Author: mbcoudal

Teacher, humorist, workshop leader, actress, and mother of three awesome young adults Follow @MaryBethC on twitter.

Creative Disobedience

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“I said my piece in a shaky voice,” Stephanie Wilkinson said about the night in June when she quietly turned away Sarah Huckabee Sanders from her restaurant.

Ms. Wilkinson is the co-founder and co-owner of The Red Hen, and she characterized her action as a “private act of conscience, not meant to be public.” The only reason her small action made it to the evening news and became a part of the national discourse was that a server posted the story on Facebook.

“This was about our own personal stand.” Since that quiet moment on the patio when she asked Ms. Sanders to leave, she’s received more than four thousand pieces of mail (including, literally, ‘pieces of shit.’)

From that small chat, a larger conversation emerged — when and with whom do our colleagues feel safe? Is this simply a sign of our polarized nation? Is a restaurant a public or private space; that is, is a restaurant more like a club than an open public park? It is, most assuredly, a business.

Ms. Wilkinson said, Yes, dining together — breaking bread — is personal, but it’s also political. As a restaurant that serves farm-to-table food, ‘We have to think about the immigrants who are picking our strawberries.’ Or the hands in the kitchen preparing our salad. Also, the context matters. How do you treat a person who fails to apologize for the lies of our executive in chief? How about someone who dismisses sexual abuse?

Is the person who explains policy about, basically, kidnapping children at our border welcome to dinner at your home?

“Would you serve Hitler? Would you serve Osama Bin Laden? Someone who kidnapped your child? ….Everybody has a line,” Wilkinson said. “What is the line you will not cross?” By asking Sanders to leave, Wilkinson and her staff addressed the inhumane and dangerous practices of the administration.

Not too be dramatic, Ms. Wilkinson said, but that was the context of the June evening when Ms. Sanders and her party quietly exited the restaurant.

While many people disagree with the choice the staff at the Red Hen that night, ‘business is up at the Red Hen. Business is up in the town.’ (Business is also good for Nike, led by Colin Kaepernick’s civil disobedience.)

Asked whether she would have taken the same action, had she known the outcome, Ms. Wilkinson replied, “I sleep very well at night. I have a staff who sleeps very well at night.”

While she does receive hate mail, she also receives gratitude mail. People have purchased gift cards from the restaurant. She has received meaningful letters, like the one that says, ‘I am an immigrant. What you did makes me feel there are people who stand with me.’

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I am far left talking to Wilkinson beside me and two other mothers at the homecoming for the School for Ethics and Global Leadership in Washington DC today.

 

Parenting an Empty Nest

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Feeling bittersweet, my kids are growing up. Today my daughters turn 19.

I wanted kids so badly and got unbelievably lucky, thanks to God and the science of fertility, to have them. (Not that we didn’t try, endlessly and enjoyably, the old-fashioned way.)

It was about two decades ago, I was waiting to hear if I was pregnant. I recall exiting the 72nd Street subway, knowing there would be an answering machine message at home with the pregnancy results. The whole world seemed super taut — like a too-tight, vibrating guitar string. I was reverberating on a super-high frequency. And I noticed all the commuters going about their ordinary lives. And I thought, ‘None of them is going through what I’m going through.’ The stakes were high. I hoped I would not burst before I got home to find out the news.

And it was a YES! The universe (and science) gave us what we were longing for.

Fast forward all these years. The chicks have flown the coop. I sort of hate the Empty Nest metaphor. After all, New York City kids are pretty independent, flying around on Uber accounts as if they were magic carpets.

On the plus side, the house stays way neater, but sadly, there’s way less liveliness. Dinner time is most difficult for us. Chris still slowly cooks way too much food for just the two of us. We forget that we are not feeding vegetarians and we still, healthily, eat mostly meatless meals. Over our meal, we talk about the kids or about our work or creative projects.

And then, we watch Jeopardy. See, as kids grow up and move out, there is this one consolation prize: game shows. Is this pathetic? Yes, and it is also very fun. The two of us discuss how well we do on our favorite categories of Entertainment and Literature. And then, we might play Gin Rummy. Then, for me, it’s time for bed with a book.

In any case, once a month, the pattern is disrupted. The chicks return home. Or maybe a nephew or friend will come to stay, briefly populating our empty rooms, adding dinner table conversation or another hand to deal at the card table.

When our kids were young, I was told endlessly, ‘The years go fast, the days go slow.’ And it is unbearably true.

