The Expertise of Loving

One of the most rewarding engagements for me these days is my writing workshop with the Independent Residents of St. Leonard’s Retirement Community. I’ve come to respect and admire each of the women who share stories and perspectives of life through writing. They profoundly inspire me. Days before each gathering I offer a writing prompt for them to ponder. Here was the prompt for our last gathering.

“Tell us the thing or things you could teach others that are a unique lesson from YOU.”

At the end of each session, my gifted group of writers turn the attention to me to share my reflections of each prompt. Usually I find something to write about, but in this instance the challenge sent me into an existential tailspin. What knowledge do I possibly own that puts me in the category of “teacher.”

I chronicled a variety of things I know how to do, but nothing stood out to qualify worthy enough to be teacher. I realized I could teach others how to be ordinary, but that response to the prompt felt, well, too ordinary. So, the question becomes, how do you offer something when you don’t know much of anything?

Expertise is necessary. Those who are able to share their educated proficiency and skill gives the rest of us confidence in the unknown. Teachers, doctors, electricians, nurses and construction workers are only part of a work force that require know-how that the rest of us rely upon.  Thank goodness we have access to such capabilities. Every patient ready to undergo surgery places great trust in the surgical team charged with providing a good outcome. I guess I’d be pretty great at providing warm blankets for such patients, but the only expertise that requires is to make sure the blanket is tucked well around cold feet.

My pragmatic conundrum, after spiraling thought, led me to think about my mom. My mom had little worldly expertise, but her example of how to love transcended all else. Even after 10 years since her passing, all roads of the heart still lead to her legacy of how to love. When my mom was in your presence, defenses of the heart crumbled making her brand of care and compassion accessible to even the most guarded of souls. The touch of her wrinkled and weathered hands exuded strength and determination. So often, her grip permeated my insecurities which left me feeling a bit braver and courageous.  My mom was not a very good cook, her artistic aptitude centered around decoupage, and her crewneck sweater didn’t always match her woolen plaid skirt. However, her lessons of the heart made her a master teacher.

As a life-long student of my mom, I’d like to think I’ve absorbed some of her brand of loving. Asking someone, “How are you,” means you care about how they really are. Exercising an attitude of acceptance and inclusion makes the act of embracing others linger with goodness. And, of course, elevating the heaviness of the world with the light of a big smile is a great example of how to put optimism forward in all you do.

I can’t wait to share with my writing group this circuitous journey to unearth my expertise, or lack thereof. This exercise in discernment led me to realize the best teachers often don’t even know they possess the master status of teacher. This writing prompt has taken me back into the realm of love and I guess, for me, I’m ok with being a perpetual student of how to do just that.