The Trip I Didn’t Take
by Nancy King
Over the years I have traveled both here and abroad to teach, hike, visit friends, explore native crafts, attend conferences, and wander, with no destination or agenda. I have been kidnapped in Spain, abandoned in Japan, lost in Thailand, confronted by fleeing refugees in Hungary, frozen in Denmark, and awed by the kindness and caring of people with whom I had no common language. In my travels I have dealt with strikes, thunderstorms, ice, and tornados. Yet the trip I didn’t take, which involved no outer danger, no worries about the elements or travel arrangements or passports, turned out to be the most difficult trip of all—an inner voyage, to a place inside myself, a journey I had avoided for most of my life.
It began with an invitation, to make a trip to see his newborn daughter. The parents told me I needed to have a pertussis shot, something both my Eastern and Western medical personnel advised against, given that I have a chronic form of leukemia and am not in remission. He told me that if I couldn’t have the shot, I would need to wear a mask and gloves if I wanted to hold the baby. In emails and in phone conversations I agreed to do this, as well as anything else needed to protect the child’s health.
The day before my scheduled flight, he abruptly cancelled the visit, leaving messages on one friend’s voice mail and another friend’s email that I needed to be taught how to behave. He accused me of refusing to wear gloves and a mask when I held the baby, which was patently untrue. But, because of his rage, I spiraled down into a place of darkness and despair, out of touch, out of reach, and unable to pretend that this was just another bad moment in my difficult relationship with him. He could not hear me. He could not listen to what I had to say. He insisted that I refused to wear the gloves and mask.
Who wouldn’t agree to wear a mask? Certainly not I. All my life I have metaphorically worn a mask, hiding my feelings behind an “all I want to do is please you” façade. This time, my health was at stake. This time, the mask of my own making was preventing me from breathing. This time, accompanied by the frightened beating of my heart, I found the courage to travel to the center of myself, determined to find a way to tear off the mask, to feel what I was feeling without mediation, without pretense, no matter what the outcome. When I surfaced, I knew I could no longer live as I had before. I needed to find a way to jettison the mask and live a more authentic life. I wanted to learn to speak truthfully, to stop the “pleasing at all costs” habit, which I had learned as a young child when it was dangerous to upset those around me.
The outcome with him was not good, but it was more than time to stop being afraid of his outbursts, more than time to stop hiding my honest reactions to him, more than time to stop pretending that things were normal. I find it ironic that this break in our relationship happened over wearing a mask—the mask he claimed I wouldn’t wear, the personal mask I could no longer bear to keep on.
This journey into living truthfully may have had a clear beginning, but it has no ending. Lifelong habits are difficult to break, even when one wants to as much as I do. The first time I blurted out what I was feeling to someone, I wanted to take my words back, to apologize, but I didn’t, no matter how bad I felt afterward. With practice, I have learned to blurt less, and to speak a bit more diplomatically. Sometimes, when fear overtakes me, I pick up the mask, almost ready to put it back on, but I resist. It is difficult. And, I know that my well-being depends upon keeping it off.
It is not only with him that things have changed. I am no longer willing to be in relationships where I am told I’m not allowed to talk about what I’m feeling. I’m no longer willing to pretend that what is happening is not.
In the past, I lived in fear; afraid of being told I was too intense, too serious. Now I know that this intensity, this seriousness, was in large measure the result of tamping down my feelings. The rigidity, caused by constantly trying to be what others wanted me to be, to please, did not allow for the spontaneity of laughter or crying.
I haven’t yet made it to crying, but I’ve been laughing a lot. Life looks and feels a whole lot better than ever before. Taking off the mask, under very difficult circumstances, was the ticket to living a happier and more authentic life. I am on my way.
Nancy King s most recent books are three novels: A Woman Walking, Morning Light*, The Stones Speak*, and a nonfiction book, Dancing With Wonder: Self-Discovery Through Stories. You can read excerpts of her books, as well as order them, on her website www.nancykingstories.com.
[photo by h.koppdelaney via flickr creative common license]
16 Comments
Reader Comments (16)
Nancy may write about the mask she has discarded, but she has, for more than 45 years that I've known her, helped a great many people discover their own authentic selves. Since she finally got to herself, I can honestly say she just saved the best for last.