So cherish each day, each year. Mark the birthdays with joy and remembrance of how badly you wanted these darlings. And then, remember, how, when they came into the world, they surprised and exceeded every hope and dream. Their childhood was not always easy, but, oh, it was undeniably worth it.

Let love for your family still fill your heart. And then, after feeling all these feelings — the waves of gratitude and love, tune in to Jeopardy.

People who wade into discomfort and vulnerability and tell the truth of their stories are the real badasses. – Dr. Brené Brown, Rising Strong

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I tried to take a selfie with Alex Trebek but he disappeared and all I’m left with is this selfie with the Jeopardy contestants.

Social Justice Rules

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Last night I heard the clarion call of justice from the prophetic Bryan Stevenson, death row lawyer and author of Just Mercy, at B’nai Jeshurun with my book club. Here was his message:

1.Get closer to the poor.
2. Change the narratives.
3. Have hope.
4. Do uncomfortable and inconvenient things.

I elaborate on each point below.

  1. “Get proximate,” is the term he used. Stevenson talked about his grandmother’s hugs and how he felt her tight squeeze for hours afterwards.  When they were separated, she would ask,”SnapseedDo you still feel me hugging you?” We must, too,  embrace one another. Even on her death bed, his grandma squeezed his hand.

2. Addiction and dependency are health care problems and the criminal justice system is not equipped to be a healing place for ill people.

We must not be governed by fear and anger, but by compassion for the suffering.

Also, children are not “super predators.” They are worthy of our protection — they must not be tried or sentenced as adults.

And, let’s face it, he said, we must recognize we live in a post- genocidal world. The United States has committed atrocities. Other countries — South Africa, Rwanda, Germany — confess and learn from their crimes against humanity. Citizens of the United States ought to remember and reflect on our history of the attempted extinction of Native Americans and the reality of the slavery of African Americans.

His remark on ‘making America great again,’ — ‘What decade, would, I, as an African American, want to return to?’ — drew applause.

3. “Injustice prevails when hopelessness persists – your hope is your superpower,” Stevenson said. As my friend Jean noted, this makes sense on a personal level, too. After all, we can not seek changes in our lives if we do not believe change is possible.

4. “Why do we want to kill all the broken people?” ‘It’s a broken system. We have to get to know each other — because we are all broken.’ Personally, I have always been against the death penalty because I have known that grace and redemption are possible. We must not look exclusively at what the indicted have done, but what we, as a society, are doing to the incarcerated. As a people, do we really want to kill people?

“The opposite of poverty is not wealth but justice.” And we cannot measure our success the same ways others do (simply by our financial gain).

In answering a question from the group about how to persuade people to our point of view, Stevenson spoke about meeting people where they are. Listening.

He noted that politicians have much trouble apologizing. “Saying I’m sorry does not make you weak. It makes you strong. We don’t do sorry well.” The crowd laughed when he noted that we can learn from couples married for 50 years:  ‘They have learned to apologize.’

Stevenson said that the U.S. needs Truth and Reconciliation like in South Africa. This reminded me of the book, Dear White America: Letter to a New Minority by Tim Wise who starts by saying, basically, that as a country, we are asked to ‘Remember the Alamo’ and ‘Never Forget 9/11,’ but when the topic of systemic enslavement for hundreds of years of African American people emerges, white people, basically, say, “Oh, get over it!” This is why, I believe, his museum, The National Memorial for Peace and Justice and the lynching memorial, and the study of the history of Civil Rights work in Alabama, is so important. We must never forget. We must make amends.

Another take-away: “Ask not ‘How do I help?’ but, ‘How do I serve?'”

As for the question I asked (and others too) on the new make up of the Supreme Court, he said, “They (the justices) cannot be indifferent to suffering.”

I woke this morning with so much hope — hundreds of people were at this event and the message was energizing. Our book club even talked about heading to Alabama for a long weekend to visit the new museum.

If he’s ever giving a talk in your area, go learn from Bryan Stevenson, an amazing and motivating speaker. His delivery was impassioned; he spoke without notes and without rancor.

His message was clear: “Stay on the side of love.” ‘We cannot go to the side of hate.’  As for me, just for today, I will not give up fighting for justice. My dream is to someday see Bryan Stevenson on the Supreme Court.

Until then, my friend, continue to beat the drum for justice.

 

Open Your Heart

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At a recent teacher three-day professional development workshop, on the last day, one of the co-leaders told the assembled, “You all were so great. I have serious anxiety. And I got through that with you all this weekend.”

I wish he had confided in us on the very first day about his anxiety. After all, who among us does not have anxiety? I would not have been so hard on our facilitator. At one point, I had to call him out on what I perceived of as his lack of female and non-white role models in his presentations.

