I wasn’t a brilliant student. I had to work hard to achieve my C average and struggled especially with exams. No matter how much I studied, the stress of test time took my memory off line.

In retrospect, I would have been an ideal candidate for an alternative school. I wanted to learn real life skills and practice them. Seth Goddin’s blog yesterday spoke to some of what I was struggling with:

“One reason that we don’t incorporate doing into education is that it takes the authority away from those that would seek to lecture and instruct.”  He goes on to speak about the alternative: “Learning. Learning that embraces doing, The doing of speaking up, reviewing and being reviewed. The learning of relevant projects and peer engagement. Learning and doing together, at the same time, each producing the other.”

As an experiential learner I chose my only other option – I quit school and got a job. My parents weren’t happy but my determination was unshakeable. And legally I could make my own decisions.

I’ve often reflected on the guts it took to do that at sixteen years old. How certain I was, that the path that all my peers were following wasn’t for me. But the certainty I felt about my life and my path was short lived.

I met a guy. I’d been pining after him for a while and jumped at the chance to offer him a bed in my tent. It was the annual May 24th event at Long Beach and I still remember Santa Abraxas playing over and over again on the 8-track cassette player as I lay, stoned and delighted, in his arms.

Back home the next day, he wanted to spend the night. I lived in a basement apartment in my parent’s home. It didn’t feel right but no didn’t seem an option either. My mother suspected something and came down later to investigate. She honed in on his naked body in my closet and all I could say as she raged and we dragged on our clothes was, “I’m sorry”. Full of shame and remorse, I left home the next day.

The rest of that year was chaotic. I lived with my sister Abby in Vancouver. Our father was diagnosed with kidney disease and died in early November. My mother grieved with their friend ‘Old Bill’ and they both drank way too much.

I became a good girl after my plummet from grace. Quitting school (with certainty) and leaving home (in disgrace) got conflated somehow and it hasn’t been until now that I can start teasing them apart.

Last week I attended a ceremony. My intention was to connect with my sixteen year old self; to see if I could touch into the clarity of purpose I felt in those earlier days. The two guides, one male and one female, were well trained and initially the structure felt supportive. But as time went on the male voice became too dominant and I began to strain against what felt like patriarchal control.

A fire began to smoulder in my heart and mind. I feel it now as I’m writing. It’s a ‘don’t fuck with me’ kind of energy that is in service of FREEDOM. As each minute passed my resolve grew. The feminine was rising.

Extricating myself from the circle meant risking a small ruckus but I made my leave the next day. I felt reconnected and aligned with something fundamental to my nature and deeply grateful for the experience.

Returning home en route to Abby’s, I picked up Seth’s book: What To Do When It’s Your Turn (and it’s always your turn). Two friends gave me copies for my 60th birthday and I hadn’t read it until now. Seth is a disrupter and wants us all to make a ruckus. I do too. The world needs us to step up for what we believe in, now more than ever before. 

What do you feel called to make a ruckus about, that might help right some wrong in your life or in the world? Let me know, I’d love to hear!