Red Alert! Red Alert! Red Alert!
by Mary Jane
Mapes
Have you ever noticed how physical ailments sound an alarm, alerting us to
internal struggles we have attempted to bury. If the alarm goes unanswered, the thing
buried comes back to eat us alive? It's my guess that was exactly Art's situation.
Art, a 47 year old labor attorney, had plunked himself down in the seat next to me on the
Kalamazoo-bound train out of Chicago. My nose buried in the newest Anne Tyler novel,
Patchwork Planet, announced my desire to be left alone. Art had other ideas. Acting as if
he had my attention, he commented over my shoulder on the blistering heat, and the
surprisingly low number of passengers on board the train. That being the case, I wondered
why he'd chosen to sit by me. Masochism, perhaps? Couldn't he see I wasn't interested in
idle chit chat?
So as not to encourage conversation, I barely grunted acknowledgement of his comments.
That is, however, until I heard the words, "I think I'm having a mid-life
crisis." Now he had my attention. I turned and looked squarely into his face.
Whenever something gets personal, it gets my attention. I learned he was depressed, and,
as a result, his work was getting progressively difficult to do. He had a chronic cough
that no doctor could explain. Whenever he'd start coughing, he'd get depressed, put his
work away, lie down to rest, and then forget about the work. It was a routine he'd come to
hate.
I asked what seemed a reasonable question, "Do you enjoy your work?" After much
thought and several aborted attempts to answer the question, the best that he could come
up with was that it was "what he knew. "Perhaps another approach would work. I
questioned, "If you could do anything you'd like to do, what would it be?"
A single word, like a bullet, shot from his mouth, "Writing!" No need to think
about that one. No hesitation. He knew.
"Fiction?"
"No, journalism."
"How much journalistic writing have you done in the past 10
years?"
"None. No time for it in my business."
This story was beginning to add up. His final revelation was telling. "I hope you
don't think I'm crazy," he said hesitently, "but I believe I have a powerful
inner knowing, like ESP or something.
"A powerful inner knowing, huh? How do you respond to it?"
"Well, I certainly don't encourage it. In my business, people are more interested in
opinion based on facts. Sometimes it's pretty uncomfortable to have the facts pointing to
one thing while inside you have this lttle voice telling you something
else…especially when the little voice is almost always right."
"Yes," I acknowledged, " I can see that that could be uncomfortable."
For almost three hours I listened to a stranger talk about his inner struggle. I wanted to
help him "fix it," but had the sense to know that wasn't within my power. He
needed to discover the answers for himself. All I could do was plant a seed.
When the conductor announced, "Next stop Kalamazoo," I knew I needed to act
quickly.
"Did you ever think that maybe your body is trying to tell you something?" I
asked rhetorically. "You say you are having a mid-life crisis. You say you love
journalism, but haven't done any journalistic writing in the past 10 years. You say you
have an unexplainable cough that gets you depressed. You put things away and forget them,
and then get more depressed. You say you have a powerful inner knowing that you tend to
squelch. Sounds to me like your body is attempting to send you a strong message."
"You may have a point," he sighed.
As I stood up to leave, promising to send him some articles, he reached out, touched my
forearm, and said, "Thanks, I really appreciated you taking time to listen to
me."
"You're welcome." I then added gently, "But perhaps now it's time for you
to begin to listen to that inner voice. I have a strong suspicion that it's trying to tell
you something, and you haven't been listening. Pray for guidance, and listen closely. You
may get the answers you so desire."
©Copyright 1999-2006 Mary Jane Mapes All rights reserved.
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