did it, or how kind, successful, intelligent, athletic and decent a person I was, my family could bring me to my  knees with their cold and cruel words. If you are a scapegoat, it is likely this has also been your experience.

My mom was my salvation. She knew she had to work on some issues and bravely sought help to confront her childhood demons in order to be a better mother and a happier person. My mom transcended the need to find someone to project her disowned pieces of character upon. She never fully escaped the grip of her childhood or the challenges of her marriage, but she blazed a trail for me. For that, I am grateful.

Blazing Trails

I am going to tell all the scapegoats out there something you probably don’t want to hear: They (meaning your family) need you to remain in your role as scapegoat. They need a dumping ground for all they cannot, are not and will not face inside themselves. It will feel like you are hated without grounds.

The chances of them suddenly changing and seeing you for who you really are, are slim to none. Let me tell you why. They are unable to address their own inner pain, darkness, cruelty, and perhaps abusive behaviors due to their own fears and insecurities that run deep – too deep for you to penetrate especially as a scapegoat. Because I want you to learn this faster and easier than I did, let me be perfectly clear. YOU cannot change THEM or THEIR negative perceptions of YOU. The good news is I know a way for you to surpass the pain they inevitably will cause you. So, bear with me as I explain.

My experience suggests the scapegoat can be the strongest member in the dysfunctional family system. Because of that, I suggest you get quality counseling because, as a reflective and independent thinker, you can make some tangible headway. 

As you start to separate the lies of who they think you are from the truth of who you really are, you will begin the process of liberation. Second, do whatever you need to do to preserve your peace of mind. In my situation, I had to cease contact with the people who were causing me the greatest pain. You may or may not need to do something as drastic. If you do, please know how brave you are because they will tell many stories including lies of what a horrible person you are for simply having the courage to do what was necessary to take care of yourself. My father went as far as to cut me from the inheritance he and my mom originally set up in order to punish me for valuing myself enough to walk away from a painful situation.

The hurtful family members NEED a scapegoat as they are unable to look at themselves. Therefore, as you begin to separate yourself from your family and their false perceptions of you, they will not let you go gracefully. If you choose to leave a harmful situation, they will still speak poorly of you in your absence. Sometimes, in these disturbed situations, when the original scapegoat flies the coop, they will find another to replace you. Unfortunately, if you return, you will most likely be recast into your role. So, tread carefully. I returned briefly at a painfully low point in my life only to discover several lies had been told about things I didn't do. The same situation I had left remained. This is what scapegoats generally face if they return. I’m not saying don’t. I’m just advising care be taken and clear boundaries be set as you walk in so they can’t harm you further.

The people who are denigrating you are often insecure, enslaved by their distortions and easily threatened. They often won’t have the courage you do to address feelings. Therefore, there’s no reasoning with them as they cannot understand what you have been brave enough to discover. 

What you must do is remember who you are and the many wonderful qualities you possess. Write them down on stickies and place them all over your home if need be. Surround yourself with quality people and remember the goodness that has touched you in life. Personally, I draw strength from a couple of good friends and a volunteer who has stuck by me since my mom’s death. I lean on them, and they reflect back what is kind and decent in me. Fortunately, I get kudos at work as well. Last, I recall my mom’s unfailing love for me which has permanently been imprinted on my heart and in my soul. Focus on the love, and refocus on that as many times as it takes.

Freedom

Scapegoats will be disliked and denigrated by their family no matter what. As a result, we are free to do anything we want, and think anything we want because we know that it doesn’t matter as we will be judged regardless. If we can get beyond our pain, we tend to be strong, independent thinkers. We also tend to have depth as we have learned to understand the people who have hurt us, how to transform the pain into meaning, and, with luck, thrive. We have also searched our own souls to discover who we really are. The downside is we must be ever vigilant to not inflict the same negative perceptions on ourselves that our families have. Remember that what they have projected onto us is truly how they feel about themselves. Although, additionally remember they cannot cope with that truth. So, unless they initiate a desire to get the help they need and take the necessary steps toward healing the wounds, they will not be interested in your hard-earned knowledge of the dynamic existing in the family.