My point is sometimes our leaders can be so smart and yet they do not lead from the heart. They lead from their heads. And intelligence is often not enough.
I’ve been thinking about this because I saw this Sioux saying on Instagram (from Meaningful Minds and Mark Nepo).longest journey

Many schools, like mine, had Monday off for Columbus Day, yet there is a move afoot to remake the day as Indigenous Peoples Day. That makes sense to me.

I have written several articles about Native American Ministries. And one take away for my research was always this truth: we are interconnected. We are all family. Even the air, water, wind, birds, trees — these are all our relations.

This summer as I communed with nature on a church group camping trip, a young boy wrote a prayer. His message? Look with the heart and not with the eyes. When I asked him how he came up with this bit of brilliance, he told me that his public school teacher had shared this message from the children’s classic, The Little Prince. And so I give you:

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

See with your heart. Think from your heart. Lead from your heart. After all, we are all family here; your anxiety will disappear. Take the journey from your head to your heart.

Big City Blues

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I remember when my ex and I split up, I was in a divorce recovery support group, the therapist said he enjoyed working with people in pain because they were motivated. Hell, yes. That is me and my country. We are in pain and we are motivated to make some positive change.

Make some good use of our righteous anger. Besides feeling down by the state of our beloved union, yesterday, I was downhearted by the neurologist’s appointment. It’s not that anything has changed in Chris’s Parkinson’s status. But that’s just it. There’s never really a positive change either.

Still, I will not let my rage silence me. I will not let doubt rob my optimism.

These are my thoughts from the jury waiting room, snuggled in beside a couple hundred of my fellow citizens. As I look around this room, I notice we are way more beautifully diverse than our congress, our judges, our corporate leaders.

New York City uplifts me. There is something beautiful about the diversity of the people in today’s jury pool. My fellow jurors and travelers do not look like the creepy elders from any dystopian movie (think, Hunger Games) you know, those octogenarians who make up the justice committee confirming the Supreme Court nominees. New Yorkers are not creepers like that.

Sure, we have some older folks here, in a walker or wearing a suit and tie. But the people around me are also young, female, many shades of brown and beige and pink. Many hair styles and many fashion icons among us. This is the freakin’ melting pot — or better yet, the beautiful mosaic, as my pal (and former mayor) David Dinkins said.

So, yes, we get down but beautiful New Yorkers keeps us afloat.

At lunch time, I swung by the City Clerk’s office to pick up my application to be a marriage officiant. Don’t ask me why. I have no good reason. And we all must do those things for which there is no good reason.

Here are a few pics of today’s happy newlyweds and families. Feeling down? Notice all the happy couples. And if you’re still down, let that pain motivate you — to serve on a jury or to do something for which there is no good reason.

PS I was excused from jury duty service today and for the next six years. When so many of us show up, not all of us are needed.

Staying On Message

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Over the last five years, I have worked as a videographer for filmmaker Jane Praeger of Ovid Inc. and Columbia University. This past summer, just a few days after my shoulder surgery, I assisted her at a pretty tony company, but because I was recovering, my son Hayden helped out — he, too, found Praeger’s coaching helpful and inspiring.

I love Praeger’s style because she asks a lot of questions and she’s not out to ‘catch’ you in your errors. She builds you up on what you already do well. She’s genuinely curious. And she never lectures. She’s good at getting people to simplify their message. When speakers “get in the weeds” with too much insider lingo, she steers them back to a direct and straightforward style of storytelling.

In any case, I’ve been thinking about Praeger and her mentoring style because today, as I’m catching up on my old newspapers, reading some old New York Times, I find that on October 4, Jane Praeger wrote a letter to the opinion page addressing women’s anger and presentation skills. Here is Jane’s wisdom:

To the Editor:

Rebecca Traister makes the point that women’s rage is often “transformed into something more palatable” — like tears.

In my 25 years as a communications coach, I’ve found that “performance anxiety” or “stage fright” — the most common reason women seek coaching — is often rage turned inward.

I made this discovery early in my career, when a very prominent woman and capable public speaker came for coaching because she had suddenly developed a speaking phobia. A few questions revealed that she actually had a lot of anger (rage, really) toward specific men in the audience — anger she felt she couldn’t directly express.

When I asked her if she might be “shaking with rage” instead of “shaking with fear,” she closed her eyes for a few moments, then, clearly trying to hold back tears, nodded her head. We talked about how she might better communicate her anger and her speaking phobia literally disappeared.

