text: Chapter 1 I have known a lot of butts in my life. I don’t mean to be gross, but in case you didn’t notice, all humans have one. In fact, in all my years on Earth, I have noticed that humans all have a lot of things in common, besides their backsides. And like butts (some round, some flat, some low, some high) humans are human in their own special way too. So, my point is, I’ve had a lot of up close and personal experience with butts AND their humans. I get people coming my way pretty often and each one is lost, mainly in their own mind. Have you ever been lost in your own mind? Like your mind is a huge corn-field maze on a dark night and you just don’t know which way is which? All you want to do is get out to the beautiful clearing at the end where everything is simple and, well, clear, but for reasons you might not even remember, you ended up in the mind-maze. You’re scared or you just feel like quitting, except if you quit, you’re still in the stupid maze! You know what I mean. Anyway, the people who come to me are always in the middle of the mind-maze and they need someone to listen, so they can work it out and find their way to that wonderful clearing that’s just like two lefts and one right away. Oh, did I mention that I’m a swing? Yep. Now the butt thing makes a lot more sense, right? I’m one of those old wooden swings and I have supported quite a few booties. There’s actually a groove on my seat that is from the assorted cheeks I’ve upheld. I’m like the most comfortable pair of shoes you’ve ever had and you just hope that you never grow out of. My wood is silky smooth. My seat is suspended by the most wonderful, long ropes on both sides. Do you know what a fisherman’s knot is? Well, it’s when you twist rope around itself and it ends up looking like a fist wrapped around the rope. The point is, it’s really a great knot and I have one on either side of my seat. The rope is worn out, but still perfectly strong and dependable. It’s soft, like your best socks and no matter how big or small your hands are, it feels like they are the perfect fit. I wouldn’t be much without my Tree. We are very close and we’ve been together on this very spot in a really old city park for maybe 100 years. Tree is an oak tree with the biggest, strongest branches ever. Those leaves keep my seat cool and shady when it’s hot and sunny outside which I appreciate very much. The ground underneath me is soft, which I really like because sometimes people slip right off. It’s very rare, but I like to be prepared with a pretty sweet landing spot for them, just in case. So anyway, what I really want to tell you is about some of the conversations we’ve had here over our career as an old tree and swing. These conversations are sacred. My tree and I have a neighbor, a wise old valley that is just to the south of me. Her name is Glenn*. She’s grassy and cozy, and like a smile carved into the earth, always reminding everyone that everything is going to be ok. Once, she so smartly pointed out to me that ‘sacred’ and ‘scared’ are almost the same word. Just two letters that swapped spots make them different. The point is that ‘sacred’ means something that deserves the very most respect that anything can possibly deserve. And ‘scared,’ I bet you know what that means. I know that you humans get that feeling a lot. When you meet that scared fear in that mind-maze I told you about, Glenn, Tree and I agree very strongly that you never, ever run away from it. You have to take that fear, that scary feeling by the hand and say, “You deserve my respect. I want to know more about you.” Then, you slow down, take a deep breath, and get super interested in how you and your “sacred scared” are going to make it out alive and to the clearing that is just around a few more corners. And you keep moving, together. You should know, my specialty is listening. When a person is sitting on my seat, and they are right there, hoping that their mind can get clear, so they can see, so they can rest, so they can have peace again (or even for the first time), I listen so close and somehow by the end, they get it. They know the way out of whatever mess they are in. Let me tell you about a few of my friends. I met each of them for different reasons and each of them was what I call “in it.” In the mind-maze, kind of lost, kind of freaked out and definitely scared that something was wrong or everything was wrong, or worse, they who they ARE was wrong. I listened and they listened and next thing we knew, they were on their way again, full of hope and light and love. Chapter 2 One day, it was a perfect day. It was cool, but not too cool. It was a little bit warm too. It was everything lovely and peaceful that a day could be. This kid was coming my way from the path that leads around a corner and ends right at my seat. I always get really excited to get a visitor, by the way. Glenn too. She’s always over there as smiley as ever, but it’s not one of those fakey-yucky smiles that makes you feel like a bug is crawling up your spine. It’s the kind of brave smile that says, “We