I’ve often wondered what makes it so hard for many families to find closure after a tragedy when there is no body.  Now, to be clear, I’m not questioning the trauma of losing a family member to 9/11 or to a kidnapping or to genocide.  I’ve wished to better understand what makes a mother exclaim “just find me a bone so that we can provide him a proper burial” during South Africa’s post-apartheid Truth and Reconciliation Commission (in Desmond Tutu’s No Future without Forgiveness), for example.

Thanks Ma Fab on Unsplash

And then this happened…

A little while back, I received a celebratory mylar balloon.  After a week, the deflated balloon found its way to the floor and, curious to see if it would come a little off the floor again, I cut off its string and weight.  And the phone rang.  I turned around to answer it and forgot about the balloon.  A few hours later, I went looking for the balloon.

I looked around the living room; no balloon.  The kitchen; no balloon.  The bedroom; no balloon.  Hum…. My front and back doors were open, so I laughed at the idea that the balloon had gone for a stroll outside.  I went looking out the back; no balloon.  And out the front in our closed courtyard; still no balloon.  Where had it gone?  It could not have flown away as even without the string it was barely hovering off the ground.

So, I took another investigative tour of my place and the yards.  And when I did not find anything, I wrote off the balloon.

But, no.  My mind kept coming back to it, asking “where did the balloon go?” “What happened to the balloon?”  “How could it have disappeared?”  “Maybe it’s still out there somewhere and I missed it.”

And this is when it hit me.  I’m struggling to let go the unknown whereabouts of a silly mylar balloon.  No wonder some families can hold on so tightly to the idea that their loved one may still be “out there, somewhere.”  No wonder it’s difficult to create closure without the confirmation of a body.  If my mind can create so many stories about a mylar balloon, I cannot imagine what these families must go through.

Yes, it's a mylar balloon that helped me empathize with the plea I hope to never experience of making peace with a family member's disappearance.  What are you learning this month?  What can you understand thanks to something as insignificant as a mylar balloon?

We’ve been hemorrhaging Core Team members!  First, the institution switched 60% of the residents between two yards (which, for security purposes, are completely independent).  Second, of the remaining Core Team members, THREE were transferred to lower-security prison (woohoo!!  Big celebration for their achievements!).  So, we’re left with one Core Team member.

To recruit and select new members, last week, we read 60 applications from prison residents looking to join the Core Team that organizes the TEDx event.  Application review is always a quiet process, with everyone reading and evaluating separately.

When we finished, Connor looked up and beamed “I am so happy to have read all these applications!  I learned so much!!!”  When asked to clarify, “I never realized how much more impact a story creates over listing attributes and qualities.  I see now that the stories said so much more in less words.”

In a number of applications, we read that the residents would bring to our program “positivity, tolerance, patience, organization, team player, creativity, team leadership, adaptability...”

Another, to express what he expects to learn, said that “As a kid, I once rode Space Mountain with the lights on.  It was fascinating to see the inner mechanics that no one else normally gets to see.”  In these two simple sentences, we learned and deduced that

• He likes to understand how stuff works

• He likes working behind the scenes, making the magic happen

• He’s curious

These are all qualities we appreciate in a Core Team member.  He’s now on the interview list!

Someone else is on the interview list for a very different reason.  In this other application, one sentence caught our hearts:  “I don’t make people feel small.”  While this application did not present accomplishments or attributes, this simple statement showed heart.  And THIS is our top recruiting criteria.

We create a safe space in which people uncover and ignite their brilliance.  This man shows us a glimmer of something on which we wish to provide safety, fuel and space.  This has become a design feature of our team creation.  The leaders we select into our Core Team are not only the “cream of the leadership crop”; they are also residents in whom we see heart and desire to spark betterment in themselves and their world.

Have the courage. Take the leap!

-      “How many of you have a big idea you’re dreaming of accomplishing one day?”  Many hands in this morning’s audience rose.

-      “Who’s actually bringing this big idea to reality?”  I and a few others now raised our hands.

-      “For the rest of you, what’s stopping you?”

