Choosing Vulnerability

Choosing Vulnerability

by Kelly Anderson

“Vulnerability is an infinitely precious thing.” John O’Donohue, Eternal Echoes

It’s fair to say that, like many others, I’ve lived most of my life seeking power - the power of education and knowledge, financial comfort, physical health, and the right social connections. The power of image. Hopefully, it’s also fair to say that my quest for power has not been driven by an insatiable, gnawing hunger. Unlike Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth or the Game of Thrones’ Cersei Lannister, I don’t believe my need for power is pathological. I think it’s rooted in values conditioned by our society. And small “successes” serve only to reinforce that conditioning.

In my quest for this power, I’ve learned to minimize and control risk. Even actions which may appear to others to be bold and courageous are, in fact, strategic; the benefits analyzed and all possible costs calculated. A life like this is safe. But a life like this is based in fear. A life like this has little tolerance for imperfection or failure, no space for vulnerability.

“Yet, to make yourself invulnerable is to lose something very precious. You put yourself outside the arena of risk where possibility and growth are alive. Vulnerability risks hurt, disappointment, and failure. Yet it remains a vital opening to change and to truth.”
(John O’Donohue, Eternal Echoes, p. 153)

Vulnerability is a trendy topic. Brené Brown’s “The Power of Vulnerability” is a top Ted Talk. It’s good stuff, and interesting to contemplate. But, I’ve only just begun to grasp its reality in a truly personal way. I’ve recognized that when I find myself in a vulnerable position, I bolt. I bolt! And I miss out on something precious.

A recent experience made the loss which comes with avoiding vulnerability painfully clear to me. As you may have guessed, I love to write. I would love to “be a writer”. In July of 2017 I had the opportunity to take a step in that direction when I attended a writing workshop presented by two of my literary heroes - Jesse Stommel and Sean Michael Morris. I traveled to Vancouver, BC, Canada to learn from these masters of the craft. And I did learn, but not exactly what I had intended. It was in this workshop I witnessed my instinctive and swift reaction to vulnerability - and what it costs me.

The ‘Writing About Teaching’ workshop was part of the Digital Pedagogy Lab. The conference drew learning professionals - teachers, instructional designers, curriculum developers - from across the globe. All attending had a deep interest in the possibilities and challenges of teaching and learning in our digital age. In the Writing track workshop I was surrounded by people like me. People wanting to use their writing to influence positive change in education.

The conference was amazing and the writing workshop was everything I had hoped for. Our mission was to write an article for submission to Hybrid Pedagogy, an open-access journal. The leaders, Jesse and Sean, took us through fun, creative, and challenging exercises. It was good.

Well, with one small exception, it was good. In the afternoon of the second day, Sean Michael Morris asked us to pair up and share our articles-in-progress. What?!? No! Absolutely not. Nooooo. Nope nope nope. My piece wasn’t ready. I wasn’t even sure what my message was. I hadn’t found my words. No. I crammed my Macbook and writing journal into my bag as I leaned over to Ken, the guy sitting beside me and my likely partner, and told him I had to leave. Sensing my distress, Sean Michael Morris stopped me as I hoisted the heavy bag over my shoulder. His eyes were filled with kindness. You’re in a safe place, he told me. Everyone’s writing project is still raw, unformed, he said. Would I trust him, and experience the benefit of sharing my work in its early stage? No, but thank you. I flew out of the room and all the way back to my hotel.

That evening, while other conference attendees hit the town and enjoyed uncommonly clear skies and warm temperatures in the beautiful city of Vancouver, I stayed cooped up in my room, hunched over my computer screen, deliberating word choice and sentence structure, trying to perfect my piece. On day three, I returned to the workshop, ready to share my polished writing.

Upon my return home, I filed away the conference materials, including my article. I didn’t submit anything to Hybrid Pedagogy, and it was several months before I allowed the experience back into my thoughts. I now realize I had encountered, and soundly rejected, vulnerability. Sharing my writing before it was ready would have risked exposure as a poor writer or, worse yet, a shallow thinker. So, I did what I do - I fled the scene. But it cost me the opportunity to be fully honest and open with a community of supportive writers. It cost me the opportunity to converse and more deeply connect - and to grow.

Brené Brown has said vulnerability is the birthplace of joy, of creativity, of belonging, of love. This resonates - I believe these things are the center of the profound life I desire. Vulnerability is a path leading from an open heart into the possibilities of infinite joy, creativity, belonging, and love; a path to wonder, gratitude, connection, and trust. Vulnerability is a precious thing.

Choosing to be vulnerable won’t be easy. It goes against years of conditioning, an entire lifetime focused on safety through power, a life spent controlling risk. When threatened, even by kind, pen wielding authors, I escape. But, risk is where possibility and growth are alive . I would now like to choose vulnerability.

Recommended Resources

Brené Brown, ‘The Power of Vulnerability’

John O’Donohue, Eternal Echoes: Celtic Reflections on Our Yearning to Belong

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