In my lower moments, I have hurt terribly over some of the cruel things my family has said and done. I am at times disappointed they have not seen me for who I truly am. My previous response to their unkind view of me was to earn degrees, be an athlete and continually put feathers in my cap in hopes they might feel the respect for me I once yearned for. Constant achievement is exhausting, however, and doesn’t leave much time to smell the roses. I personally don't recommended this strategy as a means to earn love. In fact, anytime we do things to earn the acceptance of others, we sacrifice pieces of ourselves. It's just not worth it in the end. My response now is to just be who I am whether or not anyone approves, and do what matters to me. I have come to realize my family is incapable of seeing let alone loving me for who I am. I, though, AM capable of loving myself, AND all you other scapegoats are as well. That will be your greatest strength.

It is not you or anything you have done. You were born into a troubled environment and unconsciously assigned a role you didn't earn or deserve. Your task is to get yourselves out, learn how amazing you are and remind yourselves of that frequently. Accept that YOU are the only one you can change and because you are strong, you can. Then, despite the extent of the pain you have endured, go live your life and be happy.

Night Ride

Now fully transformed with the exception of the application of her Midnight Fushia lip stain. Jamaica was ready. She was ready to feel beautiful again, sing, dance and burn off the stress of her life of compromise. She was the successful sales executive by day. She was the man the world expected her to be. Tonight, though, she was Jamaica.

Jamaica glanced with satisfaction at her reflection in her pocket mirror as the train pulled into the station. As she was preparing to board, she caught a brief glimpse of a woman - a beautiful woman, in her mirror before returning it to her bag.

The woman was middle-aged, but with the timeless, classic beauty Jamaica aspired to. Her maroon scarf matched her nails as well as the delicate straps that accented her ankles. The woman held her head high somehow looking beyond her surroundings, past her husband, and over the stares from those who wanted to be her, or be with her.

Estrella entered the train at the Metro Center stop behind Jamaica and her husband, Tony. He seemed not to care who went first, but he knew if he led, Estrella would follow. She did all the while smiling a faint smile, but her eyes and soul were somewhere inaccessible. 

Tony and Estrella were a striking pair. Everyone on the platform absorbed their presence. He was impeccably dressed, and wore an expression of casual composure. She was the beauty queen that could accessorize any person or environment she was around. While Estrella was absent, Tony's presence was deliberate. He relished the attention, but gave the appearance it didn't matter. Upon greater investigation, there was a desperation to him - a constant searching for approval.

Jamaica purposefully took a seat in view of Estrella. Estrella sat next to the window so she could experience the city moving by in flashes while Antonio placed himself perfectly beside her.

Just as the doors had begun to close, a thin but muscular, disheveled young man ran into the car and fell into the first available seat. He was out of breath with sweat visibly dripping from his face. The odor of perspiration touched Jamaica's senses first, then Estrella took notice with a brief downturn on her lips departing from her usual mask of a slight smile. Tony moved his posture subtly away as if to distance himself from any affiliation to the odor.

Inner Worlds

Jamaica wanted to move her seat farther from the sweat drenched passenger only one row behind and to her right, but she was so consumed by Estrella's presence, she couldn't. Instead she took in everything - the shape of her nails, subtle highlights in her hair, her mannerisms that emanated a cool sexiness. Jamaica was taking copious mental notes while imagining herself with her expanded repertoire of style and cool.

Estrella had an awareness of Jamaica's interest. She gave it a passing acknowledgement. At that same moment, noted Jamaica's sequin-lined skirt, sparkling blue-flecked eyelashes and thick wrap around ankle straps on her Sex and the City knock-offs with bands of shiny silver beads atop a platform base. 

Estrella felt a tinge of repulsion at the bright ensemble draped over a distinctly masculine frame. Instead of focusing on Jamaica's shiny package, swallowed her thoughts into a well of buried words and meaning as she drifted to the usual places away from anything painful, anything emotional, anything real.

Outer View

After the new passengers boarded, Tony conducted his survey of how many eyes were on the couple - more importantly, on him. The beautiful power couple were hard to miss, but it was 9 p.m. and the riders consisted of second-shifters, workaholics heading home, and partiers heading out- each with their own agenda that ignored Tony's need to be seen.