Since then, my advice to women (and men) whose fear or anxiety keeps them from making their voices heard is to first ask themselves: “Who in this audience am I angry at?” Then, “what is the alternative to turning that rage in on myself?”

Jane Praeger
New York
The writer teaches in the Women in Leadership program at Columbia Business School.

See what I mean about asking a good question? She is asking, it seems, What is the alternative to inward rage? How can you employ your anger to tell your story more creatively, forcefully, and, yes, professionally?

Working with Praeger is one of my several side hustles. My full-time job as a teacher comes first, but I am fortunate to have crafted a part-time work life that enriches my personal life, and honestly, gives me a bit more status that my teaching gig does. Look, I am fanatical about teaching well. And a big part of teaching is to be a life-long learner about learning. I’m never going to stop asking the big questions.

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Use your rage to ask the big questions; this has got to be the way women advance.

 

Mastery of the Craft

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Last night, I got into watercolor painting. I’m a rank amateur compared to my brother Brendan and my father, but I do love to push paint around paper and see if anything emerges. I try to get into the zone. I never have enough time. And the feeling I love best is when one effortless stroke yields something recognizable. And I have that rush of self-affirmation, “Wow, that’s good.” Or maybe, “I’m good.” I love  that dopamine hit of a feeling of mastery.

Yesterday we saw Edie Falco in the True, an off Broadway play about the politically savvy Polly Noonan, the Albany secretary and consultant of Mayor Erastus Corning II who served, unbelievably, for 41 years. Falco is one of my favorites. So are John Pankow and Michael McKean, also masters. It’s relaxing to go to the theater when you can trust the actors’ craft, sit back and let them do their thing. You don’t have to worry. It’s all going to be okay.

Corning may have peddled in corruption, but he knew his constituents well. And this seems to be what we’re missing nowadays in politics and in our neighborhoods — from the cop on the corner to the local Assembly person. Well, actually, I do know and love Linda Rosenthal, our Upper West Side assemblywoman. So never mind.

Our neighborhood is so beautiful in the fall. Just this afternoon on the way back from church, I spotted a rose at my neighbor’s down the block. It was still fragrant. (Is that global warming? We are in early October, after all). I snapped a picture of it and thought I might try to paint it. Making art, oddly, helps me overcome my despair about politics.

And theater about powerful women in politics, even as helpmates during a sexist era, uplifts me. There’s mastery there. Women in the arts, women in politics — we just can’t get enough.

Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. – Pablo Picasso
I am happy to be alive as long as I can paint. – Frida Kahlo

just messing around
my roses
seen down the block
bumper sticker spotted in long island
our beautiful nearby farmer’s market

I had an amazing advantage: a grandmother [Polly Noonan, the influential confidante of the mayor of Albany] who loved politics. She taught me not to listen to negative press or people. I grew up knowing politics was rough-and-tumble. – Kirsten Gillibrand, New York Senator

You might see also check out my brother Brendan’s art at BrendanCoudal.com

Creative Marriage

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In writing class, when we read writers’ memoirs, we are all a bit like voyeurs. We like to see how others do it — how they get along with their partners.

It is always interesting, to me any way, to read about marriages. How much are the lovers’ lives, like vines, intertwined? Although I know the topic is tantalizing, my marriage is difficult for me to write about.

My daughter recently texted me this picture of me and Chris — I think it was from the premiere of M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village.

jcj and mbc

(Pictures are always fun when people are not looking at the camera.)

Let’s face it, I have always been a bit secretly jealous of Chris’s amazing acting career. It’s true I have my own IMDb page and when one of my students discovered this, he has begun greeting me as Sabrina Von Savage, my character’s name in We Might Be Superheroes. Alas, I never achieved the same status as an actor that my husband did. Men have it easier, even in film. And yes, if you say, in his defense, he’s a greater actor than most (including me), I will have to agree.

But still. I am not without my achievements. I did and do achieve greatness through my writing and, hopefully, through my teaching. These successes, however, are harder to quantify.

So back to marriage, that equal partnership. As I wrote yesterday, there is no greatness or genius without a team or a partner behind you. I have been able to expand myself because of Chris. (And, no doubt, I have limited myself too.)

Chris’s Parkinson’s Disease has slowed his ability to move. Diagnosed about 15 years ago, he needs more physical support than ever. He uses a walker or walking stick to get around. It can be taxing on me physically. Does he need more emotional and psychological support too? Maybe. Executive function skills? Yes, these are slipping.

And me? Yes, I need more help, but I am not good at asking for it. Or expressing my vulnerability. This is the lesson from the Dr. Blasey Ford — you tell your truth and you will be glossed over, or worse, ridiculed by the president.

