The Power of Movement

By Delaney Couri

One of my favorite fictional stories has two characters with opposing personalities; someone who is known for waiting and someone who is known for moving.

By waiting, I mean one of two things. One, the character is spineless, a coward. He waits because he doesn’t know what he wants and is wildly uncertain about what he believes. Two, the character is wise, a patient man. He waits because he knows that the best way to get what he wants is to plan and move slowly and meticulously, guided by a steady and certain belief system.

By moving, I mean one of two things. One, the character is reckless, a loose cannon. He moves because he is driven by impulse and emotion which skews his moral compass. Two, the character is ambitious, a prodigy. He moves because he knows that it is better to stride boldly into the future he is creating through his dedication and hard work.

I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering which character I resemble more. The one who waits, or the one who moves. I could be accused of embodying the worst characteristics of both. I could also be credited with embodying the best characteristics of both.

Like the one who waits, I have a reputation of being frustratingly “on the fence.” What I mean by this is that I have no choice but to see many perspectives in every single situation-- every, single, one. There are many situations in life that seem quite straightforward, situations where an assumed universality of moral and ethical conceptions take precedence over other petty differences. In these situations, I do hop off the fence to decry and condemn atrocities, but that does not mean that I don’t feel for or consider the motivations, perceptions, and beliefs of those who commit these unspeakable acts.

For instance, I find myself wondering about the situation of the person who cheats; why did they feel like they needed to seek fulfillment outside of their relationship? Cheating is wrong and I will hop off of the fence to stand and say this. But the questions, about why people do what they do, are still there.

This is a part of the radical practice of grace that I try to embody. It isn’t easy to live life giving grace, and it is often mistaken for validating or contextualizing moral reprehensible actions, but I don’t think of it that way. At the end of the day, I think people are good. So, when they act out of accordance to this belief, my first response is to rehabilitate and understand, not reprehend.

In some ways, this forces me to wait. To not jump to conclusions. To subdue kneejerk reactions. To substitute stubborn patience to the ever-present frustrated anger response that pervades so much of my psyche. In this way, waiting is good. But waiting, and my ultimate watered down response that comes as a result of that prior understanding and grace sometimes inflicts its own form of harm. After all, not every situation has the benefit of time. Sometimes, we can’t afford to wait, and grace and understanding need to be temporarily withheld to leave space for justice, mourning, and protection’s sake.

It’s tricky and I don’t claim to know if the way I respond is my biggest gift or flaw. Am I a coward or exceptionally patient? Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

On the other hand, sometimes I am more like the one who moves. Like the character, I have often been overcome with an inescapable sense of responsibility and drive when faced with injustice. This, combined with a healthy dose of ambition, makes me move much faster than is advisable, seeking solutions and making decisions before I am even sure what exactly needs fixing. Clearly, the way I write about this conveys the way I feel about this part of my personality. There is an arrogance, an immaturity, sure, but maybe I am too hard on myself. Looking back on any time I have moved, I don’t regret them.

In one such instance, I received a reprimand from three places. I was frustrated by a university policy that I found unjust which prompted me to send three emails to three different recipients, seeking clarity, more information, and a place to air both my grievances and suggestions. If I recall, I wrote up a twelve page document detailing my argument in about eight hours. Unfortunately, because of one of the avenues I pursued, I ended up getting my efforts recalled before they could even be heard properly and was given a strict verbal reprimand by two different individuals, as well as required to write three apology letters that I was told I was not even important enough to send to myself.

In other words, I really, really made someone mad when I moved, and I got burned badly for making that decision.

But looking back, it was a decision, not a mistake. And I would do it again, but this time, maybe a bit more slowly so as to escape the unprofessional consequences that were improperly levied against me. Of course, the fact that I think the way the situation was handled by the other party was highly inappropriate has colored my perspective, after all, I did nothing wrong.

The more I write about this side of me, the side that moves, the more I see it as an asset. I type more quickly when I get filled with the passion that drives these actions… but, I am wise enough to know that this passion is sometimes nothing more than an actionable form of anger; tenuous, potentially dangerous. So, am I an egotistical hot head or an impassioned advocate? Perhaps both. Perhaps neither.

In deeply reflective moments like these, I come back to two things friends and mentors have said to me lately.

When speaking about a decision they had made, a close friend told me, “I am not worried about being wrong. I am worried about potentially angering people, but I know I am not wrong. What I say may be uncomfortable or difficult to hear, but I know I am right.” Her unshakable position came from a deeply held conviction, one that puts doing the right thing over being safe or comfortable while doing so. Her courage encourages me to be someone who moves. I will never have her confidence, but I can borrow her courage in moments where movement is not a luxury, but a requirement.

After discussing my own fears about waiting that come from my worry of being in the wrong and causing harm a mentor said, “Some of the things I said in the past were dead wrong, and I am ashamed to look back. But I had to say those things, make those decisions, to learn what I needed to know to say what I can say now.” His moment of reflection clearly came with some discomfort, but his vulnerability stuck with me as I considered all of the things I have done and said when I didn’t know better. I too, am ashamed, yet I know that there is no way I could have skipped those moments of ignorance to get where I am now. His vulnerability also encourages me to be someone who moves. It is not as clear cut and aspirational as my friend’s self-assurance, but it gets the message across just the same. Sometimes, you just have to move in the ways that you know how, hoping that with each day that passes you learn something new that can point you even more in the right direction.

Waiting is not a bad thing and I don’t hate the part of myself that is more comfortable waiting before acting. Each of us goes through seasons of waiting and these times are just as important as the ones where we move. But these moments, as an outcome of personality or situation, are not meant to last forever. Especially if it is fear that holds us in place.

Today, I choose to move. Without any destination, but with the expectation that each movement serves as a building block to that place that I seek. A better place for myself and for the world.