This is such an inspiring and beautifully written piece. Thank you for sharing this story!
A beautifully written "journey into living truthfully," to quote the author who skillfully communicates the courage required to live as our true selves. Bravo, brave Nancy!
Thank you for your wonderful comments. This was one of the hardest pieces I have ever written and I worried about readers' reactions. Recaliming my self is a lifelong journey, to be sure, but I know that I am finally on my way. Having friends who cheer me on, makes it possible to deal with the inevitable bumps in the road.
Nancy, so thankful to read this piece. I also struggle with my "image" in one particular relationship with a relative. Your writing is inspiring and at times feels like you have seen the inside of me...thank you for posting. Katherine Guidry
Nancy dear,
I knew the story. Yet reading it was a whole different ballgame. You write so well and the pain becomes alive. I'm so glad you finally have the courage to face the demons and try to put them behind you. Life is a journey of learning, and sometimes that learning can be very painful. Keep laughing and taking "trips" for surely that is the road to healing.
The best review I can receive as a writer, is that my writing about difficult subjects helps readers to feel connected and heard. I appreciate the possibility of conversation, the joy of writing on this site
To my dear friend Nancy,
Having personal knowledge of how monumental the word "good" directed to you years ago in New York by Martha Graham must have been, even before I knew you as the most beautiful dancer in our 'group' in early 60's Providence, I find no better word for this latest piece you have written than simply (and meant as monumentally as Graham's), "Good!"
With love, Griselda
While agreeing wholeheartedly with the above comments, I found myself somewhat uncomfortable with the lack of description of the initial external antagonist. I then searched to see if there was a story about the mentioned kidnapping which also called to me. In finding no index of previous contributions and learning that the brevity could well be dictated by the allowed story length, I stumbled across the Hallmark story which provided a powerful perspective into the protective nature of the impersonal pronoun. We have no control over where our life journey begins or likely of where and when it will end, which leaves us making the best of interminable course corrections as we continue (up and) down the path. Thanks for writing of yours.
Nancy, my friend,
Your journey has certainly been far and deep. I can almost hear you breathing in this amazing reflection.
I would love to know more about the photo you included!
Linda
Many thanks for dropping the mask--and reminding me how difficult it can be to keep it off! Often we use our writing as another mask, but your writing of this story challenges me to drop my own mask(s). Thank you.
Linda, this is Ellen Barone, co-founder and publisher of the site, jumping into the conversation to help you learn more about the photograph included in Nancy's beautiful essay.
As indicated in the photo credits at the close of the story, it's an image from the collection of creative common license images by a talented photographer, h.koppdelaney. The photographer has included a story behind the image (scroll down for the English version) on Flickr which I thought echoed Nancy's story. You can learn more by either clicking on the image in Nancy's story, or going to the image directly at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/h-k-d/6084516475/in/set-72157627300693526.
Thanks again for reading, sharing your comments and inquiring to learn more. We love it when the use of a Flickr image sends readers onward to view more of an artist's work. It's exactly the intention behind common licensing.
With gratitude,
Ellen
Inner travel is a lonely and often difficult process. Writing about it on a site like yourlifeisatrip makes the process less lonely. Readers' comments remind me once again, that sharing our stories is a way to gain insight and comfort, a way of encouraging each other to deal with what we encounter as we move through our individual journeys. I very much appreciate and look forward to readers' ideas and reactions.
This is your best piece ever. The metaphor of the "mask" is right on the mark. It occurs to me that we end up handling too many people with "kid gloves." Keep up this wonderful writing.
Love,
Barbara
The understatement with which you write of something so important underscores the impact. As wounded as you are, you have chosen the wisest path for moving forward. As you say, it's not easy to overcome old habits. You seem to be doing quite well at making the most of each day. Thank you for reminding me that we don't have to rationalize feeling good and laughing.
Great article. It's me all the way, or rather me the way I used to be. One day I said, "Enough!" I moved to Mexico and live a life full of joy, happiness, and serenity - in other words, I finally live as my authentic self. Thank you for your essay.