Posted on Aug 13, 2017
It is with some amusement that I start this blog inspired by my second viewing of the movie, Rango. Five years ago, it was all about finding community—a sense of belonging. And same as before, the hero’s quest motif was evident to me this time, too. Which got me mulling again about the Heroine’s Journey as well as the depth and subtleties hidden within Rango—the character and the movie. For such “light fare” as animated films generally are meant to be, this one strikes me as quite profound at the same time as amusing and uplifting.
Using Rango as the quintessential hero’s quest (rather than the usual Hercules), it showcases well the contrasts and similarities to the classic Heroine’s Journey. Much of what I’ll be referencing is from the book, Jane Eyre’s Sisters: How Women Live and Write the Heroine’s Story, by Jody Gentian Bower (2015). For starters we’ll look at what the genres have in common.
- In essence, they are stories about emotion and connection.
- Both the Journey and the Quest are about the lead character becoming a whole person, but following different paths to get there.
- Both travel physically as well as within his or her “psyche to a new place of self-understanding.” (p. 134)
The key difference is that the hero must travel away from community in order to rejoin the community with a fuller understanding of himself and what he contributes to society/ how he serves the group or greater good—to find or fulfill his sense of belonging. The heroine or Aletis (Greek for wanderer) must break away from the community she serves to find herself and a truer way of being in community on her own terms—not defined by those around her.
At its core, the hero’s quest is about the male protagonist accomplishing something to prove himself the hero: “the single wondrous thing” that solves all problems for the hero and for his realm. (42) The male hero must leave the comforts of home to prove his masculinity and return to embrace the feminine.
“Men are constantly under tremendous pressure, particularly in Western society, to prove their maleness. Until they can accomplish this feat, they may be denied heartfelt connection to others…Almost any show of emotion, other than anger or pride, is feminine—and therefore threatening to heterosexual maleness. But emotion is how we connect with others…The hero has to learn to trust his maleness, to know that he is truly a man, by doing what only a man can do. Once the hero knows absolutely that he is a real man, he can stop fearing betrayal by the feminine side of his own nature and learn how to connect emotionally…The whole man is at ease with his emotions and can respond to an appeal for connection. The quest usually ends with the hero coming full circle, back to the land of his origin, and getting married. This is symbolic recognition that the feminine is no longer a threat and that the hero’s feminine qualities no longer have to remain in shadow.” (Bower, 45-47)
A female’s femininity is never in question. The female protagonist must wander in search of herself and her true place in the world. She, rather, must travel away from home “to seek not only to know herself but also to reclaim those parts of herself devalued by society.” (135) It is no easy task to break away from the confines of a prescribed role or definition of femininity to discover what it means to be a woman for yourself—to be your own true self regardless of what others tell you it means. “We have to stop looking for a heroine who acts like a hero and look instead for a different kind of bravery.” (Bower, 67)
In the movie, Rango faces challenges to figure out the answer to the question: Who are you? Turns out he is much more than he thinks he is. He looks upon himself as insignificant—not even having a name. Yet he bravely faces his fears, overcomes obstacles, is guided by ancient wisdom in various forms, and ends up saving the day—and himself. He knows who he is now. He is no longer insignificant. He has a place where he belongs. He knows what he brings to the table—what he contributes to society—and he gets the girl.
The Aletis (wanderer) learns who she is when she leaves too. But she doesn’t return from whence she came. She finds a new place of belonging—after she discovers who she is and how she chooses to contribute and connect. She also meets ancient wisdom, but usually as a teacher of some sort—hidden in the woods or a cave—from whom she learns difficult lessons. She proves herself to the “wise woman” in order to face future challenges. As Bower notes, “To embrace femininity entirely means to embrace the dark, wild, and dangerous aspects as well as the queenly, loving, and mother-like aspects.” (60) Too often our prescribed female role in the community focuses on serving and overall goodness which means denying being fully human with a dangerous, dark side as well. This leads to all sorts of un-wellness and dysfunction with which we are all familiar.
There are far too many nuggets in the book by Bower to do it justice in this blog. In a nutshell:
- The Hero’s Quest is about “doing” and the Heroine’s Journey is about “being.”
- The hero’s bravery is in accomplishing the “single wondrous thing,” while the heroine’s is in refusing to do what is expected of her.
- The hero often starts out isolated from community whereas the heroine is immersed in it to the point of being invisible or denied a separate identity.
- The hero does what is expected to complete his quest, the heroine does what is unexpected to begin her journey.
