Kintsugi

Reconstructing the Light

There I was, standing on a makeshift stage, the waters of Lake George lapping encouragingly behind me as I clutched a lyric sheet and sang a cappella to the crowd gathered in front of me. Did I mention I was on stage by myself…and singing?  Like many writers, I’m a bit of an introvert. Oh, who am I kidding? There’s no grey area on this one! Also, singing is not my strong suit. In spite of these facts, I felt completely and inexplicably at ease. For that, I credit the skills of Karen Carey, the instructor responsible for my solo performance as part of Kintsugi, her three-hour self-development workshop at the Wiawaka Center for Women in Lake George.

I knew the late-August class would include a bit of yoga, possibly a meditation and some stretching. There was stretching, all right…straight past our comfort zones. But it was painless thanks to Karen’s joyful, conversational method of teaching. She encouraged us to be ourselves, lighten up about our past mistakes, and shared anecdotes from her own life about overcoming obstacles. “Pain and sorrow drive us to new levels of freedom, love, kindness, and joy,” she explained. “Good is all around us and it grows if we’re not afraid to show ourselves and be real in the moment.”

Like a skilled magician, she led us smoothly past our comfort zones, into places we would ordinarily avoid, you know, like honesty and vulnerability. The 20 women gathered began with introductions and ‘whys’ of attending. Then it was on to some gentle dissection of ‘our story,’ the one that, good or bad, tends to define us. Karen asked us to pinpoint worn out patterns so ingrained we were no longer aware of them, and ditto for those silent but self-defeating messages ping-ponging back and forth in our skulls uninvited. Then we were asked to ponder what gold might be mined from all of it.

The curriculum aligned seamlessly with the concept behind Kintsugi – a Japanese art form where broken pottery is repaired using lacquer that’s dusted with gold, to not just highlight the broken pieces, but imbue them with the glory of a renewed purpose. More than just a way to make beautiful vases, Kintsugi embodies the metaphor of the breaking and reparation of the human heart, which often gets more than a little roughed up on life’s unpredictable journey.

It’s safe to say that every one of the 20 participants had experienced some form of breakage in their past. Who escapes that, anyway? No one. But with the shattering behind us, Karen’s goal that day was clearly to get us to see that we were more golden than broken, no matter what the intensity of our suffering.

Karen Carey, teacher and encourager extraordinaire

Perhaps what made this workshop so different from the dozens I’ve taken in the past was the simple healing power of unexpected generosity.  Karen didn’t just make us feel welcome, she made us feel valued.  Before starting her preamble, she passed out brand new pens and journals in various sizes and bright colors. And my heart melted at the halfway mark when Karen distributed baskets of protein bars, fresh fruit, and bottles of water. At most workshops it’s usually BYOS (bring your own stuff). It may seem like innocuous ‘stuff’ that she gave us, but the intent behind it – that we should be given what we need – was everything. And with my checkered past of deprivation and trust in my fellow humans shattered too many times to count, Karen’s thoughtful gestures were a psychological metaphor for gold-dusted glue.

Full disclosure:  I was almost going to return the journal to the teacher, gallantly explaining I have others at home and maybe it would be better to save it for someone who really needs it. But then I stopped, deciding instead to cut the cord to my usual ‘I shouldn’t receive, I can’t receive’ response. The bubblegum-pink journal that lay in my lap proved to be the random act of kindness I needed to feel deeply at ease and able to trust. So, as the workshop’s conclusion drew near and we were handed blank sheets of paper on which to create, my inner critic, which thrives on bitterness and inadequacy, had nothing to feast on. Instead, I smiled like a carefree kid, contemplating what to create.

Because of Karen’s welcoming and nourishing environment none of us - that’s the entire group - had any qualms about getting up and taking center-stage to do our thing. (Food for thought: imagine how the world would transform if more of our environments were welcoming and nourishing). Some of us showed artwork, others read a poem or spoke in free-from revelations about their past and what they would no longer tolerate. As for me, I wrote a song. It was a short one. And simple…and straight from my suddenly unguarded heart.

Healing, as anyone who’s undertaken it will tell you, is its own mysterious process. Attempting to control the outcome is futile; the best I could do when I embarked 40 years ago was take it one freeing tear at a time. What I can say with assurance is, bravery pays off. In Vaneetha Risner’s inspiring blog on the art of Kintsugi, she notes that rather than hiding the damage of trauma, Kintsugi both acknowledges the brokenness and celebrates its repair. “A broken piece that is put back together has more of a story…is stronger and more resilient than something that has stayed pristine,” says Risner.

Photo credit: Vaneetha Risner

I don’t have a logical explanation for it, but at some point during Karen Carey’s workshop, the remaining chains of self-recrimination vaporized. I felt I belonged in that circle of women as much as anyone. And sensed joyful anticipation at taking the stage – a monumental 180 for a former elective mute.

Completely at ease, I looked down at my blank piece of paper and smiled as a reimagined version of Happy Birthday began to write itself, a pre-celebration of my early-October birthday.

The empowerment continued as Karen suddenly pointed to me and declared that I’d be going first. I leapt off my mat and ran with the assignment.  There are no words to describe the feeling of, for the first time in almost six decades, moving through waking reality without any embarrassment or self-consciousness. Aglow and firing on all cylinders from my transcendental state, I sang the just-penned lyrics to the tune of ‘Happy Birthday.’ The cord to my self-loathing cut, I was soaring as I finished the last note.  Then Karen realized she hadn’t filmed me and asked me to do it again, which only fueled the momentum.

I looked out at the women seated before me, smiling. I locked eyes with them, smiled back, and launched into take two with even more passion and an uncoiled joy that was a long time in coming.

Executes Metaphoric Cartwheel*