He repositioned himself leaning into the image of the doting husband. He intentionally placed his hand on Estrella's knee. She acknowledged the touch with a gentle smile, looking at him, yet through him with a ghostly gaze of someone half alive. He then patted her hand and moved his hands back to his lap clasping them together with importance. The young man looked-up for a moment to catch Tony's movement. He looked more from a glance of anxiety than any real interest in the actions of the people around him

Just gotta be cool. Be cool. Be cool, he thought unable to slow the furious beating in his chest. He focused for a moment on his breathing – heavy, yet shallow and fast with fear. He had run straight from the tip of the southeastern projects into the heart of the city where visitors and natives all mixed and gathered to catch trains that dispersed them to every destination.

Vicenté's thoughts flashed back to the phone call he had with Kemal that afternoon. “I can’t go back there, those muthafucks gonna kill me. They kill you, too, if they see you with me,” he pleaded. 

“Help me out, man. I ain’t got no one else. Jus’ loan me enough to get me outta here. Meetcha at Minnesota at 7. Cool?” asked Kemal. 
“Cool,” Vincenté agreed. He wanted to say no, but he owed him.  He owed Kemal his life.

Disbursed

Jamaica refocused her attention on her appearance. She pulled out her pocket mirror to finish her look. She moved her head from side to side eyeing the placement of her wig, and applied her new shade of lip stain. She then reached down to hike her skirt up just enough to show off her lanky runners’ legs. She straightened herself to an upright position in preparation for the stop, and began humming a tune when the conductor announced, “Next stop, Dupont Circle.”


The train jerked to a stop causing her to stumble backward. She regained her stance. The doors opened, and she strutted off the train enjoying the feel of her freedom. Tony and, especially, Estrella felt a sense of liberation at her departure, but the relief was brief. Estrella quickly returned her gaze to the window.

She was drawn to the sight of the lights coming up and passing as if the train were holding still and the world outside were moving. She enjoyed the feeling of time stopping even if only an illusion. 

Tony leaned over to Estrella to announce they would be getting off at the Tenleytown station. She nodded and glanced over at the metro map posted near the door. That’s four more stops. She took a breath and melted back into the lights speeding by while she remained suspended in time. She knew that for just a while longer, she didn’t have to pretend.

Next Stop

"Next stop, Tenleytown," "Estrella, ready? Everyone's looking forward to seeing you. Hold still. Your collar's cock-eyed," Tony said. He reached over to correct the collar which had turned inward. She let him. She had learned it was easier that way. 

Tony stood up and held the handrail. In a gentlemanly gesture, he reached out his hand to help his beautiful wife to her feet, and stood behind her with his hand on her waist while they held the handrail. She took one last gaze out the window as the passing lights slowed to a stop. "This is Tenleytown. Doors opening on your right." Estrella followed her husband off the train. He held her hand as they walked toward the exit.

Blood

Passengers entering and exiting the train were of little interest to Vicenté. His mind was racing as fast as his heart was beating. He kept replaying the last images and sounds of his visit to the neighborhood where he grew up. He wished he never went back.

Vicenté's thoughts drifted back to events of four hours earlier when his train was pulling into Minnesota Station. He could see Kemal's face quietly desparate while two of his former Bloods were backing him into a corner across from the metro stop. 

Vincenté took one step off the train while focused on Kemal's expression. He noticed the wide openness of his eyes and upward movement of his chin as he acknowledged Vincenté on the platform. The nod was a signal for him to stay away. He knew that signal from before. Kemal had used it in the past.

This time was different, though. Before, Kemal maintained a cool look of confidence. This look was more of resignation. Vincenté was used to following Kemal's lead. He instinctively stepped back onto the train as the door's were shutting. While the train was pulling out of the station, he pounded his fists on the closed doors repeating, "Noooo! Noooo!" As he lost site of Kamal, he heard a loud POP. He knew that sound. 

"Last stop on the red line," he heard the conductor say. Vincenté remained seated.

Imperfectly Perfect People Types

The Hope

We are trapped by an unrealistic image of what it means to be ourselves. In this reality, where we have rules not to have bad breath, disheveled hair, drive a car with dents and faded paint…or worse, show vulnerability. Within these rules, we find it increasingly difficult to find ourselves, know ourselves and be ourselves.

