Wandering Through Nothingness

As a follow-up to my blog piece from yesterday, I was aware that as I wrote it and hit “publish” something about it just didn’t sit right.

And the part that didn’t sit right hit me during yoga this morning. (Yes…I know…I really shouldn’t be thinking during yoga, but on occasion thoughts like this just hit me upside the head, whether I like it or not.)

It’s pretty easy for me to sit outside the walls, over here in my happy world, and lay claim to what is right and wrong, but the truth is…the buyer, the clerk, the creator of the flasks I referenced yesterday probably don’t feel like they have any option but to conform to the culture they feel obliged to please…that culture being us.

If the clerk refused to put the display out on the floor, she/he will more than likely be fired. The buyer may feel a kind of informal sense of responsibility to purchase items such as this or she/he will lose his/her job. If they don’t throw these items out on the floor for the general population to purchase, the general population will go somewhere else to purchase these items. Shock value sells and we, meaning the consumer, buy the stuff.

It’s all very confusing. The circle of it seems to just go round and round without ever stopping.

I’m still brought back around though to the notion that we don’t know each other anymore. I was “doing” the very same thing to the buyer I spoke of, in my blog piece yesterday, that I claimed she did…judging her based only on information that I pulled together through assumptions that she/he was indeed in it only for the buck. I wonder might happen if instead of asking her to sit down with her consumer, I asked to sit down with her…exploring what her work is like…wondering who the real person is that makes these decisions…how many kids she is supporting. Is she single? Married? Pressures? Worried? It’s so easy to want to blame, to name, to suggest that someone here is wrong, but the truth is, we are all in this together. Where do we draw the line and who draws it?

So…I’m wondering…what would happen if I sat down to learn HER story…hear what it feels like day in and day out, to go into work and maybe know at her core that the “stuff” she buys and then distributes is demeaning and belittling the customer who buys it…but feeling helpless or afraid to speak up for fear of losing her job, not feeling supported to make change from within the corporation where she works.

So…if you are still here and even a little bit interested in all of this (you must be if you made it this far) I’m curious…and I ask you with a real and genuine desire to hear back from you…what do you think about what I’ve shared here? Are their solutions? Is there anything to actually solve? Is there even a problem? What is the problem? Use the comment section and let’s talk about this. Because my brain is on overdrive and yoga isn’t helping!

So, I guess I’m glad yesterday I was too busy to write this piece. If I had written it yesterday, what was on my mind, the words to flow would have been filled with anger…maybe even rage.

Yesterday I received an email from a long-time friend, John Cantrell, and the father to three kids.

As I was walking into the mall with my 3 kids, 13,12, and 10, I noticed this display right at the front of Urban Outfitters. I made very little reference to it as we were on a mission to the Apple Store. As we were leaving, I felt like I could not just let this pass.

After leaving the mall, I told the kids to wait, and went back to take a picture. They wanted to know what I was doing, so I showed them the picture and asked them what was wrong. They immediately could tell, and we talked about doing and saying the right things, and that I felt I needed to do something about it and that’s why I took the picture and was going to at least voice my displeasure with the display.

At first glance, my reaction was somewhat subdued. “Just another silly attempt to sell stuff.” But as my morning went along…I got angry. REALLY angry.

All for a buck. Someone, somewhere, is sitting in a drafting, design room thinking up this stuff. I get it. I was 20 once. I partied. I drank a lot.

But the demographic for Urban Outfitters starts at age 14…my daughter loves their clothes.

Where is the disconnect? The buyer? Who is the buyer? Someone along the chain of getting this from creative to production to purchase to sale had to say “This is okay. Yeah, sure…a majority of our customers are under the age of 21, but that’s okay. Let’s display small liquor flasks with “F..k my Liver” and “I’m not drunk, I’m awesome” right here at the entrance to our store.”

And for the sake of assuming the best here…let’s just pretend that everyone who shopped at Urban Outfitters was over the age of 21, how disconnected is the creator, buyer, clerk from their demographic? Who wants to hurt the people they serve?

But then I realize…somebody buys this stuff. As a matter of fact, I probably would have been THAT somebody. When I was in my early 20′s, drinking was a life style for me. One that unfortunately was so deeply woven into my DNA that at age 32, the alcohol won. I called my sister and threatened to kill myself. I don’t mean to be morbid or dramatic but it’s the truth. Thanks to her and a kind of self-reckoning I woke up the next day to a grace-giving experience that changed my life and would later bear the fruit we call “Girls on the Run.”

I wonder what’s missing here that those folks…the ones in creative, advertising, c-suites and sales…feel so okay with producing products that promote messages, which in essence, demean, diminish and even destroy the very person they are trying to serve. Video games, music, advertising strategies…I can almost bring myself to tears pondering the expansive number of missed opportunities to engage people in something that could, on the other hand, be positive, life-giving and uplifting.

I’ve spent this morning in the stillness of that gap, the WHAT’S missing and I think it comes down to something so simple that it defies my own willingness to believe it.

