The Cowgirl Ballerina Teacher Nurse Me

Yep, that’s me. Diane Lynn Haworth, daughter of Stan and Mildred (aka “Pete”) Haworth, of Warrenton, Virginia around age four and a half. At this young age, I remember being very confident and feeling I had my life all figured out.

I knew exactly what I wanted and was well on the way to becoming a cowgirl ballerina teacher nurse. That was my plan. I would obviously marry a prince, live in a castle and have many babies.

And live happily ever after….

I’m so glad I didn’t know what life would really bring. At this tender age I hadn’t yet begun to doubt my direction or come under the paralyzing self judgement of adolescence. I was still a happy spirit, freely exploring the world.

So glad I didn’t know then that:

• my childhood would be rocked by my parent’s constant health issues which plagued them the rest of their lives
• I’d face many challenging years as a working mom when a record number of  women started to change the face of the American workforce
• it would take three tries to find my prince…and I never lived in a castle
• I’d be plagued by fertility issues and weight problems throughout my life
• I’d experience years of abuse, fear, loneliness and overwhelm

I’m glad I didn’t know all that then. I understand now that a crucial part of our life is the way we learn to navigate the boulders on our path. The truths we discover about ourselves and our world are the treasures of a life lived through challenge. We constantly face hurdles and either keep creating the same obstacles throughout life, or find a way around, through or over them.

I’m also glad I didn’t know that:

• my kids would be my biggest joy in life and that every day with them as children, and now as adults, presents me with new opportunities for ever deepening love and happiness
• that the pain in my marriages ultimately gave me the biggest opportunity for deep, soul growth and I’m genuinely grateful for the men who were my teachers
• dealing with my parents’ ongoing health issues led to critical life lessons in patience, compassion and surrender
• accepting my body and the aging process is a rewarding journey when the gifts of the experience are embraced
• the work I love to do, spiritual life coaching, didn’t even exist when I was a kid
• love really is the answer to every life problem

I’m glad I didn’t know the twists and turns my life would take. My experiences are often clouded by what I expect to be “easy” or “hard,” “good” or “bad” ones. Not knowing allows reactions to be more real, the lessons can be learned at a deeper level and genuine joy can be even more expansive.

Now at age 60, I feel more like that little four and a half year old girl than I ever have. With my eyes and heart wide open, I believe I can do anything. Not because I don’t understand how life works, but because I do…or I’m at least starting to.

There’s time to be a cowgirl ballerina teacher nurse if I want to…I’m open to the surprises yet to come.

How Inner Joy Blooms For All

                                                                                Bigstock.com

Life gave me another beautiful lesson this week. And, as usual, it came in an unexpected way.

I attended the visitation and grave-side funeral for my parent’s long time neighbor, who I’ll call “Mrs. Green”. For over 50 years, she’s lived just a couple doors down at the end of Dad’s street. While my intention was to pay tribute to Mrs. Green and support the family, I had no idea I would also be receiving inspiration and a shot of….joy.

Yeah, joy.

Not what I was expecting to experience at a funeral. But that’s what happened. You see, Mrs. Green was different.

She was a little thing who worked for many years in public service as part of a local government office. She loved to golf, entertain friends, sing in the church choir and spend countless hours in her beautiful rose garden. She was sweet to all the neighborhood kids, visited sick neighbors and supported local charities.

Sounds like a lot of nice little old ladies, right? Nope. She was different.

She wasn’t an “I’m doing this thing because it looks good” or “I have to be nice or I’m going to hell” kinda gal. She was genuine. She was kind. And she was always “smiling joy.”

Real joy.

She radiated joy.

I’m talking honest to God, sparkly-white-light-shining JOY.

Something struck me at the funeral as I heard various stories from family and friends about this lovely woman. Everyone mentioned the same things: she was always impeccably dressed with full make up and appropriate jewelry, she was healthy and active until the end; she kept a lovely home, was a masterful hostess and loved tending to her beautiful yard and magnificent rose garden. She was a steadfast friend and supportive, loving parent.

I suspected that Mrs. Green somehow knew something the rest of us didn’t.

Hmmmmm…..

It finally dawned on me. The love and respect she had for herself was what fueled the joy that was then reflected in her appearance, her health, her home, yard...in every aspect of her life. And that joy radiated to anyone else lucky enough to be in her world.

Mrs. Green was not a selfish person. I believe she simply understood we are all children of God and therefore deserving of love and respect. She was smart enough to understand we can’t give what we don’t have. So by creating a loving world for herself, she was able to share that joy with others. Many others.

She was a loving wife, mother, grandmother, friend…all because she must have known true love for others starts within our own heart. It starts by falling in love with the “spark of God” that is each one of us at our core.

WOW! Right in my own childhood neighborhood I’d discovered an example of the teachings I’d studied for years! Countless self-help books had discussed the practice I witnessed this lady live out as I’d observed her from the sidelines for over five decades.

After the service, I drove by Mrs. Green’s house and saw the manicured lawn, lush potted plants and the radiant rose garden. It was beautiful. It was a joy to behold.

As I drove by, I realized the roses had been her joyful gift to the neighborhood all these years. Her yard is a testament to the beauty of life, if we’re aware enough to see it.

I realized this must be how her inner joy blooms for all….

We Bought a Zoo

Daddy and I enjoy the Zoorama train - 1960

Funny how little life events can bring back a flood of memories. I was in my watercolor class this week, beginning a new painting of a zebra. For some reason, I was pretty excited about this new subject matter, and didn’t understand why. Then I remembered. Back in 1960, we bought a zoo.

Well, it was kind of a zoo. It was called Zoorama located in New Market, Virginia and I remember Mom told me Dad and some friends invested in the tourist attraction in early 1960. According to an article I found from the March 6, 1960 Philadelphia Inquirer, it was an 80 acre park housing over 67 species from 23 countries that included a petting zoo and small circus display. (See the article here: http://bit.ly/18JXHKt) I don’t remember that. I just remember the magical place I’d go with my parents and little sister. I remember the animals. And I remember the train we’d ride in that circled the park. Because I was only about three, the details are faint, but the feelings are still strong.

I remember being genuinely surprised by new creatures I’d never seen, the feeling of being safe in my dad’s arms as I reached out to pet a camel, and of experiencing the bliss that only a young child, free from daily worries, can enjoy. It was pure magic for me. Not so for my parents.

I was told, decades later, that Zoorama was on Route 11 in Virginia’s beautiful Shenandoah Valley and attracted thousands of visitors from all over the east coast. That is until just a couple years after my parent’s invested, and the new interstate came through western Virginia. This forever changed the tourist traffic pattern which, according to my dad, “killed” the business. I recall we stopped going to visit the animals and Dad started spending a lot of time in meetings and on the phone. Mom told me later that he spent countless hours calling zoos and sanctuaries all over the country trying to find homes for the animals after the park closed to the public. Evidently, it was a huge financial mess for my parents. Only years later would Dad even talk about it.

When we were cleaning out my parent’s home after Dad moved to an assisted living facility, my brother, sister and I found a few Zoorama flyers and carefully packed them in a box and put it into storage with much of the rest of our childhood. No matter. Starting to paint this watercolor zebra brought the magic of this childhood memory back to me.

No, our family experience wasn’t like that of Matt Damon’s character in the 2011 movie We Bought a Zoo, but it was pretty cool.

 

Me at the Zoorama "petting zoo"