Embracing Courage and Recognizing Fear

I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a great line watcher. I get nervous when I have to tell someone that they can't cut in line, and they have to start at the end of the line. Most of the time, there's no big fuss made. The cutter will argue for a second, roll his/her eyes and comply or leave. Beyond the occasional cutter, I haven't had too much experience with conflict in the garden. The other brave female line watchers are usually the first to dive right between two angry diners. I'm right behind them... sort of.

In the past few months, I've mastered the "back up" position. Clare, Martha, Ann, or Catherine will sacrifice their bodies to whatever comes at them, words or otherwise; meanwhile, I linger safely out of the way, but close enough to run up to help them if I am needed. And every single time I've approached to help, I become the target of the diner's anger. This can be seen as a good thing since the negative energy isn't being focused toward another diner.

But right about now is when I start to lose my bearings. I am not tough. I'm 23, just over 5 1/2 feet tall, and not very strong. I haven't used my "mom look" as much since I moved away from my brothers, the frequent victims of such glares. In short, I am neither physically or psychologically intimidating. And when an angry kitchen patron starts to stare me down, my timidness starts to take over.

On Thursday, for example, there was a scuffle between a large man and surprising feisty yet petite woman. The verbal conflict seemed to be calming down until the woman was reignited. The man, under the coaxing of the line watchers, left the area. As the woman charged toward his back, not finished telling him off, two line watchers and I stepped in front of her. Comfortable with the relative calmness, I continued to clean the garden when I was stopped by the still-reeling woman:

"It is none of your business! When I have something to say, I'm gonna say it! You get out of my face. I wasn't talking to you! Next time you get in my face like that, I swear I'll beat the shit out of you!"

While she was speaking, I felt my awkwardness surface. I concentrated on my facial expression, my body language, and what I'm going to say next--and I know it was obvious I was uncomfortable. I am sure I was holding a facial expression that hinted toward an uncomfortable bowel movement. And then I just stood there like some defenseless idiot... an open target for whatever words come at me. I went back to sweeping with a giant pit in my stomach, thinking about how I could have handled the situation better. My conclusion: couldn't I just try to pretend to be under control?!

My fear of line watching stems from the fear of vulnerability. In the moment of conflict, I reassure myself that this is a practical fear--pain, physical or emotional, is not something I find too enjoyable. I try to prepare myself for anything that will come my way, but the only time I think about it is during the moment anything could happen. I criticize myself for not embracing the courage I know I have. I do have the capacity to endure the pain that could be bestowed upon me in an "incident." The reason I am (at this point, hypothetically) stepping in to squelch a conflict is to provide a peaceful and restful environment to the people who suffer so much abuse and harassment outside our garden.

I have to get over my fear so I can fulfill the role of the line watcher--a person who maintains the peace of the garden. I am afraid of saying something wrong, or clearly being void of authority. I have to remember that with time, I will begin to understand more deeply the role of the line watcher. And then I will stop making weird faces.