Times are tough for women and for caregivers, who, let’s face it, are mostly middle-aged women, a slice of the population so easily dismissed. But I refuse to be written off. I refuse. I am, after all, a proud feminist and I do believe that I have a professional contribution to make to the world — in addition to, but not limited by, my caregiving for and with my family members.

On Monday, we are going to Chris’s neurologist, who, too, is named Dr. Ford. I am compiling a list of questions for the good man. We always ask about the trajectory of the illness — i.e., ‘if he is at this point, when will he slide to the next low point?’ The docs are always cagey in their replies. They don’t have crystal balls. They refuse to give up on anyone.

Well guess what? Neither do I. I am a member of the creative resistance. Je refus.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. – Dylan Thomas

Creative Genius

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Yesterday a friend mentioned, jokingly, that, once again, he was bypassed for the MacArthur genius grant. Yup. Me too.

But wait. Another person’s success can guide and catalyze you.

I have been a genius at parenting, teaching, writing. I have also been an utter and complete failure.

The problem with lone geniuses? In my opinion, there’s no such thing. All geniuses need a partner, a team, a band.

The Beatles created their great work when they competed against each other. On 60 Minutes last week, Paul McCartney talked about feeling competitive in his songwriting with John Lennon.

“If he’d have written [‘Strawberry Fields Forever’], I would write ‘Penny Lane’, you know, and it’s – he’s remembering his old area in Liverpool, so I’ll remember mine.”

So genius entails walking the streets of our childhood and young adulthood. One of my adult students has asked me to offer a writing workshop on the subject of sexual abuse and survival. So many of us have memories dredged to the surface during these Senate Supreme Court hearings.

I am figuring out how to offer this. Because writing about our vulnerabilities from a childhood place is a way into genius, but you have to feel safe.

How safe are you today? How vulnerable can you be in your art?

And another thing — Who among your friends is not a genius? I know that all of my friends are geniuses and worthy of reward.

What is genius?
What does genius have to do with creativity?

This I know: Intense emotions and pursuit of healing can lead to artistic acts of genius. So I will leave you with these two thoughts:

“Sometimes one of the great things [that] motivates a song is anguish.” -Sir Paul McCartney.

“The creative adult is the child who has survived.” – Julian Fleron

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One of my personal heroes, Rev. William J. Barber II, a winner in this year’s 2018 MacArthur Genius awards.

SMART (and Creative) Goals

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I turned in my professional goals for the upcoming academic year today. I’m good at setting goals. Our goals had to be SMART:

Specific
Measurable
Achievable
Relevant
Time-sensitive

I love the start of a new school year, where we are always beginning. Like New Year’s resolutions. Usually, my resolutions consist of having nicely manicured nails and working out regularly.

The first year at this new teaching job, I made a ton of goals. And my mentor told me, basically, “Don’t overreach.” Wow! Really?! Okay, but I love the dramatic big goal. I followed her advice and set myself up to read an excellent book about teaching, The Book Whisperer by Donalyn Miller. And I shadowed some brilliant teachers and colleagues. And that was all and it was enough.

This time around my professional goals are again fairly humble.

And in my personal goals, I aim to cultivate creativity. To live contentedly. To squelch the dramatic impulse. To remain calm in the face of adversity.

And to read. Let’s face it, there’s nothing I love more than reading a book in bed, on the couch, or on a picnic blanket. But I don’t do it because there are bills to pay and news to catch up on. Especially in this crazy day and age. I don’t want to miss a news alert or a pithy tweet.

I believe I have this desire to know every little thing because I grew up in a large family and married into a large family. And we were (and are?) always in each other’s business.

But today, I don’t have to know every emotional twist and turn of my siblings, my in-laws, or even, yes, my children.

This brings me to the hardest part of my current empty nest quandry. I flounder and flutter, wondering what are my kids up to. I don’t get to see their ever-changing emotions on a daily basis. And sometimes, I think I’m only hearing from them when things are challenging. Naturally, I worry.

I remind myself to be the captain of my own ship. Cultivate my own creative life. Detach.

So, although my SMART goals for the school year are modest , my life goals include.

1. Stay healthy.
2. Mind my own business.
3. Read a book.
4. Do my best.

And today, in the course of the day, I received a couple of messages from the universe. The first was from the Mass for Saint Francis. “Let me not seek so much to be understood as to understand.”

And then, I noticed this on a colleague’s desk: “Remember when you wanted what you currently have.”  Amen to gratitude.

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