This Substack column consists of content submitted by participants from the Okoboji Writers’ Retreat. To learn more about the 2022 retreat: OWRII
Carrie Englund is currently traveling in the southwest for the winter, camping off the grid with her spouse and their calm terrier, Ruby. The RV is lovingly called Bigfoot after her father who was the notorious Big Foot of Marion County in the 1970s. Stories of her father can be found by searching Google for keywords ‘Glenn Visser Bigfoot.’ She is blogging when she can grab an internet signal:
https://pullingbigfoot.blogspot.com.
The moment I read that Roxanne Conlin skydived in her seventies, I was convinced that I had to skydive to mark turning sixty. The courage of Conlin, a legendary lawyer, and civil justice activist, inspired me to think big.
I researched skydiving over the Grand Canyon. Yes, you can skydive over the Grand Canyon, even when it's freezing, and you must land in snow. In the spirit of Conlin, whose public record proves she is not afraid to take on big challenges, I decided that skydiving over the Grand Canyon would make a sensational story to tell the grandkids - provided I survived.
But then, one ordinary morning, a voice shouted in my head, "What are you trying to prove?!"
My thinking shifted as if I'd stepped onto an elevator, rode up to the penthouse, and got off on the floor called "Higher Awareness." A thought flashed in my head; Perhaps, you've been scared enough in your lifetime.
Those eight simple words pulled an emergency brake in my brain. I pondered, "Have I been scared enough?"
There is no denying it; I have lived with some level of fear for as long as I can remember. I grew up in a small town with many potential dangers: rivers, creeks, sinkholes, snakes, stray dogs, drunk drivers, guns, hunters, and perverts—to name a few.
My young, socially active parents liked to meet with friends on the weekends and have some beers. I would stand at the window and wait for them to pull into the driveway, afraid they would die in a car accident on the way home. My heroic dad was a bilateral amputee. He'd lost both of his arms in a tragic electrical accident before I was born. When my parents argued, I feared they'd get a divorce and leave my dad without a caretaker. When we cruised up and down the Des Moines River in our flat-bottom fishing boat, I feared dad would hit a hidden tree branch or a sandbar, and we'd all drown.
My childhood fears grew up quickly when I gave birth to my older daughter at the tender age of sixteen. I later married a nice man and had two more kids. We lived in a notoriously conservative community where I came out as a lesbian and asked my husband for a divorce. This news happened when it was not socially acceptable to be gay. Coming out as a homosexual could cost you your job, children, and even life.
I survived many years with a worsening drug and alcohol addiction that regularly placed me at risk of injury or death. I have stayed clean and sober for the majority of the past three decades and maintained my sobriety through numerous tragedies and heartaches, including, among others, my dad's suicide, the death of my son-in-law to colon cancer, and the nightmarish reign of our 45th president.
I worked as a registered nurse for thirty-six years. Hospitals can be frightening places. I spent thirty-two of those years serving our nation's veterans at VA hospitals. Alongside our heroes, I experienced the damaging physical and emotional by-products of war for decades.
Like many women, I have worried I wasn't good enough, thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough, or worthy. Years ago, I had a retirement party for my inner critic to symbolize my desire to stop being so hard on myself. Despite decades of self-esteem work, I can still be a scold about my weight and looks, especially as I age.
So that day, as I checked out the view from the penthouse of Higher Awareness, I felt challenged to imagine the freedom of living unapologetically and authentically. I imagined embracing my beautifully flawed self and living free of any real or imagined expectations for beauty, size, or accomplishments I might put on myself.
We all deserve compassion, love, and acceptance. I don't need to prove I'm brave to myself or anyone else. I am fearless.
Maybe it's time to let my hair go gray and allow my laugh lines to deepen without regret … or perhaps it's not. Because, like my noble hero, Roxanne Conlin, I can manifest whatever outcome I choose. As I boldly become a sexagenarian, I will sing happy birthday to me!
Love this!
Thanks so much!