Standing Up (Tara Taylor Quinn)

I have no problem with standing solid behind what my heart tells me. As a matter of fact, doing so gives me strength - and adrenalin - and when I listen from the inside out all of life feels more real, more valuable, deeper, more peaceful. I'm good with that.

Where I'm not so good is when it comes to dealing with the outside. I've read the Bible a time or two. (I graduated from a Christian University and we were required to take Bible class every single semester.) There's a famous passage in there (okay more than one) that stuck. 'Turn the other cheek.' Probaby a paraphrase, unless you get one of those modernly translated versions. Turn the other cheek. I took the law upon myself. Pefected it. Prided myself on following the edict as it was sanctioned from above. Most of my storybroad sisters can attest to the fact that I've turned that cheek in a big way a time or two.

They didn't seem to think it was such an admirable thing at least one of those times. But, hey, if you turn that cheek with dignity and class then you're taking the high road right? And isn't that the better road? At least, many of us have been conditioned to think so.

I'm not so sure anymore. What's up there, anyway? Except an opportunity to look down your nose at all those poor souls below. And high altitude that makes you dizzy. You have to tread carefully up there, lest you fall. And the road's so straight that you miss most of life's twists and turns and surprises.

What I'm also not so sure about is that cheek thing. What if turning that cheek is really just a way to avoid conflict? What if it's weak? The easy way out? What if, in the name of turning the other cheek, we're really just giving up? Am I turning that cheek out of deep and abiding love for my fellow man? Or am I turning it because I have a need to avoid negative interaction at all costs?

These are all questions that have been plaguing me for months. I've been made sadly aware that I am a turner in the name of keeping peace. I am a sitter. I turn that darn cheek and then sit and wait to see how 'it' will all play out. The thing is, when I do that, I'm not playing at all. I'm a spectator in my own life. I hear my heart. I know. And I somehow seemed to expect that 'deep knowing' to be enough. There would be some magical, universal, karmic energy that would make sure that all I know will come to be, right?

It hasn't. I've lost many things that meant the world to me because I sat there, letting them take care of themselves. Assuming all would work out as it was meant to do. And now, as I sit (yep, still sitting) looking at my circumstances, at my life, as I struggle to comprehend how I got here, I know that I have no one but myself to blame. I knew. And I sat. I waited.

I don't want to wait anymore. Cover your ears. That high squeaking noise is my knees creaking. They're straightening. Slowly. They're stiff. The process is painful, but watch. Inch by inch I am trying to stand. Determined to stand. I will learn to stand.

Behind Closed Doors is out on the 26th of this month. It's a thriller/suspense. A MIRA release. The second in a trilogy. I've been doing a lot of promotion for the book and have a lot more coming up in the next weeks. Yesterday I had an interview that was supposed to have lasted five minutes and continued on for almost thirty. The interviewer was interested not so much in my writing, as in my topic. And why I was writing about it. The continuing 'character' in this trilogy is a white supremacy organization - The Ivory Nation. It's a vile, dangerous, debilitating group. And a gathering of people who are sacrificing self, striving to do God's will. The main character is a good man, a positive man, a history professor, who becomes positive he will do anything, at any cost, to rectify what he believes was a horrendous crime against goodness. The interviewer and I talked about the twists and turns the mind takes. About the very real terror inherent in having a mind that can be manipulated. And about the completely true facts on white supremacy. She asked me if I was afraid to speak out to her as I was doing. She's written for Oprah's O magazine and wanted to make certain that I was okay with her sending the article to them. My yes was instantaneous. Her shock showed me that while I might be on baby legs, I am standing.

I have a new neice. She's only fourteen, was born and raised and still lives in a small Ohio town. And has already taught me so much. She's funny and sweet and intelligent, but more, she's smart. Life smart. She stands up for what she wants while she thinks of others. She risks her heart, gets it hurt, and still manages to keep it open. When she needs help, she calls for it. When she wants something, she asks for it. She knows that her high school years are meant to be one of the most free, happy times of her life and she makes choices to make it so. She recognizes that privacy is peaceful - and that being close enough to others to avoid isolation is paramount to happy living. Most importantly, she stands up. Not by cutting others down, or blaming someone else for her lot, but by taking on the life she's been given and making the most of it. By being happy with it. And by making it what she wants it to be. At fourteen, she's better at holding others manipulation at bay than I am past forty. Rather than fearing others attempts to control her, she smiles and says no. And means it. And lives by it.

My cheeks are bruised. I have nowhere else to turn them, no fresh flesh to expose to the slaps. And so, this month, in this life, I stand. I do not intend or want to trample anyone. Period. I still want to live peacefully. But I will find the strength, the courage, to hold my head up. To face what is in front of me. And what is behind me. To brace my feet against the wind. To ask for help where I need it. To accept that help. To believe in it and be thankful for it.

Thirty years ago I lost what was probably the single most important chance at real happiness I'd ever have because I didn't stand up. I knew my heart. And I waited for it all to play out. When it didn't, I figured that it wasn't meant to. I walked away. And now, thirty years later, I find out that all I would have had to do was stand up. Speak my heart. Speak out. Ask. Accept. And I would have had what my heart most needed. Today I am standing. I am speaking. I am asking. I have been given a second chance.

Today, if you're even thinking about doing something, thinking about standing up, if you can share it with us, please do. Let's stand together, arm in arm, strengthening each other. I suspect I, at least, am going to need some heavy duty knee braces!

United we STAND!