I don’t know how many more of my books will be published. Whether it’s one or ten, I’m enjoying the journey!
~Ava Pennington
What Saralee Said
No, really, just do it. You have some kind of weird reasons that are okay.
~Paul Thomas Anderson
There have been many Chicken Soup for the Soul stories through the years that have warmed my heart and renewed my spirit, but one story I think about nearly every day is Saralee Perel’s “Just Show Up,” featured in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Think Positive. Saralee’s suggestion, to “just show up,” instead of fretting over every little step that it might take to accomplish a certain task, has helped me change my tendency to become overwhelmed by my various responsibilities. With four children, a brand new grandson, chronic pain from a long-ago facial injury, and caring for my elderly mother, I’m often stretched pretty thin, but Saralee’s story inspired me the moment I read it. That Saralee lives with paralysis, yet touches her readers with such positivity, humor, and grace, is a testament to her courage and strength of character.
“Just Show Up” is an account of how Saralee met a man named Morris while walking in the woods near her Cape Cod home and of the three magical words Morris taught her. “Here’s how I understand it,” she later told her husband, Bob, when he asked what Morris meant. “When the thought enters my brain, ‘I should go exercise,’ I instantly start thinking about every single step it takes to get around to doing it. First I have to shower. Then I have to find something to wear. Then I have to find everything I need for safety. Then I have to — blah, blah, blah. I think what Morris meant was to scrap all of those thoughts. In other words, I should replace talking-myself-out-of-it thinking with the words: ‘Just show up.’ ”
Priceless, I decided. I could do that too.
In the beginning, it felt like a miracle cure. “Need to clean the house today?” I’d ask myself, and then, instead of talking my way out of the job by concentrating on all of those mind-boggling little steps (first I’d have to de-clutter, then I’d have to attack the dust-bunnies camped out on my kitchen floor, then I’d have to vacuum. . .), I’d think: “Remember what Saralee said: ‘Just show up.’ ” “Need to take Mom out for errands, respond to e-mails dating back to prehistoric times? No more step-by-stepping, girl! ‘Just show up!’ ” I applied the miracle cure to my writing too, particularly regarding first drafts, since staring at a blank screen can scare the creative flow right out of me. All those little craft details are what I freak over (narrative here, dialogue there, how to connect these two passages — yikes!), but by changing the way I viewed the process and “just showing up” at my computer, I could relax enough to write the draft on the first try.
My husband calls this “meets minimum” thinking, that for any given task, if you begin with the minimum amount of things you need to do to accomplish it, well, you’re halfway home. But I like Saralee’s motto better, because, to me, “meets minimum” implies that you’re making very little effort, when sometimes “just showing up” requires the greatest effort of all.
I discovered the importance of that whole effort thing this past summer, when one of my twin daughters, Holly, got married. Implementing Saralee’s approach was working well for me, but preparing for a wedding really put the theory to its test. There was so much to do that Holly and I scarcely knew where to start. We needed to figure out the dress, the venue, the centerpieces, the cake . . . and on and on. We found ourselves texting/calling/meeting multiple times a day.
“I had no idea there’d be so much,” I told Holly one evening as we gulped down dinner, a casserole I’d made that was her favorite. Neither of us even tasted the meal, however, wedged as it was between corsage crafting and vow drafting. “I don’t know how we’ll ever get it done.”
Holly looked as tired as I felt.
Where was Saralee’s advice now? It appeared to have lost its verve. And just when it seemed that I couldn’t possibly add one more thing to my already packed to-do list, another commitment arose.
It happened by way of a phone call, one from my older son, Dave. “Hey, Mom,” he said when I answered. “Can you babysit Sawyer two days a week? My work schedule has changed.”
“You mean just this week?” I asked.
“Um . . . no,” he hedged. “All summer.”
My brain went instantly into overdrive. I’d have to get up extra early. Then I’d have to check on Mom early too. Then I’d have the forty-minute drive in rush-hour traffic. What about my writing projects, not to mention the ongoing wedding plans? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to keep my precious little eight-month-old grandson, but how could I fit it all in?
Suddenly, amidst all this dithering, Saralee spoke right to me — and I bet you can guess what she said.
So I followed her advice yet again. I “just showed up.” And somehow, it all got done. My writing got submitted. My beautiful daughter got married. My mom’s chores got finished. My house got cleaned (more or less!). Not to say that it all went perfectly or easily. Of course, few things ever do.
But you know what? Those two days a week were what got me through last summer. I could relax on those days. I could breathe on those days. Sawyer was just learning to walk and would squeal with delight when we played “Where’s Nana?” and chased each other around the living room. One morning a hummingbird came to call at the feeder outside our open window. Its wings made tiny buzzing noises, which I mimicked, and Sawyer laughed. His big blue eyes locked with mine as I fed him his bottle, and when he fell asleep in my arms, I inhaled his sweet baby scent, feeling very close to heaven.
That was when it dawned on me. If I hadn’t “just shown up,” I would have missed those tranquil summer days. I would have missed my grandson’s gorgeous blue eyes and that pretty hummingbird outside. I finally, completely, saw the true meaning of what Saralee said — and I was grateful.