-      “Time,” “money,” “a plan” were the answers.

As I listened to the answers, I realized that these were in fact NOT the reason we do not accomplish our big ideas, our dreams. The actual – and underlying – reason we don’t pursue our big idea is COURAGE.

It takes unbelievable courage to

• Release the stories we hold about our identity and value to the world

• Listen to the call of our big idea

• Trust the fact that, if this big idea is the gift we’re meant to provide to the world, God is going to do everything in his power to make it happen (for those who wish to substitute Universe, please do so)

• Take the step, even when we cannot see the path or the outcome, even when it feels like we’re taking a step off the cliff 

Oh, I know, easier said than done.  I’ve heard the voices that counter what I just said.  “I’ve got a mortgage.  I’m married with kids.  My current responsibilities take up all my time.  I need the funds before I start.”  The facts of your current situation are very real and true.  I’m not saying to ignore your reality.  I’m saying that seeing these as blocks comes from a place of fear, of scarcity.

And, for the record, I share from deep, personal experience.  I was on the track on which so many of us are placed:  good grades, good school, good job, beautiful family, nice house and happiness ever after.

 And then four years ago, I was called… into prison.  Yes, literally.  One morning, in my meditation, I heard the words “to go prison.”  I had never even considered this portion of our society.  I’ll admit that prison simply did not exist in my world.  And yet, I felt this profound tug, deep, deep inside me.  I could have ignored it; relative to the other screaming voices in my head, it was faint.  And it was persistent.  And so, finally, after some continued internal nagging, I took the first step:  I googled “prisons in San Diego.”

 And every step on this journey – from my first time in maximum-security prison, to starting to organize a TEDx event inside prison, to deciding to put my professional ambitions on hold to found a nonprofit, to realizing that this journey is about healing our society’s cycle of separation and violence – EVERY step has been taken in this way:

• Release what I believe to be true

• Listen to that voice within – my brilliance inside, as I call it – that speaks truth

• Trust that I’m completely supported

• Take the step

This takes COURAGE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 And it creates miracles!  I could write a book about the miracles already created.  Miracles for myself, for the prison residents, for victims of violent crime, for the volunteer team, for the prison system, for our community-at-large.

 So, can you have the courage to have the courage to take the first step and honestly explore your big idea?  (Yup, it takes courage to step into courage.)  You simply have no idea of the brilliance you’ll create, the lives you’ll change, the rewards you’ll receive, the unbelievable life you’ll get to live.

Meet another long-time Brilliance Inside volunteer, Vivienne Bennett, as she divulges the differences she experienced between her Improv classes “on the streets” at Finest City Improv and her Improv experience inside Donovan as facilitator Gary Ware joined us for a couple sessions.

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

Improv class, level II, at Finest City Improv in San Diego, Fall 2018. A dozen strangers in the room. Our teacher, Gary Ware, leads us in exercise after exercise designed to break down barriers in our brains that inhibit spontaneous thought, action and talking. We remain strangers albeit laughing nervously together. We take an 8-week class. We become more comfortable with each other. But still, we are shy, worried about how others perceive us, afraid of failure, of not being funny. We work, work, work at those exercises and begin to feel the brain shift, the letting go. After each class we quickly pack up and go home, tired, sometimes exhilarated, but needing to get back to our busy lives. We don’t talk about what it means to us or how we are changing.

Fast forward to August 2019, Donovan Correctional Facility, A Yard. Improv class with Gary and about 20 Donovan residents. He starts us on the same exercises to free our brains, to build spontaneity. The resident “men in blue” have never done anything like this together and we have never done anything like this with them. There is no hanging back. Even the young resident who never talks is all in. There is laughter. But it’s not nervous laughter, it’s laughter from the gut. It’s laughter from men who are in joy. It’s laughter from men who had the worst childhoods imaginable and are laughing as only children do. It’s laughter from men whose brains are freed momentarily from the rigors of prison life. But then it becomes more, so much more. Gary asks what each exercise means to us, and without hesitation or shyness, each “resident in blue” can’t wait to talk about how this exercise made them feel more confident, how that exercise made them feel connected to others, how the other exercise brought them to feel intimacy within themselves and trust with the rest of us in the room, about how they feel human in ways they had not experienced in years or decades or maybe ever.

