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STANDING TALL
It was a big snow storm. School was called off: a foot of snow lay on the ground with more still falling. An ecstatic ten-year-old, I was bundled up in my layers of clothing, and  had devoted myself to the whole day of fun frenzy - sledding , snow-balling, fort-building, and snowman-rolling. As evening approached, I was cold, tired and glum - for there before me was the bundle of evening newspapers that it was my job to deliver.
There they were, just sitting there getting snowed upon. Why, it was kind of hard to even see them. What if I were to kick a little more snow on them, like this? It was a snow day, and things get lost or broken or called off on such a day. I made sure the papers were completely covered in the light snow, and then trudged home for dinner.
We hadn't even had dessert before Dad had it figured out.
The next thing I knew I was outside, in the cold, in the dark, digging in the snow. Worse, Dad had made my big sister accompany me, and she was not happy about it. An hour or so later we returned, the papers delivered to their homes, the job complete. Curiously, I was happy and at peace. And that is my point.
Recently I was interviewed for a documentary on health and the environment, and the interviewer mentioned the New Zealand Maori Tribesman word, "Turangawaewae" which means "the place where we stand tall". I knew the concept because I had been with John Denver at the famous Bastion Point Occupation in 1978 when he joined in solidarity with indigenous Maori Tribespeople to protest the use of their sacred land for a housing development. The Maori had stood tall for their beliefs and occupied the land for 506 days and, though they were eventually forced off by the government, the land was not developed.
The interviewer asked me a great question, "When did you first stand tall?"
I shared the snowy day story as my answer, because, on that day, I came away with a true gift: I stood into a higher possibility of who I was. Just as children learning to walk may fall, may need some help, and may even get hurt, they keep standing tall because they intuitively sense that the payoff is more possibility, more potential. It's nature's plan to stand tall and it feels good when we do it.
When I forget this, it's easy to weigh standing tall against possible embarrassment, failure, punishment or drudgery and decide it's just not worth it. Why make that difficult phone call? Who cares if I miss this workout? What difference does one vote make? If I don't get centered and envision myself standing into higher possibility, that's when I contract and don't stand up. I kick snow over reality, and it never feels quite right.
And then there are the times when I think I am standing tall but I'm really not. Once I pompously stood up to disprove a schoolteacher I disliked, and another time I shouted down a person I thought was bigoted. The result wasn't what I wanted and neither were my feelings afterwards. I was trying to stand tall but my ego was weighing me down.
A child learning to walk doesn't stand up to show how right or how courageous she is. She stands up to become free.
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