- The hero moves toward, and the heroine away from, something.
- Significantly, “the hero transforms himself and restores or preserves the community…The Aletis transforms the community while preserving herself.” (69) The heroine “embarks on the journey because she knows her soul will die if she stays”…She journeys to discover “and value the uniqueness of her being.”(72)
Bower concludes her chapter highlighting the key differences by saying, “To become balanced and whole, it seems each must learn the opposite shape: the hero must trace a circle while the Aletis must follow the arrow’s flight.” (72)
Understanding these two types of storytelling will change forever how you watch movies or read books. You will see these patterns and motifs over and over again. Hence why plots and characters can become predictable. We know how the story will end because we have been told it so often. It is the storytellers who brave exposing the shadow side that tend to switch things up and pique our interest—and disappointment without the expected happy-ending. Fortunately life stories are made of chapters—each with its own ending—leaving the story open for more possibilities. We never know what lies around the next corner…
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Posted on Mar 20, 2016
May the blessing of light be on you—
light without and light within.
May the blessed sunlight shine on you
and warm your heart
till it glows like a great peat fire.
~An Old Celtic Blessing
Today, March 20th, is the Spring Equinox or First Day of Spring of 2016. It is also just a few days past St. Patrick’s Day. So the above Celtic Blessing seemed appropriate to me. Celebrating spring with a touch of the Irish.
Spring is oft perceived as the season of new beginnings, new birth, and new growth. Spirits rise with the balmy weather and increased daylight. We are more motivated to make changes this time of year than any other. Some argue that this is the season for making resolutions as opposed to the dead of winter when the New Year rings in. Others consider autumn a new year of sorts with the return to routines of school and work after summer holidays and activities.
For whatever reason, spring has an air of anticipation to it. We look forward to warmer, sunnier days; planting gardens; planning trips; being outside more. All contribute to a closeness with nature and growth. Are we pondering to try new things this spring? To stretch ourselves out of our winter slumber? To improve our quality of life in some way?
Last month I wrote about the death of my maternal grandmother that got me thinking about family and our places within it, connection and a sense of belonging, understanding ourselves in the context of families. I have sorted through some of my childhood experiences and deep-rooted beliefs. Treasuring some, discarding others. Not unlike cleaning out our closets with the changing seasons.
When we change our wardrobes, we welcome back outfits that give us pleasure and still fit! We also have to let go of those items that no longer fit, serve a purpose, or please us. We make decisions to sculpt our ideal body with diet and exercise—often thinking back to a previous size or hoping for a different size and shape in the future. Sometimes we succumb to discouragement in our desires for the perfect wardrobe, body, life.
It is also beneficial to clear out our minds. A mental spring cleaning. Do we make time for quiet reflection to accomplish this goal? Do we pay attention to the internal clutter? Allow ourselves to sense the inner shifting and bring it forward into daily life? Or do we rush around, distracting ourselves with busy-ness, ignoring our interior world?
Maybe the mental spring cleaning is too scary. We fear bringing our innermost thoughts and feelings into the light. We don’t want to face what doesn’t fit anymore. There is comfort in the familiar after all. But just as the spring weather warms the earth generating new life from the sleeping ground, so too we must cast light upon our inner world to encourage growth or we risk rot and stagnation.
We must face the thoughts that help us and those that hinder us. And make adjustments as necessary. It certainly is a long process, not accomplished over night. It requires persistence, patience, and courage. For me, it also requires stepping into the light: embracing all that I am and want to be. Looking closely at what needs to change, what needs to grow, what needs to be let go, what needs acceptance. Risk leaving my comfort zone.
What about you? Are you ready for spring? For growth and renewal?
May the Light be upon you as you trust the process and boldly go forth into this new season.
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Posted on Feb 25, 2016
My maternal grandmother passed away in the wee hours of this morning. And I’m not sure how I feel about it—if anything at all! It seems horrible to admit that I feel nothing. I have at times wondered what it would be like when she died. Especially during my years of bitterness and resentment towards my grandparents for the roles they played in the development of my mother’s mental illness (and subsequently mine). The illness that eventually took her from me.
I was never close to the mother of my birth mother. In fact I found her intimidating. We had a relationship of sorts until I moved across the country. We kept in touch via letters and the occasional visit. It was more a relationship of obligation or duty than of true connection—for both of us I think.
I have always felt like an outsider in that extended family. Strange to look back upon it now. It was a very complicated family dynamic. And I was a very vivid reminder of my deceased mother—someone I sensed they wanted to forget.
