Saying “Yes” with Joy

Originally posted at The Way of the Rose Facebook group April 8, 2020

Novena Day 49

The Joyful Mysteries

When deciding what to write about for today, I heard a line from Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood, a “play for voices” that I performed in a long time ago at Williams College, run through my mind. In an interesting synchronicity, Perdita Finn was in The Misanthrope, at the same time. The two plays were alternating performances in an improbable juxtaposition of urban social artifice and simple rural earthiness.

So, in resonance with Dylan Thomas, “To begin at the beginning . . .”

The Anunciation

There have been several important annunciation events in my life, times when I have accepted big challenges offered by the still, small voice of the Mother/Father inside.

I was a gifted science student: received my high school’s award for the best combined math and science student; graduated cum laude in three years from Williams College with a degree in physics; worked as an engineering aide for the year I took off, where I did the calculations and lab work for a scientific paper my boss wrote on the potential for acousto-optic interferometry to be used in military communications systems; took organic chemistry and the astronomy senior seminar “for fun”; and got 800s on both the math and analytical sections of the Graduate Record Exam.

My future in the sciences seemed bright indeed. My high school biology teacher had hopes that he would be mentioned in my Nobel Prize acceptance speech. There was just one problem; imagining myself in that future never felt right. In fact, it felt so wrong that I found myself sobbing as I confessed to my mother that the idea of continuing in engineering made me very depressed. Ironically, it was the supposedly artificial atmosphere of the theater where I felt authentic and “at home.”

My heart offered me a challenge: Being true to myself would require a renunciation of the world’s expectations for me and a huge shift in a highly uncertain direction. Was I up to it? Honestly, in some ways yes, in some ways no. I jumped the engineering ship, refused my astronomy professor’s offer of a recommendation, and applied to graduate theater programs. There has been so much good that came from that early important decision, and I’ve never regretted the choices I made—but I’m also aware that a painful feeling of “unworthiness” and lack of confidence in my ability to have what I want has inhibited my “career.” Joyful as I have almost always felt when acting, I could never contemplate the idea of career without some level of fear.

The next major challenge the universe offered me had to do with my name. Early in my 30s I became aware of an uncomfortable feeling when people said my name. I described it to my therapist as feeling like people were addressing someone who looked a lot like me but was inexpertly superimposed on me such that she was shifted a little to my right. I couldn’t shake the feeling that people were talking to someone else when they spoke to me. I decided my name was keeping people locked onto an image of me that had little to do with who I was then. My legal name at the time was Margaret Eileen O’Toole, but I had been known as Peggy since birth, after my father’s favorite sister. Since high school, though, I had noticed there were few people who actually called me Peggy. Among my many nicknames were Meg-Peg, Daisy, Pegness, Pegoir, Peggy Sue, Heather, Pegala, Pegita, and Mickey. Clearly Peggy wasn’t who I was.

It took me awhile to figure out who I really was. To make a longish story shortish, I literally heard a voice whisper “Zoe” into my mind while walking to work one day, shortly before attending a weeklong workshop called “Empowering Yourself.” The leader of the workshop started off by saying that many of us had outgrown our names and if we had a more suitable name in mind to introduce ourselves that way and the group would honor that name for the duration. I immediately tore the nametag from my shirt and ripped it up to the amusement of the other participants. When I introduced myself, it was as “Zoey.” Spending that week as Zoey felt right, and a little over a year later I made it legal and permanent.

I “went public” with the help of a dear friend who collaborated with me on a ritual and celebration to mark the occasion. I chose Mirabai as a middle name because she had “walked the walk,” renouncing all the trappings of an ordinary life to heed the call of the spirit. I also liked that “Mira” was a transmutation of my mother’s name, Marie.

That was 1994. In the 26 years since, almost no one has called me anything other than Zoey. Nailed it.

Those two major yeses defined much about my life and pathway, but it was the third that may be the most important when it comes to my personal contribution to the world.

My relationship history had not been stellar. I was in some very unhealthy situations that made me reluctant and hesitant to ever say yes to anyone or anything ever again. There were some good reasons for this, and I spent four years with a primal therapist unwinding many of the knots that were holding me back. Near the end of our time together he noted that I was not dating. There was something unavailable about any man I expressed an interest in. If I had the goal of a committed relationship, why was I not dating? After all, as the lottery slogan says, “you gotta be in it to win it.”

I began dating again and had a series of shortish monogamous relationships that helped me clarify what I wanted and didn’t want, but there was still a core fear that remained unexplained. I attended a Brian Weiss past-life regression workshop and experienced a profoundly emotional connection to a life in Paris where I had a great love—and experienced a tremendous and deeply painful betrayal. No wonder I was afraid! The workshop helped me release the fear that I’d been carrying around.

I think it was about a year later when I met Bill. It was soon obvious that he was the man I was destined to be with. The recognition was instantaneous for both of us. Within two weeks of our first lunch, we knew we would marry. There were complications along the way, but nothing insurmountable. We both wanted children and even before we were officially married, we were lucky enough to have a beautiful baby girl.

December 11, 1999, in front of mostly immediate family at the Millenium Hilton overlooking the World Trade Center, we officially and joyously said “yes!” to entwining our lives forever.

Despite the many sorrows to come, I have never regretted that yes.