got this, friend.” So the kid, he was down and out. I could tell because of the way his head hung low and his steps sounded loud and heavy, his feet slow and sort of dragging along. His hair covered up a lot of his face, but I saw through it and noticed some tears must have streaked his face. He’d been crying for sure. He kind of circled around my tree for a while. He wasn’t going anywhere but he still wanted to keep moving, like a slow-motion game of tag. He was “it” and he was tired. He was feeling broken for sure. Finally, he sat down. He didn’t take those heavy feet off the ground. He was weighed down hard to the tender earth below me. He leaned his head on my left rope. He had finally found a shoulder to cry on and I was so glad it was mine. He let it all out. He whimpered like a puppy. He screamed like a hawk. He even snorted like a pig a couple of times. Then, finally after he got all of it out, he opened his eyes again and he told me, Tree and Glenn about his day. The kids at school had been talking to him, but not like he was a person, like he was a thing. They talked about him like he was less than them. He wondered “Why me?” but he also knew exactly why it was him they had to talk to like that. He just wasn’t ever interested in acting like everyone else, dressing like everyone else, talking like everyone else. He was always really sure that being just like HIM was all he wanted to do, all he knew how to do. It felt right and it felt wrong, all at the same time. I guess all of that left him feeling judged as “different,” which to a kid is pretty much like a prison sentence that doesn’t end until graduation day. It felt like forever and it felt like torture. A forever of torture: now that’s scary. He wondered how NOT paying attention to the noise could take so much of his energy. This fear he was wrestling with felt like sadness, like hopelessness. He started to kick his feet around a little on the earth below us. We started to rock back and forth, just a little, but his feet were still firmly planted on the ground. Just his knees began to bend and straighten and as we got a little motion going, he started to noticed that lately, more than ever before, all he was ever listening for was the bad stuff, the rude stuff, the mean stuff from the kids at school- a hearing aid that blocked out everything except the negative stuff. Plus the volume was stuck way up, screeching in his head. It’s like he had on glasses that only let him see the ugly stuff and never the okay stuff or the kind-of-good stuff, or even the decent stuff. He had become a seeker of those bad and sad messages and believe me, you could tell, he thought for sure that the only types of words and looks and experiences that existed were the thumbs down, dreadful, bummer kind. Suddenly, he jolted from my seat. He stood straight up and my seat ran into the back of his legs. Something else had hit him too though. He could see things differently, hear things differently. It was like those dirty, cloudy, bummer-glasses slid right off his nose and that downer-hearing aid in his ear flew right out and landed in the dirt. What hit him was the realization that he was only hearing and seeing all the things he was actually looking and listening for- and nothing else. He was pretending that he was ignoring the negativity, but in a weird way, if he was very honest, he LIKED to think of himself as this poor, misunderstood kid. That way he didn’t have to show up, bold and weird and awesome. The truth is, he didn’t want to admit it at first, but he wanted to get out of this mess, out of this stuck feeling, so badly. You know, the one where you can’t be you but you can’t be like “them” either. He had a choice to make, and there under my faithful Tree, with Glenn smiling on from the south, he shouted LOUD: “I WANT TO BE ME. I WANT TO BE DIFFERENT. I WANT TO BE EXACTLY ME.” He felt alive and free. He felt like it would actually be interesting, even fun, to look for the good in those kids and make sure he found it. He thought about how there were probably other kids who were perfectly different too and that they would like to be different together with him. They needed him to be him. In fact, the world needed him to be him. Next thing I knew, that fireworks display in his mind lit the way for him to move right along. He was unstuck, light as a feather, and ready to go find the good in everybody and everything he could see and hear, from that day forward. He had that choice, you know. Chapter 3 Another day, a kid wandered over my way. This kid was sort of confusing to me at first sight. As the kid got closer, I started to see why. Everything about this kid said, “BOY! BOY! BOY!” but you could tell he was stuck. Stuck inside a body that said “GIRL! GIRL! GIRL!” I know what humans do. It’s different than trees, that’s for sure. Trees are just trees, but somehow humans are called “boys” and “girls” before they come into the world, they get these really-for-sure, no-doubt-about-it titles. People decide girls like pink and unicorns, princesses, glitter, kitties