Could it be that we simply don’t know each other anymore…I mean really know each other anymore?

Let me introduce you to Takeimi Rao. She was fourteen years old. Loved music, well-liked, popular. Last June, she had a few of her best girlfriends over to spend the night. Sometime in the middle of the night, her mother was awakened by what sounded like vomiting. She helped one of the girls get cleaned up…from what appeared to be food poisoning. The next morning, when she went to awaken the girls, all of them woke up, except for her own daughter Takeimi…who was unconscious on her own bed and in her own room from alcohol poisoning. She died.

What might happen if the creators, the buyers, the store owners, the clerks from Urban Outfitters met Takeimi’s mom…or better yet, her friends who were there when their best friend died? What might happen if the songwriters sat down with the kids who listen to their music and talked with them, shared stories and connected in the quiet space of listening, being and understanding.

Instead of looking for the buck, what might happen if we looked for the connection, the opportunity, the WHAT-IS-POSSIBLE when we know each other, seek the big in each other, do what is right and what is good and what is whole.

I only say this things because I’m older now and after years and years of connecting with people through Girls on the Run, at such a deep and beautiful level, I know what is possible. It’s a bit like holding the cure to the world’s greatest disease…and desperately trying to get those with the greatest possible impact to listen, to engage, to know the love that is possible when we connect rather than “just sell.”

And so, I wonder, ask, provoke, push and encourage everyone along the chain of “selling” to invite their consumer into a heartfull dialogue…not about what they want or need, but about what brings them joy, love and a peek into their own greatness. And start there, building products, advertising strategies, store displays that honor THAT space…the one we all really want, need, yearn for at some very deep and some very human level…not just for ourselves, but all of us.

I’m writing to you from an airplane. I am on my way, via Dallas, to Sacramento. I will arrive in Sacramento at 11:00 west coast time. That’s about 2:00 a.m. mine! I will be sleeping like a baby…on my way there, but in the meantime wanted to drop in here for a minute.

I get so many amazing cards and letters from so many amazing people: girls, moms, dads, teachers, GOTR coaches, school principals, funders and sponsors. So, I’ve decided that from time to time, I need to share more of other people’s beautiful words here.

So today, I share a letter I recently received from Diane O’Brien. There is very little else I need to say…except…thank you Diane for sharing your heart, spirit and love with the Girls of the World.

Hi Molly,

You have made such an impact on my two daughters, as they have been part of Girls on the Run for the past few years. I was at Henderson High School for the run yesterday- our Schuylkill team opened with the song before your speech.

So, I just want to say thank you, as the GOTR lessons have become part of our dinner conversations and Race Day has brought our family and our Phoenixville Community closer together.

Last night I was reading about the work the CNN reporter Christiane Amanpour is doing for her project “Girls Rising.” They offered a platform to help empower young girls around the globe thru an “Open Letter to Girls of the World.”

When I read the words, “Girls of the World,” I immediately thought how powerful thoughts from “Girls on the Run” could be to less privileged “Girls of the World.”

I’m not a poet, but these words quickly came to mind, and I offer them as a THANK YOU gift for your work. You are one of the Warrior Angels I thought of in writing this poem. I hope you enjoy and thanks again for your bravery!

To all the Girls of the World, who have been kept down for too long

To all the Girls of the World, who have been waiting to be strong

To the brave Girls and smart Girls, and the Girls who never give up hope,

Hear us today, and let our love be your guiding rope

There are other Girls, just like you, living in places far away on our earth.

Girls who have dreams that pray along with you, asking to feel their true worth

You are not alone, even when life seems so bleak,

Others will push you down, they make you think that you are weak.

But your power is so strong, you’re no longer to believe their lies

The light of your soul is shining, it will no longer be denied.

Yes, there will be obstacles, and outdated laws to overcome.

But laws not made from love, are not to last for very long.

The Girls of the World are smart, and these Warrior Angels are growing fast

We hear your cries for help, and the time has come to pass

You need to know we love you, and you and I are quite the same.

We want to love, and be loved, and be free to yell out our name.

It’s good to listen to your heart, and for you to know what is true.

You know what is right, and what the world needs from you.

It’s what you wish for yourself, and all of those who you love,

And the Girls of the World love each other,

A deeper sense we all share from above.

Girls of the World, Meet Girls on the Run

An introduction we’ve been waiting to make.

Pull together now, and get ready to go

There is no more time to waste.

Education is the key and your sisters are the door

It’s time to be a Girl on the Run, and learn how to run from being poor

Find a friend near by, it only takes another girl or two,

Power in numbers will give you back, what was once taken away from you

Girls of the World are Girls on the Run,

A sisterhood we hold so dear,

We are here to help guide you

There is no more room for fear.

Girls of the world need connection,

To be shown how to thrive

A pathway forged by your sisters

Your sisters abroad that will help you strive.

These words are only a beginning

A simple thought and message we hope finds you true

Girls of the World, now is your time

We look forward to meeting you!

