The Power of Reframe
I’m not a major flag-fan. We all know where we live, so the need to remind ourselves by flying a flag has always confused me. Perhaps if we were on a ship in middle of the ocean, identification via flag would be important. Flags on houses I just don’t understand. Nevertheless I am able to breathe my way through July Fourth celebrations pretty easily. People’s displays of flags seem situational and appropriate—and then they are packed up and out of sight.
And then, the flag pole arrived.
Truly, I am a grateful American—I appreciate and celebrate the rights and freedoms I have been given to live my life, to pursue my happiness, to uncover my true nature. Whatever lack of freedom I feel certainly lives inside my brain. Of that I am positive.
And then, the flag pole arrived.
My neighbor is building a new house. The pre-fab in progress, although light-years better than its predecessor, sits stuffed and oversized on a small track of land, gobbling up the space and the air around itself. It is tall and large and suburban, a strange fit for our somewhat funky lake community. It towers over our more cottage-like house, giving us a miniature-hobbit-Bilbo-Baggins look. As the house has gone up, I’ve worked hard with myself to breathe and relax, and let it be okay. I’ve imagined where we can plant some tall trees, focusing on the positive and possibility.
And then, the flag pole arrived.
It is perhaps one of the tallest flagpoles I have seen, parallel with the pitch of the roof. It has an official-looking round knob on its top and looks like it belongs either outside of congress or at a patriotic mega-car dealership in Florida. From it flies two unattended flags; an American flag, large and robust in size, and a more demure M.I.A. flag. From my bedroom, my porch, my yard, my driveway and my living room, I can see the flags blowing through the leaves of the trees, parallel with the height of the towering new house. Without the leaves, come autumn, pole and attached flags will be fully and uncompromisingly in my line of vision.
I lost any capacity to contain this experience. Simply said, I freaked. I spent twenty-four hours obsessively looking at the flagpole/flags from every angle, mumbling under my breath. Imagining myself on my deathbed in this house, with the flags flying next door, enraged me. I was not able to stay present at all. Truly, sincerely, moving from this, my home, seemed the only option. (It is not.) I mumbled and muttered and whispered curses. I was fully triggered.
And then, in the early morning, sitting on the porch eyeing the flagpole/flags hovering over me, I remembered my precious Girl Scout Camp, the stability and freedom of my childhood and young adulthood, which probably saved my life. I remembered how much I adored flag ceremony.
We gathered morning and night, our camp a community, with ritual and respect, to raise and lower the flag.
I remember, as a young camper, struggling against life itself not to fart in the midst of the solemnity of the ceremony.
I remembered, as we got older, playing the silent game with my friends, considering which counselor—the adored ones—had the tannest knees.
I remember being in love with one counselor each summer, monogamously committed to both the fantasy and the reality of my love for her, and scanning the counselor line to see her standing in silent dignified respect.
I remember, as a young counselor during the Viet Nam war, leading the camp into the formation of a peace symbol that we had painstakingly staked out. Since shape was unfortunately indiscernible, we didn’t get in trouble for that, but for the black arm bands we wore with our dress uniforms.
Sitting on my step, pondering my neighbor’s massive flag while lost in positive memory, I without thought raised my hand into the Girl Scout salute and recited for the first time in five decades, the Girl Scout pledge:
On my honor, I will try:
To serve God and my country,
To help people at all times,
And to live by the Girl Scout Law.
I can live with that! Not perfect words, but good enough for me—trying, serving, helping, living. Rather than bitch and complain about this flag that sits here, unattended and omnipresent, I can bring to it the respect I learned. Rather than mumbling about its gaucheness, I can use it as a prompt into pledge and self-connection. Like a meditation chime, it can return me back to the positive.
This ritual is not fully established yet, but I am committed to its practice: whenever I see the erect pole (sorry, I couldn’t resist), I will take a breath, repeat some semblance of the pledge, and focus on the goodness in my life. Cognitive re-patterning! Nobody is going to train my brain for me but me. The Girl Scout inside of me smiles.