Doing What’s Scary and Renarrating My Life

A Yom Kippur Sermon 2002-5763

by Talia Brocha Hirschhorn Cooper

When I picked up that pen and paper about six months ago, I had no idea that the words that would stream from the pen would be words that would alter my outlook on life. I know it sounds cheezy, but just hear me out.

I was home from school, sick, and feeling sorry for myself. Normally I would have picked up the remote and vegged out the entire day feeling sorrier and sorrier for myself as each new lame sitcom came on. But that day was different. That day something inside me called me to pick up the pen and paper and just write. Okay, so I lie. It wasn’t that cheezy. The truth is that I had a lot of school-work which I did not want to do at all. So as a compromise to myself, I decided to do a random "free-write" to get my mind flowing and then do my work. At this time I knew that writing had the power to get me thinking, but I just didn’t know how much so! So I started to write; my hand was a little shaky, and my head felt feverish. The remote control tempted me, and Math Analysis daunted me, but I ignored them both and what came out was, "Just write. Don't edit, Just write." It started off slowly, but then it began to pick up as my mind cleared. "Just write! Why does my writing have to be good? If it’s only my thoughts, why do I have to be scared to share my writing? But I am scared..." And so I began to write of fears, and how hard it seems to be to overcome them. Slowly the free-write progressed and I came to a huge conclusion. "Just write. Don't edit. Why do I edit myself, my words, my expressions? Scared? I have to stop defining what I do by what I am not scared to do." In others words, I was tired of fear being factored into all of my decisions and holding me back. I have to start doing the things that scare me.

A couple of months before I picked up that pen, I had heard about a school in Vermont called the Mountain School. It is a school in which high school juniors and seniors go for one semester to take classes, work on the farm there, and study the environment. Being interested in environmental studies, I decided to apply, not believing that I could actually get in. Then about two months later, I got my acceptance letter for the spring semester 2003. I couldn’t believe it! But since I had never thought I could get in, I hadn’t considered what I would do if I did get accepted. In fact, when the thick acceptance envelope showed up in the mail, I was convinced that it was thick because the front page would say "Sorry you did not get in. These are the papers you would have gotten had you been accepted." Of course this was silly, and now that I was accepted, I had only one week to decide. Hurriedly, I made my decision to accept and sent off my reply.

But still even a month after that, even when I picked up that pen because I was sick and home from school, I wasn’t sure why I had accepted and if I had made the right decision. I kept thinking "What am I doing accepting the offer to go to a tiny farm in Vermont for a whole semester! I’ve never worked on a farm; I’ve barely gone camping... I’ve never even been to sleep-away camp! I’m too weak! Could I actually survive this thing?" So basically I was deathly terrified of my decision.

So when I picked up that pen and wrote that I had to start doing the things that scared me, the comprehension of my actions hit me with an impact. So that’s why I’m going to Vermont. All of a sudden it seemed that that one sentence I had written about being scared was a good enough reason on its own for going to Vermont. Plus, I had begun to realize what an amazing opportunity this was, and I had to seize it. I could learn so much about everything, especially about myself. I could learn that I can absolutely not deal with Vermont winters and that I hate farm work and would be happy to never hear a cow "MOOO" again. Or I could make tons of wonderful friends, learn about the world, and gain new, interesting skills. I don’t know, but how wonderful to find out, and how wonderful to figure out why I was going before I actually left. In my free-write I expressed "Am I too weak? Will I make it? But who the hell knows? I truly don’t. But I will go. Maybe I will cry the whole time, or maybe I will dance my way through the stars, then leap right back down and find a way to keep dancing on earth. I will start defining what I do by what I am scared to do. This is how I can truly live! If I am scared to do something new--I will! If I am scared to go to Vermont--I will! If I am scared of sharing my writing--I most certainly will!" My free-write then went on to rant about the joys of writing. By this point I knew I was on a roll; TV and math homework had completely escaped my head, and even my body seemed to forget that I was sick. I wrote,

"I used to write. Then I used to not write. I used to not write because I thought I was bad and what would be the point of writing if its going to be bad? But I was completely on the wrong track. Write for writing. Just write. Write for expression. If in words it comes out strange or different--does it matter? Just write! Write to help define yourself, write to help redefine yourself, write to help un-define yourself. Don’t edit. Just write. Writing truly is a kind of freedom."

And so that was the conclusion of this free-write that actually helped to renarrate my outlook on life. Amazing what writing can do, huh? Since discovering my reasons for going to Vermont, the free-write has helped me to make many other choices. At a few events I have read a poem that I wrote about peace; I’ve gone to scary auditions, taken on a new dance class that I didn’t think I could handle, allowed myself to be happy, when even that seemed frightening. And there was one more big decision I made based on that free-write that I want to share with you. I accepted an offer to share what I have learned, my thoughts and feelings, with a group of people who have been a part of my whole life. I accepted this offer to share with you, Kehilla, my community, this life-changing free-write, during this period of renarration. Thank you, Kehilla, for helping me to follow through with my self-promise.