All the Best, Molly. And I hope we can take GOTR Global.

Diane O’Brien

You know…sometimes it is surreal to see the growth Girls on the Run has undergone. Admittedly, not all of it has been easy. I used to dream about actually having a button…akin to the one humorously portrayed in an ad for a national office warehouse franchise…that when you hit the button, it says in a rather nonchalant voice, “That was easy.”

I do know that what rests beneath the surface of our infrastructure, curriculum, non-profit businesses and strategic plans is something that is forever and always…the deep connection that comes when love, acceptance, compassion and empathy are woven deeply into the fabric of our work, our efforts, all of the external “stuff.”

I’ve been in a rather contemplative mood lately, thinking about the early days. I worked for a catering company at night so I could deliver and fine tune the program during the day, as well as be a mother to my then-newborn son Hank.

Hank is 17 and getting ready to launch from high school. I look at him…the man he has become. Strong, tall, self-aware and beautiful just as he is.

I see this program in much the same way. It has grown up right along side my boy…strong, reaching so many, beautiful and real.

Today I came across an old brochure from 1998. Afraid at that time to share the full backstory to Girls on the Run, this is what I wrote. The power of it, even now, sends chills across my spine. To see where we are today…and to have not known then the demands, challenges, joys and push this program would make on my life, my kids’ lives, my connection with you, all of us and it, the children we serve, the giving volunteers, our communities…the emotional and spiritual growth I would personally have as a result of its growth.

And so I write to you now, our coaches, our volunteers, staff and communities with gratitude as my guide and love as my anchor. Girls on the Run…the essence of it…of her…is present now and always because of you…your efforts, your energy, your love for our girls.

(From the 1998 brochure.)

In 1976, I bought my first pair of running shoes. I was fifteen, and like most girls that age, trying to figure out who I was inside a changing body. I desperately wanted to fit in with the popular crowd, but I couldn’t fit into the box it placed over my spirit. The box told me things I knew in my heart weren’t true: That the way I behaved and looked was more important than who I was inside. That being a woman meant being quiet and submissive. That having a boyfriend meant having to mold my body and actions to meet prescribed cultural standards. But I stepped in anyway. The years I spent trying to mold my thoughts, body, lifestyle and being into what the box required were extremely painful.

In the year 2030, I’ll be 70. My daughter will be 32. If I have anything to say about it, she will never have to climb out of the Girl Box. Girls on the Run will shatter these constraints, like the spirit did for me that July night and help her and other girls feel comfortable simply being themselves.

So…I get interviewed a lot…about Girls on the Run.

Inevitably the question comes up, “So, what’s the backstory? Why did you start it?”

I may ramble a bit, but I inevitably land somewhere close to this: “Well, I’m a girl, and like most girls began to struggle a bit around middle school with filtering through some of the incoming ‘data’ about what a girl should look like, act like and be like. About that same time I started running and discovered that running provided a sanctuary of sorts…a kind of reprieve from all that dialogue in (and outside of) my head. When I run, I feel strong, present and connected to body and soul, one in the same.”

Many reporters, writers stop there…but others more curious (and believe me I would be one of them)…then ask, “Tell me a bit more about that. Perhaps there is something here our readers/viewers could relate to.” And of course, they can. All of us have experienced the insecurities that come with feeling “not good enough.” As I’m getting older I’m learning that it is simply a part of the human/spirit experience.

On a number of occasions, however, instead of the generic, “Tell me more about that,” I am asked, “So you struggled with an eating disorder then?”

I have not mentioned nor suggested that the demons I’ve struggled with are eating related and yet often this is the question that comes my way.

And yes…I totally get it. I am very thin…so putting two and two together, knowing that I am a runner and the work that I do to create a safe space for the spirit of girls to thrive…I understand how THAT story could be written in an observer’s mind.

But the truth is, I used to be uncomfortable with my thin-ness. (Still do sometimes.) In fifth and sixth grade, I often wore thick knee socks, even in the middle of summer, to hide what I felt like were too-skinny calves. Chicken-neck, chicken-chest, knobby knees, go eat a burger…I heard it all. I didn’t start my period or need a bra until I was in ninth grade.

As I write, I’m very aware of the fact that this could be construed as Wah Wah Wah-ish. Our culture is much easier on those built like me than those who are not, but being in the girl-industry and so aware of those conflicting messages we all get, this question and/or supposition about my eating habits has come up more frequently perhaps than if I worked in banking, art or some other unrelated/non-athletic field…and I’ve kind of wondered about that. What does it mean?

This past week I was in St. Joseph, Michigan attending a number of Girls on the Run events in that community. Anna Murphy is the President of the United Way of Southwest Michigan and her group is responsible for funding, supporting and staffing our Girls on the Run council there.

We had lunch. Anna is a very open person…a what you see is what you get kind of spirit. She doesn’t make excuses for herself and calls it like she sees it. I shared with her the exchange that had occurred earlier in the day.