As I type this, I do feel sadness welling up within me—but not for the loss of my grandmother. It is for the family brokenness, for the loss of my mother, and my lost sense of self. My life is forever impacted by generations of abuse and disconnection. I came to terms with the ancestral patterns at an earlier juncture on my healing journey. This keeps my current sadness at tolerable levels. It does not overwhelm me as any death used to do. As well, I did a lot of painful grief work after my dog, Gracie, died in 2012. Some of that journey is recorded in this blog.
And I am quite aware that my perception of the extended family is very different from those who lived and breathed it on a regular basis—either those living close by or just feeling “this” was their family. That sense of inclusion. I never felt I belonged for some reason. Some may even be surprised if they read this. Most would likely tell me not to ‘go there.’ Don’t dig up the past, rock the boat. Leave well enough alone.
Family secrets. My story is laden with them. I have begun to tell bits of my story to various trusted people. It takes a lot of courage to open up and share what is buried, yet at the same time lies just beneath the surface. It is my personal and professional experience that storytelling is in fact very healing.
Confrontation is another matter entirely. And something I fear by even writing this blog. I wonder why I am doing even this amount of sharing. What’s in it for me? Will any of my readers benefit? Is there healing to be found for me or anyone else? Do I dare say aloud what “no one” wants to hear? What would my family think?
I likely won’t know the answer to any of those questions besides my own healing. And the more I ponder, the more questions arise. I have never known my “place” in the extended family (I realize that is the third reference). And now that Grandma is gone, what will happen? Will even tenuous connections be lost? I remain connected by blood. And they say blood is thicker than water. But is it enough to keep families connected? With Grandma gone, is my tether to the family frayed or severed? Strange questions, I know.
Obviously I remain part of the family tree. Grandma’s death doesn’t change that. She lived to 95, by the way. And it wasn’t the easiest of lives. Her story begins in Mennonite Russia (Ukraine) and is filled with trauma. Grandma has a good deal to be venerated for. She kindled my love of reading and was an exceptional cook, baker, and seamstress. I have much from her that I treasure, as well as what I deplore. Holding these in tandem is part of life and love—and telling the story.
The “middle” of the story is that I had a complicated relationship with my maternal grandmother. There is much that went on before and much more that will continue after. Thankfully the story doesn’t stop here. It may be the end of an era, but it is not the end of the story—my story.
The journey of healing and growth—part of my story—will continue. I am sure it will take some time for me to fully process what my grandmother’s death means to me. I sense there is something shifting deep within. It will be interesting to discover what surfaces.
May you find the courage to tell your story to someone you trust as you continue on your journey of healing and growth.
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Posted on Oct 15, 2015
“The secret of change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.”
~ Socrates
I’ve been fighting the old for quite some time now. Change is always scary. This time I am looking into changing my medication for dysthymia (a mental illness characterized by varying degrees of depression).
What does it take to make me face change? Serious weight gain. And I ain’t no toothpick to begin with.
It has become exceedingly frustrating opening my closet, trying something on that fit just weeks ago, and now is too tight. It wears on my psyche and my bank account. I simply cannot financially support this weight gain with clothes to cover it up. Something has to be done. And diet and exercise aren’t cutting it. I eat well. I get regular exercise. That isn’t the issue. But it sure is wreaking havoc on my body image.
Of course, my physicians have blood work testing lined up. I just need to get my Chronic Fatigue butt to the hospital lab—in the morning. If only they weren’t testing my glucose (the one that requires fasting), I could go anytime. Mornings so overwhelm me, the thought of breaking routine—change—can immobilize me; and I procrastinate.
Once the blood work has been reviewed, I can look into changing my medication—which is generally believed to be the culprit. The blood work is just making sure there isn’t something else going on in my body. Crossing all the ‘t’s and dotting all the ‘i’s.
I was doing so well in the summer, I actually entertained the idea of quitting my anti-depressant medications. But then September reminded me I have an illness that won’t magically or miraculously disappear on its own—in essence, no cure for dysthymia, just daily management.
So, of course, the alternate is also scary—quitting my medication and having a serious relapse: a bout of plummeting major depression. I don’t think I’m ready to take that risk. The risk I am facing is not finding the ‘best fit’ medication right away but having to go through trial and error until we find one that has few or at least tolerable side effects and the desired effect—no depression.
This takes time. I could be in for a rocky ride. Or the next drug we try could be ‘the one’ and all is well. Maybe I’ll even shrink back to fit into my clothes again. That would be nice.