On the outside, even after 8 weeks in Improv class, there has been very little revealing of oneself to others, very little connection to each other. On the inside, in a place that is built around deprivation, rules, uncertainty, division, separation, loneliness and fear, Improv brings connection, joy and intimacy. And most importantly, each resident in blue is bursting at the seams to talk about it all. Even after one class, we are bonded by trust, by our willingness to be authentic with each other, to cut to the deepest and most urgent parts of ourselves.

Time and time again, I find that communication among the program participants is deeper, more authentic, more complex and more worthwhile on a regular basis than any communication with a roomful of 20 people on the outside ever is. The residents we work with want to grow, they want to learn and they approach the work with us with openness, earnestness, and commitment. I feel privileged to be part of this group, to have the honor of participating in the vulnerabilities that are shared and addressed, to experience the caring and trust between the unlikeliest of group members, and to feel my own humanity as part of a group that too many in our society thinks has none. 

As volunteer Leslie says, there are often several sides to a story. Sunaina, Nonviolent Communication Program Facilitator, brings her own reflection of the realization behind the experience Mariette shared here.

“I used to think I was different from everyone,” a Donovan resident in our Nonviolent Communication program told me. “I used to think that no one could understand anything about my life because they have no idea what it’s like to be me, or what goes on inside of me.”

Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

For weeks, we had been talking about human needs and how they are the impetus for all of our behaviors and emotions. Because those needs exist in every human being, seeing them helps us understand each other. 

“But now I realize we are all the same,” he continued. “I don’t know why it took me so long to learn such a simple thing. But it makes total sense and it changes everything.”

“How does it change things?” I asked.

“I can see parts of myself in everyone else now. I know that sounds egotistical, but it’s true. I see myself in everyone,” he said, as he pointed around the circle of men. 

As this resident shared with me his realization of the unity of existence :-) I couldn’t help but wonder what an incredible breakthrough this is for anyone, let alone for a prison resident. 

I have learned that prison populations are often deeply divided among racial lines. At Donovan, the color of your skin determines the “team” you are on, and riots have broken out between racial groups on the yard, often resulting in injuries and sometimes death. 

For this person to look around a circle of residents with different skin colors and say that he sees some of himself in everyone is remarkable and awe-inspiring. It occurs to me now that I was witnessing a tiny seed of peace being planted in one of the most violent environments on earth. 

I can’t help but think about how our world could transform if we could all see ourselves in others, especially in those whom we are used to seeing as separate from ourselves.

Can I see my own need for self expression and understanding in someone tweeting angry political messages I do not agree with?

Can I see my own need for connection and belonging in a family member who frustratingly scolds me for missing a family gathering?

I think I can. And I am grateful to the Donovan resident for reminding me of the power of empathy to keep us connected and in a place of understanding with our brothers and sisters in this sometimes tumultuous world.

As the head of La Jolla Country Day School, a PK-12 independent school, Gary Krahn has been part of an educational team seeking to gently guide students to become leaders who treat people with dignity and can anticipate and respond effectively to the uncertainties and opportunities of a changing technological, social, political, and economic world. He brings to LJCDS his depth of experience of over 29 years on active duty before retiring in the grade of Brigadier General, helping to establish and build the 18th university in Afghanistan, and redesigning the mathematics program at West Point, from which he’s also a graduate.

Below Gary reflects on his experience at Donovan…

On August 6, 2019, Mariette escorts me into Donovan State prison.  Little do I know that the experience will be an education on humanity. 

The grounds at Donovan grab my attention immediately. They are harsh and the structures are designed to separate people, seclude individuals and reinforce the fact that prisoners have little control of their lives.  The environment continually reminds residents, volunteers and those who work there that the primary purpose of prison is punitive not developmental.