She understood. “Yep. It is a bit like the flip side of the same coin.” Anna understands because in her words, “You are skinny. I am fat…Adjectives that unfortunately carry with them our culture’s stories…stories passed down from woman to woman. Stories exaggerated and supported in the mass media.” Anna is not a small woman. She’s been on the larger side her whole life. But lately, life has simply interloped her ability to work out like she used to, so currently she isn’t at her optimum weight. “But I can still compete in sprint triathlons. I’m in training now,” she says. Anna will participate in a local event this summer. “I have some work to do though and I know that. I’m okay with knowing that I’m not at a healthy weight, but the truth is my healthy weight is still big. I’m judged either way.”

Anna and me.

We talked for most of that lunch about how accepting ourselves is a life long journey…and how now both of us in our fifties, were coming to a true space of self-acceptance…me with my “skinny build” and hers, being less so.

I loved our open dialogue…the fearlessness…our ability to be so vulnerable with one another. I’m grateful for her and her willingness to peek out from behind words our culture has draped with shame and ridicule and call it for what it is. Fat, skinny.

I wonder how things might be different if women could discuss more openly with each other, about our bodies…and do it in a manner where we aren’t buying into the stories, the assumptions and the judgments, but instead accept that we all show up in a variety of shapes and sizes…sometimes each of us over the course of our lifetime…and that all of it, every last bit of it is absolutely beautiful…particularly the love that is exchanged in connecting through our vulnerabilities rather than through the negative, the gossip, the judgment or harsh self-talk.

I like to think about that.

I always love coming home after a round of busy days!

Wednesday I had the privilege of meeting with Representative Tim Ryan. He is the Congressional Member representing Youngstown, Ohio.

I’ve hinted a bit…at a new project I’m creating…supported by a team of live-out-loud leaders and I’m happy to report that Representative Ryan now joins Tom Cotton on the project. I’m hoping to secure a couple of congressional members from my good ole’ home state of North Carolina in the next couple of weeks…trying to make some in-roads there!

I then flew off to Batesville, Indiana via Indianapolis. I must say that this trip in particular carried with it, both the inspiration and the relaxation I yearn for at times. The inspiration obviously from the rock star directors of the GOTR council there, Trish Hunter and Lynn Hertel and all the AMAZING GOTR coaches and girls! Lynn put together a very moving “Evening of Gratitude” on Thursday evening.

The next morning I was lucky enough to have breakfast with about fifteen of the GOTR Board Members and some of our Girls on the Run Solemates. (Solemates are runners who sign up for any race they wish and use the opportunity to raise money for Girls on the Run.)

A bit later in the morning I had coffee with Tim Putnam, CEO of the Mary Margaret Healthcare System…the affiliate supporter of our Girls on the Run program in the region. Without the support and energy of folks like Tim, Girls on the Run wouldn’t exist in these more rural areas, like Batesville. That afternoon, Lynn pulled off another event by planning some “real time” for me and 25 girls…one girl representing each GOTR site.

Trish Hunter, on the left, is the Executive Director of Girls on the Run in Batesville, and Lynn Hertel, on the right is the program director.

This morning, she then, with an amazing team, pulled off putting on the Girls on the Run 5k. Lynn is perhaps one of the most organized folks I’ve had the pleasure to know. So organized in fact, that the night before the 5k event, she was able to enjoy a relaxed meal with me and Trish and then attend a local high school production of Mulan.

I’m so glad the name Molly is making a comeback. I met several at the event today and here was one of my fantastic “Molly-Friends.”

Where the relaxation came in though…was the beautiful bed and breakfast I stayed in…while I was there. The owner of Mary Helen’s Bed and Breakfast, Cindy, is perhaps one of the most peaceful spirits on the planet. In between events, I was truly able to enjoy her home and the beautiful land, pond and big shady trees that surrounded it.

Arriving home tonight…was and always is a pleasure though. My daughter and I grabbed a bite at Panera and then sat for a good thirty minutes in our car with the seats back…in our driveway…being silly, talking and enjoying the hard rain of a thunderstorm on the roof over our heads.

I tuck in tonight, feeling the exhaustion of a full day and the joy of my work, my kids and the rain that falls gently outside my window. There are times such as this…when I can’t believe that I get to do what I do for a living.

Well…if I’m really honest with you…the last month has been a really tough one. I’m not going to launch into details, but let’s just say…I’ve relied heavily on my yoga, my running and my friends.

I’ve also needed…as in really needed…my quiet time. I’ve been waking up every morning earlier and earlier…fumbled through making coffee and stumbled out to my front porch, sometimes dragging an old down sleeping bag with me. The bird’s first welcome to the day starts around 5:37 a.m. and builds in volume until I wander back inside around 6:30.

I’m becoming increasingly aware, thanks to a number of revelations over the last month, how powerful it is to choose joy, love and hope. I’ve always talked a good game when it came to living in this space, but to be honest, the last REAL challenge I’ve had to that space was nearly 20 years ago. It’s one thing to be joyful, loving and hopeful when everything is peachy, but when the going gets tough…choosing joy, love and hope becomes a true practice in patience, faith and a kind of blind belief that the universe is truly conspiring in our favor, whether we are able, at the time, to see it or not.

