He's been talking about being the butt of 'short guy' jokes his entire life.  One of the jokes he's heard most often is when he stands up at a meeting, someone will often say, 'why don't you stand up?– oh, I see you already are standing'.  This joke isn't funny, it's disrespectful.  David is beginning now to say something about this like, “I don't find this funny and please don't say it again!”

I was thinking about how the culture often says short men have a Napolean complex.  They are always butting in, getting loud, shoving their agenda in everyone's faces.  While that may be the way short men sometimes behave, it is also true that there really is no way to get a word in without making a scene for the short guy.  David reports that when he's talking to two guys over 6' tall, they are not going to HEAR him.  He's starting to say things like, 'even if I'm a short guy, I still have something to say!”  Most guys, though, don't get it.  They are unconscious about the short man prejudice and they are likely to consider his remark an interruption...

What's the point here?  I'm really not meaning to say David is a victim of the prejudice, he is only a victim if he doesn't notice and doesn't know how to speak up for himself. I have witnessed him trying so hard to be seen and heard, often trying to be the funniest and most engaging guy in the room.  It hurts my heart to witness his effort.
The US culture is so very geared towards appearances.  If you happen to be white, tall and male – things are good.  That leaves off the bulk of the population.  How sad and how empty is this?  We are not what we look like – we are the creative spark of the universe that comes through each of our own hearts.

A friend of ours who happens to be 6' 4” heard us sharing our growing awareness about the short man prejudice, so he suggested a website called www.supportfortheshortman.com.  I think the only way we have to turn this particular 'ism' around is one by one.  This blog is a consciousness raising attempt to “out” this prejudice.

For the past month since we started this conversation, I decided to try an experiment.  I am imagining that David is 6' 2” to see if that makes a difference in our 30 year marriage.  I'm sorry to say, it does, it has.  I thought I had a lot of consciousness about this issue, after all, I've experienced the same thing in being a 'round' woman.  However, I am really waking up now on a whole new level. I notice that, since he's 6' 2”, I am less likely to tell him what to do, to micromanage him.  I notice that I listen more deeply and more frequently to what he has to say.  I notice I walk WITH him more, rather than hurrying ahead.  I seem to have a greater sense of who he is.  This is only two weeks into the experiment – I am likely to find out more about how I have unconsciously been dissing him.  I've also been asking him to let me know if he notices other ways I might be in the prejudice that I can't see.

This is astoundingly healing for our marriage.  We also work on affirmations most mornings.  We say things like “even though I'm a short man, I have a huge heart and a tall spirit.”  “I don't have to push my way into the conversation, I can speak kindly, clearly and powerfully.”  “I can speak up for myself any time I want to do so.”  “Every time I champion myself now, my past pain about being short gets healed.”  This doesn't mean that we have fixed this whole issue – it is progress not perfection.

There is a short poem I wrote 20 years ago addressing this very issue.  David and I were leading a relationship weekend in Colorado when I shared it for the first time.

My husband is short and I am round(back then I said fat)

So no-one thinks we have anything to say

But, they were wrong and we were right

And, the whole universe expresses itself through us tonight...

I'm really noticing short men more and catching my reaction when I assume they are tall.  This is a fascinating experiment. At the health club, I spend time getting to know the round women in the locker room.  Acting on relieving this prejudice is liberating.  I've moved closer to my husband and to my own sweet self.

Working through issues of self limitation and cultural prejudice has benefit for all sentient beings.  Please join me in my quest to SEE short men as beautiful; as another expression of the Divine...

All honor to you, tender-hearted reader!

Patricia

A muse accepts you when you cannot accept yourself.

A muse knows your history; the things you have said, some of the things you have not said and helps you sort it out and give it meaning.

When you have been embarrassed by your own actions or shamed by your community, a muse welcomes you back into the circle of life and tells you all the good things she remembers about who you truly are.

And, a muse asks the kinds of questions that are designed to wake you up, snap you out of a spell, or peel the veil off your eyes.

A muse is devoted to her work on herself and clearing her own side of the street.  If you challenge your muse, she will open her heart and look at anything unresolved in her.  She is always looking at the sludge at the bottom of her own stream.

A muse is an enlightened partner, knows about the secret of your enlightenment. (enlightenment with a small “e”.) 

A muse can see possibilities galore when before there was only walls.

A muse offers both sanctuary and challenge.

When it’s time for you to leave your muse, you have found her voice living deep inside of you.  She now goes with you in invisible form through all your lifetimes.

A muse will weep for you when it’s time for you to walk away.  Her tears moisten the earth on the path you walk on.  She mourns the caterpillar but loves the butterfly.

Lastly, a muse has humility. In offering these gifts, she knows they don’t belong to her and did not come from her but rather through her, as a channel for divine grace.

All honor to you, Patricia

WHAT IF EVERYTHING IS OKAY RIGHT NOW, THIS VERY MOMENT!

Right now a dear friend of mine is here cleaning my cupboards
She could use the money, I could use the help...

Her dog, a white English golden retriever, is sitting right next to me 
and he's soothing my soul about the loss of my golden ten years ago...

I'm sitting on the brown leather couch in my writing sanctuary, a fire 
is lit, a dozen multi-colored roses grace the table, violet and
sage walls surround us... 

The crown of my head feels like a vise is gripping it, my nose is running,
my throat is raw and a persistent cough is rumbling through this body...

I look longingly at all the pictures of our co-sponsored African elephant, 
Olare', and the picture of the two horses looking together at the horizon...
The three dogs, now passed, but still “invisible service companions”
sit gently on the window sill...

The Santa Fe sky is a brilliant blue, the huge yucca tree is dying and
the coffee table is messy, overflowing with books and candles past
their prime...

I warmed up the purple soft crushed velvet blanket in the dryer so that
I'm cozy now, and Quan Yin, Goddess of mercy, and Lord Ganesha, 
Remover of obstacles, seem to wink at me from the tiny altar...

My sinuses throb and the black eye I got yesterday when I hit my head
on the point of the car door is now yellow, red and blue...

I've rejected my body for so many, many years, but right now we 
are friends, my body gives a great sigh of relief and says “welcome home”...

The repetitive thoughts, “you don't write enough” followed by “you don't have
anything to say” bubble through my brain, almost indiscernible...

Here I am, in this unencumbered moment, content right alongside the 
living and the dying, the body's symptoms, the troubling thoughts and
the beauty, and the everyday holiness of this place...

Bowing towards you, sweet readers,

Patricia

This is not just 'another' day.
This is your first day, and your last day.
Your longed-for day of grace.
Jeff Foster

Beloved Reader,

I've decided to “out” myself as someone who has been depressed more than 50% of my life.  I'm coming right on out of the closet because the truth always frees me and, it may have values for my listeners.

For the past year or two, I've been walking towards my depression, realizing
that judging it or considering it a weakness ISN'T WORKING FOR ME ANYMORE.  What happens if I criticize myself for being depressed, is that I add shame to depression and then I am doubly lost.

Now I'm asking questions like “what if depression has been the true birthplace of my compassion and creativity?  What if depression were a “good” thing, an honorable thing?  What if depression has been the catalyst for my emotional work and spiritual development all these years?  What if I were to stop judging it, or even tolerating it, and instead as in Rumi's “Guest House” poem – I opened my arms to it?'