Who are we beyond these advertised versions of ourselves? We are deep feeling, deeply creative, life experiencing, imperfectly amazing beings capable of achieving great things and showing boundless compassion.  However, no matter how much deodorant we wear,  or extensive our wardrobe is, we all will have to suffer the fate at some time or another of having to be our human selves.

Yes, we will have bad breath. We will forget to apply our deodorant a morning or two. We will likely cry at least a time or two or twenty... We will experience painful loss, and moments when we feel unglued and lost no matter how hard we try to be perfect with a fabulous smile. Those unattainable images are the root causes of a multitude of ills including anxiety and depression.

Deconstructing the Image

Buying something you want and will enjoy isn't the problem. The problem is expecting the image associated with the product or service. It can leave us feeling empty and dissatisfied. This is where we run into trouble as a culture because we begin to pull further away from who we really are while trying to fill that void with who we are not. These images are false constructs of what it is to be human. They keep us off balance, feeling insecure. They separate us from our ourselves.

Who are we apart from our profile picture and latest phone? Below, I have put together five categories that people generally fall into. We are comprised of different proportions of each quality with certain descriptors standing out more strongly as dominant. See which ones ring true for you and share your results.

 Type Descriptors

The Packager

The packager has the gift of putting order to chaos. They take disorganized situations and put them into nice, neatly organized, tidy packages that make sense. The world needs packagers. Without them, we would lack structure and useful rules that guide us through our daily tasks.

The downfall is that packagers are so intent on putting their environment into packages, they include people in those packages as well. Not every person fits neatly into the packager’s image of the tidy person they want them to be. They additionally tend to not appreciate the value of anyone who operates under a different paradigm especially someone who is comfortable operating within grey areas as their character doesn’t require tidy little boxes in order to function. Also, not all situations need to be pre-packaged. Packagers can over-organize to the point of interfering with natural flow and spontaneity.

The Relator

Relators focus on creating and maintaining relationships. They are excellent at developing meaningful rapport. They positively influence and maintain group dynamics and utilize their interpersonal strengths to accomplish life’s tasks. You will often see relators as counselors, educators, HR professionals, interviewers and trainers – but you can find them anywhere you can find people.

Relators are good at seeing others as individuals and noticing their strengths. They build rapport easily and earn people’s trust due to their insight into human nature. They are good at creating group dynamics and can spot what needs to be adjusted to make any group flow more smoothly by utilizing individual strengths and talents to enhance the whole. Quality of relationships is what matters most to the relator.

Relators often believe because they value relationships above all else, so does the rest of the world. They get hurt and disappointed more easily than other types because they have increased sensitivity to subtle interactions, and awareness when they are out of sync. They can additionally feel frustrated when people aren’t getting along or cooperating despite their best efforts to create a positive environment. Last, since the relator is more focused on the individual, they have to stretch to conceptualize the concept of team over the individual if required.

The Originator

Originators are the creators. They think and make amazing things. They are outstanding idea people. They conceptualize well and create works of art, engineering masterpieces, page-turning stories and musical novelties.

Originators are often spatially oriented and have a good eye or ear for connecting one piece to the next. They will shock us, amaze us and keep us advancing structurally, and creatively. Originators are innovative and are the impetus for change. Originators create overtly in ways that enliven and engage others. They also motivate and inspire our feelings and our senses.

Because originators are excellent idea people, they often have difficulty following their ideas through to fruition. They may also prefer to remain in the world of ideas and have difficulty manifesting them into reality. Unless an originator has a bit of packager in them, they are challenged by rules, structures and details that put limits on their ability to create.

The Orchestrator

An orchestrator ranges from a parent, a teacher to a corporate CEO. Strong orchestrators are able see how all the parts of the whole fit and work best together.

Orchestrators have insight into conducting a symphony of characteristics that manifest into a working whole. We need these insightful and gifted leaders to pull together disparate pieces and characteristics into a manageable team.

Orchestrators can lose sight of the individual needs in order to create a unified whole. Individual needs may fall by the wayside while the orchestrator is assembling a working team. The have a difficult time comprehending a team as comprised of individuals and individual parts. Orchestrators also get frustrated when individual parts aren’t functioning the way they envisioned.