I’m working on a new project that is building in momentum and is sure to create a shift in our cultural and societal perceptions around leadership. Funny…I feel like something rather amazing is brewing. Inflection points usually reveal themselves in hindsight…but in this case…thanks to all this angst, challenge, reflection and needed quiet time, I am physically, emotionally and joyfully prepared for life’s work ahead of me.

So on your mark, getting ready, set…here we go.

My TEDx talk is now out on You Tube.  It emerged from a sea of uploads yesterday, quietly nudging it’s way onto my Facebook page, posted there by a good friend of mine and organizer of the event Desiree Kane.

There has been a lot of talk about women’s leadership in the media these days.  I’m beginning to see, that for me…the movement in leadership is less about gender and more about the masculine and feminine.

I really do believe we are working toward a more balanced approach…a kind of united perspective that entwines the power of standing up for ourselves, strategy and focus…with  compassion, love and empathy.

I wrote yesterday to a friend of mine that I’m feeling a sense of joy and terror as this video begins to float out in the universe…a real opening of my heart for the whole world to see.  There is something quite liberating about that, I guess, but also a bit frightening at the same time.

I do know that this is all the prelude to future work…a kind of nudge or calling for where my life is taking me.

We will see.  In the meantime, share any feedback with me.

Molly

I think it’s time…time to reconsider our current models of leadership.  Lately I’ve become keenly aware of how limited our culture’s view of leadership is…so confining, particularly for those who hold leadership positions now.  I can’t imagine trying to be authentic, bold or expressing empathy, love or compassion in the current political climate.

Yesterday I gave a TEDx talk and it is my first attempt to explore how we might shift the leader-perspective…to also include love, compassion and empathy.  I guess to be totally honest with you, I’ve never understood why love, compassion and tenderness aren’t part of the dialogue.  So here goes.  (The video of my TEDx talk should be up in a few days.  Until then, here’s the letter in writing.)

There will continue to be more on this subject from me.  I’m feeling a nudge to encourage more open dialogue on the topic…and I’m not one to ignore a powerful nudge.  :)

Peace.

Dear Congress:

I’ve been wanting to write you for awhile.

I need to come clean with you.  I haven’t liked the way you seem to communicate with each other.   There appears to be a lot of name-calling, bullying and downright mean-spiritedness. If we can’t respect each other within our own house, how can we possibly work together to find the solutions our country needs so desperately right now.

But the truth is, I don’t know you.  I’m a busy woman.  I work full time, am the single mother to two teenagers…I, like so many Americans, don’t have the time or resources to really know you and so I, gather a lot of what I do know about you from the media.  Interestingly, as the founder of a non-profit that works with young girls, I see the devastating effects the media has on our young women…the distorted images and manipulative advertising strategies are designed to uglify us into buying their products.

So it’s no wonder that my impressions of you are less than favorable. Ugly behavior sells too…it’s all we see in the media. We all love a good train wreck.  More hits, more ads, more ads, more money. I honestly don’t know what is “truth” anymore.  One network on this side claims that you said this and the other network on the other side claims that you said that…add in the pundits, the political satirists and the “experts”  in our newspapers and on the internet…it has become virtually impossible to know, understand, really see and hear each other.

I’m so tired of all of it.  I’m close to becoming apathetic and this is not good for me, my children, any of us.  The complaining, MY complaining…God it never stops. It isn’t doing any good anyway and the truth is, the complaining isn’t really because I’m mad at you…it’s because I feel so frustrated, so helpless…so unheard amongst all this yelling.  Everything seems so broken and unfixable. We are all so separated, distant and far apart.   Where to start…how do we possibly begin to tackle such a complex and overwhelming issue.

Like I said…we don’t know each other…so if you will allow me, let me start by introducing myself.

My name is Molly Barker. I am the single mother to two teenagers.  I love them with all of my heart.

I used to compete in the sport of triathlon.  I did the Ironman in Hawaii a few times.  I don’t compete anymore, but still enjoy running.  I have three dogs, am petrified of heights and am a terrible cook.  My yard isn’t very well maintained and my house is very small, but it is warm and welcoming.

I grew up in Charlotte, NC.  I was the fourth of four, nine years younger than the one before me.  My mom was an alcoholic and my dad was a politician.  It was not until I was in fourth grade and my mother had her breakdown, that I am able to remember much of my childhood.  That was May of 1970.  I’m happy to say that my mom stopped drinking and from that day forward, our relationship flourished, the laughter returned to our house.

A year later, my parents enrolled me in a new school.  This coupled with the typical adolescent angst and the deeply rooted shame I had come to know, made me a prime candidate for going to extreme measures to fit in.