and dolls. They decide that boys like blue and lions, football, dirt, puppies and army guys. No one asks them and since they can’t talk anyway for a few years, time passes and they are given all the decorations and accessories and hobbies that go along with what “kind” of person they are, boy or girl. Anyway, as this kid climbed onto my seat, I could tell, he had definitely gotten decorated as a “girl” person and he was not digging it. It just felt wrong. It was like if the sun was shining and the sky was as blue and clear and bright as a thousand diamonds and people kept going on and on about what a lovely, dark night it was. The day thinks, “What? It’s day! I’m day! I’m not night. What are seeing? I don’t get it!” But, instead of actually saying it, it thinks, “Maybe what I know to be true is false. Maybe I am night. I’ll try it out, even though I have no moon, no stars...nothing that night has.” The kid swung higher and higher and every time he went forward, he felt free and happy and true but every time he swung back, he felt trapped and sad and like a fraud. He thought, I wish my life could go forward everyday, with me as me, not as “her.” He had been pretending he was “her” because that’s what people said he was. He tried to act like the girls he knew, like his sisters, like his mom. It felt so strange. He saw the boys and was like, “YES!!! There are my people! I see ME when I see those guys.” But the guys just told him to go play with the other girls. He’d test it out, being more “boy.” He’d give some hints that he was a really a boy. He asked for a shorter and shorter haircut every time, asked for less pink stuff, more boy stuff, a cool nickname that sounded a little less like his sister’s. He got a new label then: “tom-boy.” “Nope,” he’d think, “I’m a boy, just a boy!” He just felt trapped. It didn’t matter who understood or if they knew how he felt, he just wanted them to believe him, to trust him, to respect him. HIM. Then, it was like a branch fell from my tree and knocked some sense into him in mid-air, as Glenn shouted from a few feet away, “KID! YOU ARE YOU and YOU ARE HIM! BE BRAVE AND BE BOY!” He shook his head back and forth and suddenly realized that maybe these people had only called him “her” and dressed him up as “she” because they just forgot to ask, or didn’t even know they could ask him if that is who he really, really was. In that moment, he made a choice. He chose to believe that they just needed his help to understand him. He chose to believe that they would understand, maybe not right away, but eventually, and that would be good enough for him. He had the key to his own trap right there in his pocket the whole time. He was ready. He knew that he had enough love and courage inside of him to jump out and declare himself as “BOY!” to his family and his friends. He deserved to live a life that was true and real. His people deserved to know the truth. He believed in them and he believed in HIM. He jumped off my seat at the highest possible height, landed with a bounce and ran home to be brave and true. It was the brightest day he had seen in his whole life. Chapter 4 There was this other day, when two kids were running and chasing in and out of my tree and all our neighboring trees. Oh they were so full of joy! It was that day that I had one of the most magical moments of my career. I got to be in the presence of true love. If you don’t know already, it really is like magic. It’s like floating, like flying. It’s like you find your other half and you suddenly know you’re complete. Nothing you ever knew before that moment makes sense anymore. You don’t know how you made it through one day of your life before the day that you met your true love. Your souls are united and life can finally begin. It’s like that. (Did I mention that Tree is my one true love? No? It’s true. Tree makes me who I am and I make him who he is. Well, anyway, that’s how I know.) So they each rushed around and around for a bit longer. Finally, they seemed to need a rest so they sat down together, right there on my seat. They were laughing and giggling, holding hands and holding each other’s hearts all at once. They were squished together, but they fit just perfect. Then, they became quiet. One said to the other, “I wish we could tell everyone that we aren’t just best friends like they all think. I wish we could tell them that we are in love.” The other kid got that look that you get when it’s Sunday night and you remember you have tons of homework, but it was worse than that. Way worse, because, all they wanted to do was to be happy and free and honest, but they were pretending instead. They felt sneaky, like they had to hide their love or they would be hurt or teased or judged or even hated because they were too much alike. They started to swing together quietly. They stayed there going back and forth for a long time. Then one said to the other, “I wonder if they already know. I mean, when did we decide “we” were a secret in the first place? Did we have a reason? Was our reason really worth being weighed