The Processor

Processors are the people working in the wings to manage the details. Their role is to make everything operate smoothly from start to finish. Because they work to maintain the nitty gritty details in every domestic or work situation, they aren’t generally interested in the limelight.

Processors are the people we turn to get the daily tasks done so life moves forward with the minimal number of monkey wrenches as possible. Processors express their love and dedication by managing the mundane tasks. They are responsible, reliable and conscientious.

Processors are challenged by grander expressions of their love and dedication. People may mistakenly think they are cold and unfeeling. Since they operate from the sidelines, they can get overlooked. Processors can feel they are taken for granted as a result. Processors tend to be very patient. However, they may on occasion get angry feeling their efforts aren’t appreciated. 

Recognizing Yourself

As you read through each descriptor, you may have found one or two that resonated most strongly with who see yourself as. You probably found an ex in there, and better understood why they are now your ex. Did you find family members, bosses, colleagues? Share this with them not to antagonize them or say. “See. This is why we don’t get along”… Use it to enlighten them. Who knows. You may be able to strategize ways of maximizing one another’s strengths.

Ideally, we as family, work and societal structures should have a balance of each of these qualities to operate optimally. Of course, we naturally believe our type is the best. However, I would like you to keep the perspective that awareness of all the types will deepen your understanding into other points of view as well as how to best remedy the pitfalls and maximize the pluses of interacting with those unlike yourself.

Uniquely You

I hope this has helped you come closer to knowing and celebrating your uniqueness and that of others. You are Imperfectly Perfectly You.

The Sixth Grade

It’s 8:30 in the morning, and I have just arrived at the charter school ready to face the eighth grade. I flashed back to my student teaching days when I spent an afternoon observing the eighth grade, and was convincing myself it’s not much different from high school where I have spent most of my teaching time. I took a breath and announced my arrival to the front desk receptionist.

Mandy, a young woman who was to be on my panel interview, came down and greeted me. She casually said, “This morning you’ll be observing the sixth grade.” I said with a question mark, “The sixth grade? I prepared an English lesson for the eighth grade.” “Yes,” Mandy acknowledged, “The sixth grade teacher suddenly quit. Our immediate need is to fill the open sixth grade position." In shock I replied, ”But my lesson plan is for the eighth grade.” “That’s alright,” Mandy assured me. “The sixth grade class can benefit from your lesson on narrative reading.”

Since I was there, I decided to give it a try. I was escorted to my first class where I was an observer. I watched kids working intermittently between repeating insulting comments to one another and popping in and out of their chairs. If that wasn’t brave enough, I was about to deliver an eighth grade lesson plan to a group of high energy six graders.

Next, I entered the class that could be mine, took in the environment and readied my materials while the haggard teacher preceding me was concluding his lesson with the words, “Put your butts in your seats!” He seemed relieved to have me take the reins for the next 50 minutes and left the room swiftly.

The principal, assistant principal, Mandy and 3 other unknown teachers came in to observe me. I had just begun my lesson when one boy put his feet up on his desk and loudly asked, “Why are you here?” I answered him honestly and continued with the passage we were reading to exemplify setting and character. Before I finished, two boys got out of their chairs. One grabbed a pass and announced he was going to the bathroom. The other stood up and began chatting with his friend two seats down. Then the boy with his feet on the desk proclaimed he didn’t like the story. Despite my attempts at classroom management, it went on much the same for the next 40 minutes.

I spent the demonstration surviving it rather than teaching it. I felt pretty beaten up by the end of 50 long minutes in the sixth grade. At the conclusion, the assistant principal told me it was a challenging class as she escorted me to her office for the debriefing that followed. She ripped apart my lesson stating I didn't provide enough feedback, a clear conclusion, or allow the second language learners to share out their sentences. At that point, I had to ask why the last teacher suddenly quit. She squirreled around her response, but I was fairly certain I knew why. She was run off by that Children of the Corn class. I personally believed it was a job better suited for law enforcement.

I couldn’t wait to leave. I knew I didn’t want to teach there and was confident they felt the same about me. I stepped onto the sidewalk outside the school relieved, exhausted and disappointed as I had mustered the courage to teach the eighth grade, got tossed into the sixth grade, and the entire experience exceeded my worst expectations.