I felt invisible, alone and ill-equipped to handle the new environment…and so I stepped into the Girl Box…that space many girls go around adolescence…where my appearance became more important than who I was…where dumbing myself down and having a boyfriend took priority over most else…where vulnerability, fear and the sharing of those were seen as weak, where no matter how hard I tried, I would never ever be sexy enough, woman enough, good enough.

So in 1975, when I was in tenth grade, that first sip of liquor at a friend’s house had a profound affect on me.

…the noise, the voice of self-doubt, the shame and loneliness all went away.

About the same time I began to drink, my mom started running.  One morning, when I was 14 and she was 52, she invited me to join her on one of her early morning runs. I ran one block with her–about a mile. We didn’t say a word. Our steps in unison, our breath in and out—mantra like–the crisp edge to approaching autumn filling our lungs. I had never experienced anything quite like it…the quiet, the fellowship, the connection, the acceptance, the power.

The one-mile block grew into two blocks and then three. Eventually we were  running eight, nine and ten miles, usually first thing in the morning….and despite the chaos of my outer life, the  ever-growing despair alcoholism would bring and the depression that went along with that, when I ran I felt connected, loved strong, powerful and real.

For 18 years, the battle was hard-fought…between the strong empowered me I found on those early morning runs and the confused a lost woman, struggling to be something she was not.

The alcohol won.  On July 6^th, 1993, I hit bottom.  I was 32 years old.  I wanted to die.  I called my big sister Emily, “I need help.” Emily talked to me, urged me to go to sleep.  “This too shall pass, Molly.  This too shall pass.”

The following evening, a thunderstorm was rumbling, the air was electric with it.  I decided, despite the potentially dangerous weather to go for a run.  Coming down the last stretch of road, the thunder rumbling, the lightening overhead, the earth’s tender reach to my feet and the gentle urging to run faster and faster, my breath in and out, like sound of ocean, wind of soul… Something real, raw and indescribable was happening. I moved into what I can only describe as the space of nothingness.  NO-thing-ness.  I wasn’t a woman, a runner, an alcoholic, a divorced person, a struggling person, a poor person, a word or label…I was no-thing.., brilliant, beautiful and free of the Girl Box.

Three years later, I started a program called Girls on the Run.  The program helps girls take charge of their lives and define the future on their terms.  It provides a safe space where girls and the people who love them see, sometimes for the first time, that they can choose to create a life where there are No limits. No constraints. No labels. Only opportunities to reveal their greatness.

The program started with 13 girls in Charlotte, NC in 1996 and has now impacted over 600,000 in 210 cities across North America.

The success of the program is the result of so many dedicated, passionate and loving people.  Thanks to their continuing efforts and intense level of commitment, Girls on the Run is a living, breathing, organism, now able to survive with very little day to day input by me.

I’m at an age where a piece of me wants to slow down, relax, kick back and settle in…but I gotta tell ya, that something about all this unsettled frustration, anger and near apathy regarding our current state of this great nation, won’t let me go… there is a new voice growing in volume, nudging, pushing, encouraging me to speak up…to address the anger, polarization and separation in these United States, hence this letter.

Where this new voice was first brought to my attention was at a speaking engagement.  Bruce Fritch who is now my “vision coach” approached me after my presentation.  “You are a leader.”

We talked for only a few minutes.  The space he created though was infinite.

On the drive home, I could think of little else.

Me a leader?  Hell no, I’m not a leader. I’m a lover, a social worker, a runner, a mom.  I am not a leader…I am an educator, a curriculum specialist…an inspirer maybe, but not a leader.  Leaders don’t look like me.  Leaders wear suits, have MBA’s or Law degrees and understand and speak the language of leaders.  They are not what I am…I speak the language of love, connection, children.  I am scarred, imperfect and still wounded in some ways, trying very hard to be and become the strength and power I see everyday in my children, the children I serve and the amazing men and women who believe in our work.

Leader?  Me?  No way. Leaders are…well…whatever they are…I am not capable of that…I am not good enough.

And so, without the thunder, the lightening and the immediate shift in perception, I’ve more slowly come to realize that I had done it again.  Gone into a box, but this time it was the “leader box.”   I had, as anyone would and so many of us do, been manipulated into a limited view of what leadership is and I certainly wasn’t cut out for it.  I have a past.  I have a story. I get scared sometimes.  I am imperfect.

I am also 52 years old.  I have one dance in me left.  One last chance to lay witness to the brilliance that rests in you and me, our children, this life…our world.  I know what I know and can no longer pretend that I am not a leader because I am.

I am a leader.

So…here I stand…giving voice to her, this leader, the one writing you…that if she..heck if I…if I could, I would invite you for coffee. I would look you in the eyes, clear the hard embittered table that separates us…and invite you, without ridicule or judgment to talk about the things that really matter…like being wounded, about not feeling good enough or brave enough or loved enough.  Talk about the brokenness of our current leadership models, the intense competition, bullying and name-calling and how this no longer serves us.  We would share how we don’t know each other anymore…and instead label, judge and hide behind the fear of losing, being seen as weak. We would talk about our kids, our health and our marriages or lack of them.  We would talk about…how as leaders, we often feel trapped, afraid to say these things, afraid to be vulnerable, afraid to connect with each other…afraid to claim and live fully into our biggest and boldest selves…because we may lose our office, position, ranking, funding…be raked over the coals in the media…be bullied, shamed or ridiculed for simply being ourselves.