Which doesn’t mean my schedule’s not still sometimes mind-boggling. There are still dust-bunnies camped out on my kitchen floor and e-mails time-stamped “Jurassic Period.” But I’ve heard it said that worrying is simply lack of faith, and I’m attempting to live by that truth.
I’ve never met or even emailed Saralee, yet her words have changed my life. That is the power of connection, of story. Happy 20th Anniversary, Chicken Soup for the Soul. That is the power of you!
~Theresa Sanders
Just Show Up
Courage is being afraid but going on anyhow.
~Dan Rather
While walking in the woods near our home on Cape Cod, I met a man who taught me a three-word lesson that has altered my life.
His name was Morris and he seemed to be in his seventies or eighties. He told me, “I walk here every day, rain or shine.”
Noticing that I was wearing a neck brace and holding onto a tree with one hand and my cane with the other, he said, “So, is it hard for you to get around here?”
“Sometimes.”
He nodded in understanding and remarked, “But you still do it.” We seemed to form an unusually special bond on that day in the woods as we both spoke from our hearts.
“Frankly,” I said. “It’s harder for me to get here than it is to walk here. And that has nothing to do with needing a brace or a cane. It has to do with my thinking.”
“You get caught in maybe-I-will, maybe-I-won’t land. That’s the problem.”
“Yes!” I laughed at how perfectly he put that. “And that one second of debate is enough of a time gap for me to come up with a perfect excuse to talk myself out of it and press the button on the TV remote instead.”
Then he said the three magical words I now say to myself nearly every day: “Just show up.”
Later my husband, Bob, asked me what Morris meant.
“Well, here’s how I understand it. When the thought enters my brain, ‘I should go exercise,’ I instantly start thinking about every single step it takes to get around to doing it. First I have to shower. Then I have to find some
thing to wear. Then I have to find everything I need for safety. Then I have to — blah, blah, blah. I think what Morris meant was to scrap all of those thoughts. In other words, I should replace talking-myself-out-of-it thinking with the words: ‘Just show up.’ ”
Bob started practicing Morris’s philosophy and it’s working for a lot of things. “I get overwhelmed at the computer with all the details I have to do,” he told me. “Sometimes I just avoid it, but that’s crazy. So instead of thinking about the big picture, I say, ‘Just show up,’ and I do.”
Now, this new way of approaching things was working fine and dandy until a fellow named Kelvin and his wife, Amy, contacted me. They organize and operate the Cape Cod Challenger Club. They’ve read many of my newspaper columns. My topics often include disabilities. That’s why they got in touch.
Kelvin e-mailed, “We provide year-round athletic, recreational and social activities for physically and developmentally disabled youth on the Cape.”
He continued, “We pack the park with hundreds of people every Sunday during our baseball season. We would be honored if you would be our opening day speaker and throw out the first pitch.”
I held my head in my hands. Public speaking is my number one phobia. But I couldn’t say no. So I instantly had the altruistic and benevolent thought, “I hate you, Kelvin.”
The next day Bob went with me to meet Kelvin at Dunkin’ Donuts. “Please don’t make me give a speech,” I pleaded with this delightful young man who had the crazy notion that since I write stories, somehow that implied that I could form words — out loud.
“Just a few sentences?” he said.
I was able to buy time by licking the cream cheese off my bagel. Bob kept kicking my leg and touching his mustache, which I found out way too much later meant that I had a huge wad of cream cheese on my upper lip.
I reluctantly agreed.
In the middle of the night before my speech, I shook Bob awake. “What if I can’t talk and just hiccup for ten syllables instead of saying words?” (That did happen at our wedding.) “What if I can’t walk that day? What if I have a panic attack? What if. . .” And Bob sweetly silenced me.
He said, “You know there’s only one thing that matters.”
I knew.
And so, I decided to “just show up” for the opening game.
It went beautifully. And by that I do not mean I did a good job giving my speech. It means that I faltered and stammered and even went blank twice. Should I have been embarrassed? Of course not. All I had to do was look around at the children and their parents, teachers, volunteers — and the beautiful expectant looks on everyone’s faces. They were seeing someone disabled, like them, who simply got up there and tried.
I did the weirdest thing for my speech. I told the truth. Here’s what I said:
“I am so excited to be here today with you wonderful people of the Cape Cod Challenger Club. I’m honored that Kelvin and Amy invited me.
And . . . I’m also scared to be talking in front of such a large group. But I’ll tell you — I’m scared of a lot of stuff and I try to do it anyway.
So my message to you is this:
Winning doesn’t matter.
Being scared doesn’t matter.
The only thing that matters . . . is that we try!!
Now, who’s going to help me toss the first pitch?”
Many children, all disabled, raised their hands. “I will! I will!” They excitedly came running over to help me. I was very wobbly. My crew of helpers kept me from falling. I had the children hold onto my arm and the ball so that they also felt they were tossing the first pitch. And when we did, we all yelled, “PLAY BALL!”
Then someone handed me a huge bouquet of flowers.
You know, I found out that it wouldn’t have mattered if I lost my balance. It wouldn’t have mattered if I suddenly had trouble talking or any of the bad things that sometimes happen to me.
