Something particular

Shawna Hartung

Abstract: So, how shall we experience the dance? We hear the music that draws us in. We move inside and find its source. We move outside to make connection. And we move together in a new creation. In this article, the author shares the story of a dance.

I am a collection of characteristics
Both physical and mental
That makes me completely unique
No one else anywhere
Is exactly like me
And I realize that not everyone
Who crosses my path
Will be interested
In what I have to offer

But my strength comes
From the belief
That Someone
Somewhere

Can and Will
Appreciate me
For what I am

(]avan, 1984)

She speaks to me with intention and much curiosity. I speak to her with that same intention and curiosity, the intention being truly unknown and the curiosity awaiting trust. A sort of satisfaction and understanding will arise from this trust that remains a mystery, in terms of its whereabouts and even its creation.

Our surroundings are chaotic, and I wonder if she notices that our gaze is directed at each other. One voice mixed up in many, yet the only one that echoes in my ears. An aroma of sweet chocolate chip cookies floats through the room, and for a moment our curiosity turns toward the kitchen. While I am interested in her thoughts, I know that we share something on this day,
in this moment.

Slowly, as she speaks to the room of her frustrations and worries, each listener drops off with only one to remain. An innocent face established in the middle of many, holding itself high and secure with eyeballs searching for understanding.

These moments hold an opportunity. A necessary focus tugs at my diversion. Voices in my head carry opposition to my clarity and direction. One voice whispers softly. It speaks words of temptation that the others in the room seem to have fallen victim to. “This dance is not mine.” In an instant I take hold and erase this distraction, hoping for permanence in its loss. Creation of this trust is most important to me. This girl radiates a definite need for connection: I wonder if her thoughts and experience coincide with my assumptions.

]udgement is an easy route to choose if one wants to fail the depth of an experience. Impatience leads to death of finding meaning in this interaction. Choices are made without much thought, only relying on a feeling. I am careful in my speech, but I am quick to act when I hear her speak of a need.

Frustration takes hold of her, leading her down a one-way road to another possible dead-end. This is what I saw. I remembered the patterns that go on in the mind; getting stuck is not fun. Moving about, I try to create an environment that welcomes the release of her raw emotions. If I give her a clue to the combination of the lock on the door, maybe she will open it herself. On the other side, there may be something satisfying, something joyful, a moment of connection with another. I do not know. I can only hope, and together we may come to a meaningful experience.

No one can determine who I am
But myself
My parents can not
My teachers can not
My friends can not

They can guide me
But in the final analysis
The problem is completely mine
For I have abilities
That are completely unique to me
And the challenge of Life
Is for me
To discover them
To develop them
To use them

For then and only them
Will I know
Who I am

Walking away from a place of uncertainty to something more established, with a sense of freedom, brings warmth to this interaction. Back in that other room we found everything to be partial, when we were yearning for the wholeness of the experience. This, we were to soon find out, lay in the company of one another.

She let her lips flap in the wind swirling around us, beneath the tender loving rays of the sun. Her words flew into my ears with wings of strength and power, leaving me with a feeling of complete absorption, like a cotton ball after being drenched with water. Awareness was at its peak. Standing beside her and walking together was like being next to a crystal-clear lake at the edge of a dense forest. I was either going to dive into that clarity or get lost in the thicket of thought.

Tears rolled down her pearly cheeks like raindrops on fragile glass. Knowing the rules that have been written, but feeling a need to get close without touch, I looked at her with deep sincerity. My mind wandering with questions never to be answered. “Why has he hurt you like he did, his daughter, a violation unlike any other?” Coming back into awareness, swimming slowly through the calm waters, I continued to listen. Repeated words, circling, a spiral creating nothing more than sour depression within the shell that carried her. In truthful sharing of forgotten innocence she presented the hurry to break free from her youth. At 15, virginity is devalued. I saw no
reason to question this. Concern expressed through my voice brought a shaping in the mind of possible outcomes to her present activities. She nodded with understanding. Our understanding of each other was growing; she seemed to want the combination to the lock on the door. For some time our feet staggered along, carrying us to the top of a long grassy green hill. Had we reached the door?

]ust she and I, that was it, not another soul in our company right then. Perfect opportunities lay in the most hidden places. Sometimes we do get shown the light in the strangest of places, if we just look at it right. I have learned this for myself; would she find this to be true in her lifetime, or in this moment?

Could there be a way to guide her out of this rut she is in? Her thoughts continue to run on negativity with no solutions, no direction. Until now my words and actions have created a haven for further exploration of these same emotions that have been with her for the majority of this drawn-out day. Again, a change of pace awaits us. But the difference lies in this particular moment, seeming to be the climax of our interaction. Was I going to take the plunge right in, or was I going to bomb the moment? I did not concern myself with these questions.

–Let’s roll down the hill together “do you want to?” She giggles. “Let’s do it, it–ll feel really good, come on!” She giggles even harder. She pours out, “You go first” in the midst of her wild smile. I agree, just as long as she promises to follow. I move forward with a leap of faith and think of nothing but the meaning of that hill in front of us.

Laughter begins to fill that solemn, scared, hurtful space. We have come together in a new way. The fear of impossibility is taken over by the appreciation that anything is possible. This moment won’t last forever, but its meaning may. Together, we go with our childish ways and absorb the innocence. We feel it, hold it, and cherish it. These are the moments that count.

Tumbling down the hill with this young girl was my definition of intervention on this day. In my opinion there was no other way; this seemed too perfect.

Landing at the bottom, somewhat intertwined, we laughed together, celebrating the trust that was created from the freeing of our spirits.

Afterwards, as we strolled down the beach together, I noticed the perfect rhythm of our movement with our conversation. While speaking, she discovered new solutions to old problems, and taught me to never let unobvious cries for belonging divert my attention.

When I drove home that night I thought to myself, “Something particular happened on this day.”

In my adolescence I wrote a poem, which was motivated by feelings for a friend who was contemplating suicide.

When I look around ...

As I look around I see...

People feeling down,
People very angry,
People with tear-streaked cheeks,
Some excited or happy,
And some that think their lives are perfect. .

As I look around I think...

I want to make you smile again.
I want to take away your anger.
I want to make your tears happy ones.
I want to keep you laughing forever.
And gf your life is perfect, I hope you never experience pain.

As I look around I wonder...

Who make you feel down?
What made you angry?
Who caused your tear-streaked cheeks?
And is that a real sincere smile that I see?

Looking back at these words, I think about how important it is to remain curious about these feelings that I speak of during our interactions with youth. I have learned through the years that I cannot make, take, or keep someone from feeling something. I can only create an environment for growth and remember that experience and meaning truly do change from person to person. There is no one way to be applied to everyone.

REFERENCE

Javan. (1984). Something to someone. Self-published. Location unknown.

This feature: Hartung, S. (2000). Something particular. Journal of Child and Youth Care, 13, 4. pp. 7-11.