And as I write to you, the self-doubt begins…I am challenged by the old stories, the old guard and the voice from the “leader box.”  “Won’t fix anything, Molly, the old voice says with near disgust.  How ridiculous to suggest that something as simple as heart-full dialogue over coffee could change anything.

I understand…I understand because I’ve been there…how much easier has it been for me to blame others, to wait for something to happen, to suggest that what has torn us apart is our broken political system, the media, the fear of terrorism, political posturing, loss of our traditional and valued institutions, money, power, ideologues, pundits, the other party. The “blame” list is long.

But this voice of the new leadership, the one you and I will share over coffee knows that …it is in the smallest of moments, where the tearing begins…this human condition…our tug o war between love and fear.  The young girl who, decides in a split second, to step away from her computer screen to call and comfort the girl they are cyber bullying.  The young wife, who in an instant, decides it is time…turns, cries and says a prayer of hope and love for her abuser as she leaves him.  The father, who in one small revelation, decides to put aside his need to be right and calls his estranged son to tell him, I’m sorry. I’d like to listen, really listen, this time. “

We know, because we are human, that it is in those precious and private moments… when we can choose to complain, judge and blame or choose to take action… dig deep, do what is right and what is good and what is love…those moments are when the leader in all of us lives.

Interestingly, it as this point in this letter, where numerous people I respect immensely, made a variety of recommendations. “Your ending is weak…Challenge them, Molly.  Confront them.  It’s time to stop letting them off the hook.  We need change and we need it now. Hit ‘em where it counts.”

So…I tried on that ending…for a little while anyway when it hit ME…that’s the predictable ending…the one we all want…where I really give it to ya…knock it outta the ballpark…tell you what I really mean… and ironically the one that would make this speech go viral on the internet and in the media…but that’s not changing anything…that’s just doing more of what got us here.  Besides that’s not me, that’s not how this leader lives.  The spirit which grew Girls on the Run from 13 girls to a movement influencing literally hundreds of thousands of people across North America..this spirit didn’t  force, confront, shame or challenge people to move from a place of weakness to strength.  No, this spirit was and still is an invitation for those who are willing and ready, to reveal and unleash what is already there, the love, compassion, strength and brilliance that is within each of us.

And so. . . my honorable friends in Congress… I invite you to join me in bravely breaking free of our culture’s confining, defining and limiting “leader box” and accept my invitation to, in the small quiet spaces, over coffee, on a run or like the one I am sharing with you right now, in that sliver of a second when we can choose the words, the thoughts and the actions, I invite you to consider choosing love, compassion and the willingness to listen, to really see and honor each other and ourselves…to be what lies within, strong, brilliant and wonderfully human.

The coffee’s on me. I’m ready to listen.

Sincerely,

Molly Wilmer Barker

My friend and heroe, Leigh Cooper Wallace died Monday morning due to complications with pneumonia.  She was only 43 years old.  Leigh was a hero to many.  A runner, a coach, a powerhouse of a spirit, she inspired so many to reach within and tap into their greatest potential.  When I first met Leigh, she was bringing Girls on the Run back to her hometown.  Her strength, story and energy inspired me so deeply, I felt compelled to write about her…to share THAT KIND OF STRENGTH with the world.  Endurance Magazine ran the piece (thank you Joe Nuss).

In honor of her I am re-posting that story.  The world needs to know that women like Leigh live here…touch us…change us…show us what is good, right and real.  Leigh, I will miss you.  My prayers go to your family, your children, those you coach and your community.  We are all better for having known you.  My heart breaks today, but is stronger becaue of you.

I Am Woman

I am a woman, I am a runner. Much of my experience being a woman has overlapped with the power I get from being a runner. When I run I feel beautiful, powerful, and real. The pieces of myself that I share throughout the day are all assimilated back into one beautiful tapestry . . . one amazing piece of reality . . . one experience that is mine and mine alone. The physicality of it provides me with a powerful reminder that my body is capable, strong, powerful, and MINE. Every time I run, I make a statement to the world, “I own my action, my body, my thoughts, and my experiences. I am not an object to be sexualized, diminished, or dominated. I am real. I am human. I am spirit manifest within this strong, healthy, and beautiful physical body. Honor that which rests within me.”

And this is where Leigh’s story hits me.

Leigh is a new Girls on the Run council director. I had the privilege of meeting her at one of our recent Girls on the Run trainings in Charlotte, NC.

Over the course of two days, women from across the nation descend on Charlotte for a two-day, very intense Girls on the Run training. Participants take back tangible tools and systems to efficiently deliver the Girls on the Run program. What remains with me are their stories. Frequently wrapped into and around a woman’s story are her struggles in battling our culture’s obsession with bodies, sexuality, and power.