down with all these secrets and lies?” Their need to love each other was playing tug-of-war with their need to be loved by their families and friends. Then, a strong wind pushed them higher and higher as they heard a peaceful, confident voice whisper in their ears the best secret they would ever hear: “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about your love. The world needs more love, not less. Stop hiding. Be brave. Be together. Be patient. Be peaceful. Be free. Be L or G or B or T.” They both heard it, without a doubt, and they both knew in that very moment that it was the truly the only thing they could possibly do from this day forward: Live their love. They swung slower and lower until finally, they were stopped there again, feet planted firmly on the earth. The looked up at the sky and thanked the wind for this gift. The two kids tossed their arms around each other’s shoulders and walked back down the path, back to the rest of the world, the world who deserved to know about all the love that they had been hiding. By the way, it wasn’t really the wind who the two kids heard. It was Glenn, me and Tree’s best friend. She’s the one who gave them the good news. She’s very good at throwing her voice, and thank goodness, because her words are often the kind of powerful words that make a real difference. See, valleys are thought of as the lowest of the low, nothing like the tall, important mountains, but in fact, it’s their humble spirits that make it possible for their voices to carry so far. It may not add up at first, but trust me, the easier you are to reach, the more people will listen to you because everyone has been in a low place before. Every single one-- and it’s ok to say it outloud. Chapter 5 One morning, very early, much earlier than most kids are ever awake on a Saturday, this kid came up to me in the most curious way. He was looking at me like he had NO idea what the heck I was or what I was there for. He was cool with Tree and Glenn, but me? No way. He touched me and was sort of spooked when I moved. Then he pushed me a little bit. He watched while I swung back and forth, eventually running out of energy and returning to my resting position. Next thing I know, the kid backed up about 35 feet behind me and as Tree, Glenn and I looked on with keen interest and delight, this kid ran fast and launched himself, belly first onto my seat and sailed, sailed, sailed up, up, up to the highest point I think anyone ever had, especially on their belly! He was powerful, clever and so brave, we all thought. He must have repeated this routine about seven more times before he slumped down against Tree’s mighty trunk, on the soft, cool soil. He seemed to transform into a pile of sorrow and pity. I am telling you, it was unmistakable. He went from being free and brave which we felt fit him very well, to sad and pitiful, just like that. He started speaking in a different language than any of the other kids in our park. He was mumbling. Then some tears came. He yelled. He beat on the earth with his fists, making sure certain words got properly punctuated with his anger. See, he was new here. When I say “here,” I mean, he was new to the country. He was from somewhere where things were much, much different. Nothing here was the same as they were in his country, the only place he had ever known. His house, his food, the sounds, the view, the games, the words, the school. NOTHING. Can you even imagine that? His parents said over and over again in their language that it was better here, safer. It was dangerous back home and they were lucky to get away. But still, it was awful. He felt like he had to start life all over again and he was not expecting that, ever. It was not fair and even though he was supposed to be relieved or thankful, he was just sad and angry. He had never felt so sorry for himself and this “life” of his. He shifted to his back and laid down right under my seat. He pushed it hard with his hands while it flew both ways. He counted in his language how many times I passed by his face before it became completely still again. He did it again: one big push and then counting until the moment it stopped. Then, with the seat hanging above his eyeballs, still and solid, his mind was zapped like lightning, with a moment of clarity. “Nothing happens to the swing when I don’t first do something. The swing has no movement, power or motion unless I cause it.” “Power,” he thought. “I have that power. I know I do and no matter where I live, I AM ME. I am powerful ME. I can make things move, make things happen for me and for my family.” He knew it would be hard, but since he just remembered who he was, a clever, powerful kid with a lot of life left to live, he had to make a choice. He could pretend that coming to a new land could stop him from being who he was meant to be or he could live his life like anything is possible. Anything. Anywhere. And so he did. Chapter 7 It was late one night and a kid came cruising by on these fast, big wheels. She had a big backpack attached to the back of her