The only thing that mattered was that I just showed up — for the children’s sake — for the caregivers’ sake — and for mine.
Thank God I had that chance encounter in the woods that day with Morris. Although he told me he walked there every day, I haven’t seen him since.
And even though I know over forty people who walk that same path in the woods, not one of them has ever seen Morris. Kind of makes you wonder.
~Saralee Perel
Good Morning, Birdie
Why not go out on a limb? That’s where the fruit is.
~Mark Twain
I am a devoted Innkeeper at The Channel Road Inn and The Inn At Playa del Rey, which are two beautiful bed and breakfast hotels in Los Angeles. I truly adore the women I work with, so I always look forward to our annual Christmas party. Prior to the party, we all draw “Secret Santa” names for our gift exchange. Two Christmases ago, I noticed my fellow Innkeeper and true friend, Rebecca Hill, was particularly antsy to start the “Secret Santa” game. I was excited, for she is a very thoughtful gift-giver. She handed me a beautifully wrapped present and inside was a book called Chicken Soup for the Soul: Food and Love.
I was touched by this gift as I’ve always loved the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. I especially loved the topic of this book because I do feel food and love are intrinsically intertwined. Showing love to people through the food I make for them is very important to me so I knew I would enjoy the stories.
As I began glancing through the book, I noticed a bookmark. Curious, I flipped to the page and soon realized Rebecca had written a story about my “Morning Bird Granola.” I was completely overwhelmed! I knew Rebecca loved my homemade granola, but I’d never had someone support it so fully — and in print!
Seeing written accolades about my special homemade granola made me begin to realize that my hidden dream of creating yummy baked goods on a professional level could actually come true. It made me feel that my little “Morning Bird Granola” was something truly special to the outside world. It was already special to me because I named it in honor of my late father, who always called me Birdie and would call out “Morning, Birdie!” to me every morning in his booming voice when I was a child playing outside.
When Rebecca held a book signing for Chicken Soup for the Soul: Food and Love she asked me to be by her side to hand out samples of my granola. This was the first time I’d presented my granola outside of the Inns so I was delighted when it was well received. As a dreamer, you don’t always find the courage to try to make your dreams become a reality for fear that the reality will fall short of the dream. Therefore, it’s emotionally daunting to take that first important step. But when people complimented my granola at the book signing and began asking where they could buy it, I felt encouraged that Morning Bird Granola could become a “real product” that I should share on a broader level.
As I drove home from the book signing, I reflected on my life. By age six I already knew that I wanted to be a professional ballerina. I remembered traveling the world feeling it was such a privilege to tell stories through my dancing. I felt at home being able to express my emotions so thoroughly through artistic movement to gorgeous music. I was living my dream come true. Being a dancer was what I was born to do. It was shocking to have my dreams taken away from me one day through injury. For many years, I mourned the loss of my dream and felt hollow inside. Luckily, I eventually found a way to dance again, just not as part of a professional travelling company any longer.
Searching for something else to devote myself to, I discovered that the art of innkeeping made me feel somewhat like myself again. Being rooted in kindness, it is a wonderful form of offering a sanctuary to strangers. I worked in the Virgin Islands and Boston; then, one day I had the fortuitous luck of being hired as an innkeeper at The Channel Road Inn. As I began baking, I felt my artistic soul awakening in ways it hadn’t since my world fell apart. For the first time in a long time I felt I had a brand new way to express my artistic self and touch others again. I soon discovered that I derived great satisfaction from creati
ng my own recipes. As with my dancing, I search for harmony, light and balance in my recipes and of course I am elated when “the curtain goes up” and I can present the food I’ve made for others to enjoy.
It was a wonderful feeling in my heart to see Rebecca and so many guests at the Inns having such a positive reaction to my granola, and even more exciting when I started receiving e-mails requesting it. It was deeply gratifying knowing that I’d connected with others in this way, as it is my intent to positively nourish those I come in contact with in my life. As I do it through my dancing, I now also do with my baking. . ..
When Chicken Soup for the Soul published Rebecca’s story — “Cereal Killer” — it encouraged me to take that leap of faith and try to bring a dream of mine to live again. I began saving money so I could afford packaging and product labels. I was also given permission to sell my granola at the Inn at Playa del Rey and I’ve even had a few people order my granola by mail!
I hope one day to have my own bed and breakfast where I can sell all my homemade baked goods. My bed and breakfast will be somewhere nestled in nature — a sanctuary where people can come to rest, relax and restore their souls. I’d like to have a café on the ground floor as well, and rooms upstairs for guests to stay the night. I, of course, dream of having my granola sold in supermarkets too, but I never want to lose touch with the day-to-day contact I have with the people who eat the treats I create. The symbiotic relationship between myself and those I nourish is essential to me. From where I stand at this moment, this seems like a very big dream but thanks in large part to the courage I gathered from my granola being so lovingly supported in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Food and Love, I find myself ready to leap again.
~Dominique Young
Cereal Killer
There is no sincerer love than the love of food.
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reader's Choice 20th Anniversary Edition Page 17