I’ve got to be honest with you, when I met Leigh I was intimidated by her. Her physical strength is obvious. She is one of the strongest-looking females I’ve ever met. Her energy, though, was a bit reserved. She was probably intimidated by my extroversion and wide-open persona. We had a kind of mutual intimidation society, if you will: me of her physical presence and she, of my emotional one.

After a day together, Leigh e-mailed me her story.

As a little girl, Leigh was tough. In her words, “I was the athletic girl in my grade and this made me popular with the boys. I knew that they respected my athletic ability and my power and I really liked that. I didn’t feel pretty, but I guess I probably thought I was cute in a way. I didn’t see myself as a tomboy but I did relate well to boys and worked very hard to prove to them that even though I was a girl, I could still do most of what they could do.”

But something happened around middle school. Like many girls, Leigh stepped into the Girl Box, a place girls often go around sixth grade with heartbreaking results. At this vulnerable age, the formerly vibrant and strong Leigh began to morph into a girl overly occupied by her appearance. First it showed up as restricting her food intake, then it appeared as overindulgence. There seemed to be no end to the madness, yet running was the one safe space in the day where Leigh felt some degree of control. She won championship races in ninth and tenth grade and got third her senior year in the Kansas State Championships.

Appalachian State came knocking at her door. The move to Boone brought with it an opportunity to buckle down, focus on her love for running, and get on track with her eating. With a renewed sense of self and a desire for comfort in her skin, Leigh appeared on the ASU campus.

But changing locations didn’t prove to be the remedy she had hoped. With her continued obsession with weight, Leigh was sidelined by stress fractures and distracted by her roller-coaster relationship with the scales. Her first year at ASU certainly didn’t shake out to be what she had hoped.

And then IT happened.

September 29, 1989, Leigh set out on an early evening run. Planning to be back by 6:30, she and her boyfriend (now husband) would then go out for a nice dinner together.

A light rain began to fall when the car slowly approached. A very scary man sat at the wheel. “Get in,” he demanded, pointing to the passenger seat with his gun. Not knowing what to do, Leigh agreed.

What occurred over the next several hours is unthinkable. He drove Leigh to a remote area outside of Boone. With a frightening and disturbing sense of calm and coolness, he raped her while psychologically tormenting her with threats of death. At first, before the numbness set in, all she could think about was how loved she was. “My mother will miss me when I die,” she thought. A strange sense of gratitude seemed to float down upon her shoulders, as the violence raged around her . . . an overwhelming and gentle gratitude for her body, her friends, her family, and her life.

Hour after hour, the torment continued. Somewhere over the course of that time frame, Daniel Lee shared with her that he had murdered another girl, Jeni Gray. He calmly described her slow, cruel, and painful death and threatened to do the same to Leigh.

Leigh managed to escape from Daniel Lee hours later at a gas station. At the trial, as Leigh testified, she intentionally stared her tormenter in the eyes, her proof to him and herself that she wasn’t weaker because of this experience but was much stronger. Daniel Lee received the death penalty for murdering Jeni Gray. He died in prison, several years later, from a brain aneurysm.

After the kidnapping, Leigh was stronger, indeed. She went on to become a 2-time Southern Conference All-Conference performer in cross-country. In track she was named the Southern Conference Most Outstanding Performer. Upon graduation, she continued to train on her own and compete. She won several state and regional races and ran her 5K PR of 16:56. She teaches and coaches at the high school level, leading many athletes to victory in the state championships. Now, Leigh is prepared to engage third, fourth, and fifth graders in the Girls on the Run program.

She is married with two children, wanting first and foremost to be remembered as a remarkable mother, not an elite runner. She is loved, respected, and embraced by her family, her community and at last, herself.

I share this with you because it’s important that our culture honors women like Leigh-that we eliminate our antiquated ideals of beauty and recreate them to include the stories of women who are strong, brave, and authentic. As I read the story that she so openly shared with me, I wept, my head in my hands and my heart in my throat, wondering how I could possibly honor someone as brave, courageous, and bold as she. And as I write to you, I recognize that no words could ever do justice to the pain of her experience, nor the power she has gained from it. But what I can offer comes from Leigh herself.

“I don’t know . . . I guess I just love to inspire people. I love to see that light go on when someone realizes that being strong is one of the greatest feelings in the world . . . and to know that running makes you just as strong mentally as it does physically! To know that no matter what life’s circumstances are and no matter how hard the world may seem to be trying to hold you back, that our own personal strength and belief in ourselves is something that no one can take away without our permission. I believe this more than I believe anything and am committed to helping others believe it too.”

Leigh is, without a doubt, strength, beauty, and woman personified.

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Molly Barker, M.S.W., is the Founder and Vision Keeper of Girls on the Run International and the author of “Girls Lit from Within: A Guide to Life Outside of the Girl Box.” Learn more about Girls on the Run at http://www.girlsontherun.org.