seat and it made a really loud scraping noise against the wheels of her chair. It was dark by now, so me, Tree and Glenn were all kind of surprised to see a kid out so late. There was another sound too. She was cussing! She was really mad. She sounded seriously mad and even though her wheelchair seemed super cool, she was hitting it, banging both of her fists on the metal and the rubber, swearing with every strike. I thought for sure she’d start kicking too, but her legs weren’t moving. They were stuck and still and small. Then with all the ruckus, her backpack slipped off the back. The zipper popped open and all these clothes and books fell out, plus a toothbrush and some pajamas. Tree whispered, “I think she’s running away from home, you guys.” Next thing we knew, she burst into tears. She was so frustrated, so tired. She backed up over her stuff and tried to pick it all up. She needed to reorganize her belongings so she could keep going. She was done throwing a fit and she just wanted to get the heck out of here. She glanced my way. I guess she thought my seat would make a good table to fold her stuff up on, so she wheeled over and got to work. Under her breath I heard her say, “Here I am like an idiot--I’m running away from home, but I can’t even RUN at all. All I can do it sit here. I am stuck in this stupid chair and I am weird. I’m pathetic and I might as well be a baby because I just ride around in a stroller all day long. Besides, wherever I run away to, I am STILL going to be there.” She was full of jealousy. She hated that the kids who could use their legs for walking and running probably never even realized how lucky they were. She was invisible because she thought no one could see HER. They saw her chair and thought they knew all about her. She was sad because she was so focused on all the things she could not do that she never bothered to look at all the things she could do. As she got her backpack put back together, hung it back on its spot, she seemed to realize I was a swing and not a tiny table. She sat there a moment, staring and deep in thought. Suddenly, she got this look in her eye. I could see the sparkle, even in the dark. She leaned forward, reached her strong arms up as far as they could reach on my ropes and pulled herself hard until she was sitting right in the middle of my seat. It was a graceful sight to see, she was like an acrobat. She reached one hand behind her to move her chair out of the way because she was going to swing, darn it! She was going to show us who was boss. It was HER! Not her wheelchair, not her bum legs either. Oh my goodness, Glenn, Tree and I got totally lost in the moment as she used her body to push herself and me, higher, higher, higher, each swing surpassing the last. She was fearless. We all saw it, felt it, and it was in that moment that she got to see herself as fearless too. She was just HER, not the girl in the chair. She had been pretending that she was less-than because of the way she was born. She had been totally fooling herself to believe that whether her body could do this or that, that it could limit her, what she could do in her life, what she could say, what she could dream. All those nasty little lies that she had really started to believe were the truth- they were taking over her life! Oh, now this fiery kid was mad again! Mad because she had wasted years of her life believing those lies. She shook it off quick though and got back to being the passionate, confident girl she was born to be. She looked around to see if anyone had witnessed this miracle in her mind somehow and there, just on the other side of Glenn, her big sister was sitting quietly in the soft grass. She had been searching for her for hours because while everyone else thought her little sister had been asleep in bed, not on her way out of town, her sister knew, as sisters do, that something was not right. And yes. She got to see her sister transform back into the brave, strong girl that she knew she was. In fact, the day she was born, everyone knew that this kid would move mountains, and what did THAT have to do with needing a wheelchair? Not one single thing, that’s what. Chapter 8 Yep. Those are some of the best conversations, Tree and I, along with our wise friend, Glenn, have been around for. There is nothing like it when you get to be a part of a human’s life in that way. Getting to watch someone move from lost and paralyzed with fear and doubt into knowing deep in their bones that they can choose to be brave and choose to be alive--THAT IS A HIGH HONOR! One more thing: Whatever you are going through, whatever you are dealing with, we want you to know that you are enough and you are brave. You just have to choose it, believe it- and you’re the only one that can make that happen. *Glenn, the grassy valley is inspired by Glennon Doyle Melton. I use exact quotes from her writing regarding scared and sacred. She is a huge influence in my life. You can look her up. She as a lot to say about LGBTQ and she is 100% PURE LOVE. I have an instagram if you want to connect.