Change. Never easy. Generally scary. Sometimes exciting. Worth the effort? I’d say yes—even if the desired outcome doesn’t come readily, the learning and growing process is worth the effort. I also have ‘no choice’ if I take my health seriously. And I do.
Is change knocking at your door? Are you reluctant to answer? Be courageous! Take the plunge! You never know what the outcome will be—unless you don’t embrace change. Then you remain stuck.
“Making a big life change is pretty scary. But know what’s even scarier? Regret.”
~unknown
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Posted on May 17, 2015
“You can’t control everything. Sometimes you just need to relax and have faith that things will work out. Let go a little and just let life happen.”
~Kody Keplinger
This quote has stuck with me since it appeared on the Facebook circuit a few days ago. Let go and let life happen—which involves waiting. I am a terrible “waiter.” At my worst, waiting is fertile ground for anxieties to sprout and proliferate like weeds. At my best, I occupy my mind and body with distractions so the time goes “faster”—or more likely, goes by unnoticed.
Waiting for life to happen feels an awful lot like being stuck. And loss of control. I have come a LONG way in my journey to overcome my control-freak tendency. Where it tends to creep in is during waiting: times when I must relinquish control and trust life to unfold on its own without any assistance from me.
Funny how life is full of paradoxes like that. There are times we must get off our lazy butts, quit complaining, and make life happen. In contrast, there are times we must let life happen in its own time. We can’t hurry periods of gestation. Babies, and other significant moments, occur when they’re good and ready. Premature and delayed arrivals bring their own challenges—some surmountable, others not. But we can’t change or control it.
We must wait: in line; for the bus; for events; for graduation; for promotions; for deals to come through or fall through; for prayers to be answered, hopes to come true; for messages to be sent and received; for people to hurry up; for decisions to be made; for directions, information, or signs from the heavens. Or as Cheryl Richardson words it in her book, Life Makeovers (2000):
“Maybe you’ve been forced to wait because you’re unsure of what’s next, feeling as though your life has fallen victim to a giant hold button.” (p. 93)
There is no end to waiting. But it need not be stagnant. Waiting can be a time of growth (figuratively and literally). It can be a time of inner reflection, of transition, and preparation. Be open to messages from within. Cheryl challenges us to embrace the discomfort of waiting
“knowing that if you use this time wisely, you’ll strengthen your personal power, the kind of power that no outside person or thing can ever give you.” (p. 94)
Grant yourself the freedom to wait knowing it’s a time of growth, reflection, transition, preparation. Sounds like action words to me.
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Posted on Mar 15, 2015
Since last month’s blog entry, I have been give opportunities to think about my own positive self-talk—or lack thereof. And specifically what gets in the way. From what I can gather, it all comes down to the concept of shame—which the dictionary defines as “a painful senses of having done something wrong, improper, or immodest.” Synonyms are disgrace and dishonor.
This describes healthy shame when we are actually guilty of wrong doing. But what of the deeper underlying sense of shame-the unhealthy kind—that writes us off as a person? This shame is not limited to a single “bad” or misguided behaviour. This shame is a painful sense of being something wrong, improper, or immodest—of being a disgrace not just behaving dishonourably or disgracefully.
We develop such a sense of shame early on—usually in childhood or adolescence—by the shaming action of another person. The child or youth comes to the conclusion: “There must be something wrong with me; I must be a bad person for this to happen to me.” I had such experiences and conclusions as a child and adolescent—even into young adulthood.
It can carry on indefinitely depending on one’s life circumstances. Shaming is perpetuated by parents toward adult children, spouses, siblings, peers, co-workers, supervisors, managers, teachers, professors, therapists, doctors, church leaders, in fact leaders of any kind. Relationships with a power differential of some sort are especially vulnerable to the practice of shaming.
So early on in my development I internalized that I must be a “bad person”: the only explanation my child-brain could come up with for life’s circumstances. And which was ingrained over the years by shaming messages from a variety of sources. So ingrained that I became expert at shaming myself. No other voice necessary but my own at times.
This healing journey I’ve been on has led me to examine the statement: “I am a good person.” At first, it didn’t fit right at all; but the more I tried it on, the better it felt each time. I was (am) changing the neuronal pathways of my brain. It still needs more wear to become a cozy fit, but I am slowly internalizing that I am good person. And I’m learning the most effective antidote for shaming is a healthy sense of self. Slowly the shaming voices in my head are being silenced.
For I am a good person—even though far from perfect—just like you.
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