Walking inside from the grounds of the prison allows the people within Donovan to slowly seep into the volunteer’s awareness.  I meet a staff psychiatrist, a guard, a prisoner, another prisoner, another guard and several volunteers. Because of an “incident on another yard,” the prison goes on lockdown, significantly limiting Mariette’s access to prisoners. Prisoners, however, find her. 

“Human dignity transcends all our differences, putting our common human identity above all else.”

— Gary Krahn

Within minutes of her arrival, an inmate, who is organizing an upcoming Restorative Justice Fair, is focused on every word Mariette is sharing.  Mariette makes it clear that he is responsible for everything that happens at the event and everything that does not happen. After listening to the inmate about his preparations, Mariette, with a firm and gentle hand, encourages him to have greater quality control in place for the speakers.  The inmate understands the expectations and is eager to learn how to resolve the shortfall. His appreciation of Mariette’s insights and leadership is touching. This inmate is caring, thoughtful, and committed to doing what is right. It is puzzling witnessing such a kind and competent person with a growth mindset in a blue prisoner outfit.  The inmate shares that there was a time when the only skill he had to provide for his family was theft. Today, he has the skills to not only lead himself, but to lead others. 

As one of the speakers for the RJ Fair, another inmate quickly reaches out to Mariette.  He shares a multitude of personal experiences. Mariette asks if he is open on getting feedback on his storytelling.  She explains that his stories must be more focused and come from the heart. He then goes on to talk about how, at fourteen, he charged toward his abusive father. After throwing his father to the ground, he saw fear in his father’s eyes.  At that moment, he learned that he could project his fear onto others. There was no place better to do this than in a gang. After many years in prison, he is remarkably self-aware and a gentler person.  

This visit to Donovan opened my eyes to the humanity within a prison.  I was not exposed to the human conflicts among prisoners and guards nor privy to the victims who had been impacted by these inmates.  But I was exposed to the decency within flawed human beings. And the greatest humanitarian was Mariette.  

Mariette demonstrated that human dignity transcends all our differences, putting our common human identity above all else. While our uniqueness and identity are important, if we take the next step toward recognizing our shared identity, our world will become and better place.  Serving people who need help should be a goal of every human being. For Mariette, it is not a goal, it is her life.

For 8 weeks, Expressive Artists Tish, Lorilee and Cece came to prison with us to engage the residents in written expressive expression. Below is a gorgeous piece reflecting the fun we had creating new menu items for the prison meals. Salivate with us!

Writing prompt: You have been given the opportunity to create a meal on Donovan’s menu for one day. Writing through your senses, persuade us that your food item belongs on the day’s menu.

All the residents sighed in unison. If you know prison, then you know that the food lacks in flavor and any kind of vitality. The residents reached for their pens and pencils and furiously wrote for three minutes during our weekly writing warm-up. We can tell by their smiles and scrunched faces they had much to write, traveling through their imagination to times and places when they were not in prison, recalling memories of food and favorite flavors, family gatherings, the simple fact of breakfast and a shared meal with loved ones. Three minutes flew by; with mischievous and nostalgic smiles, the residents put down their writing utensils and sat at attention. Anxious to share, many raised their hands.

Immediately a resident stood up, marking his place as first. An intoxicating description of pillowy soft, powdered-sugared French toast came tumbling out of his mouth. Not only was it masterfully written, we - the listening audience - were able to taste it through his writing: its melty texture and sweet flavor. His delivery was passionate and words clear. After reading it, he was satisfied. It was as if, through reading it, he had actually consumed his French toast.

One after the other, was much the same: odes, memoirs and tributes to their favorite food. After each reading, we wrote the name of the food on a strip of paper and put it in the middle of the writing circle. After an hour or so, the floor was covered with our collective menu: spare ribs, apple pie and ice cream, steak, lobster, gumbo, greens, sweet potatoes, fried chicken, a green salad with avocado... We were all on the edge of our seats, waiting to see what people had chosen for their menu item. It was beautiful: the memories, the love with which they wrote and read, the laughter and comradery.

It was clear that you can imprison a person's physical body but you cannot imprison someone’s creativity, imagination and collective memory.