Emotions don't come when you want them to. Even when they've been welling up inside for a while and you then try to share them, they don't come when bidden. I just shared a lot with three very dear, close friends. I shared about violent death, decisions of ethics that I tried to support the decision maker in, horrible injury, transition, saying goodbye, saying hello, accepting change within close others, and leadership. They listened, their eyes got shiny, they thanked me. Why did it take three years? I don't know that I've always thought that my story was that important, because, really, my story is about what happened to other people. Other people about whom I care(d). It's about my reaction to life changes and endings. It's about the experiences I brought with me to this place.
I could share this with these friends because they accept and love me no matter what. Even if it feels as if I'm boasting about all that I've encountered. Is it really boasting? To share the hardship to which I've been privy? Is it saying "My experience is more dramatic than yours"? I wonder if that is why I haven't told my story.
Perhaps my emotions didn't come tonight as I thought they might. However, the next time they do come, I have three beautiful people with which to share them. Three people who will continue to accept and love me no matter what. And that is a wonder.
Friday, October 29, 2004
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Free, for now...
It's interesting that freedom feels instant, while, at least in my sense of the word, bondage sneaks up slowly and innocently.
The effects of my version of freedom, however, are a long time in coming, and I'm not even being oppressed! Is this why systematic change is so difficult? Either within a system, or merely within ourselves. Do we not realize that we are in a place to speak our voices, to advocate, to impact change until after the time has passed that we are truly free to do so.
My experience of freedom cannot compare to so many others. I use dramatic language to help myself understand that I have something good at this moment. Yet, at the same time, I wouldn't want the kind of freedom that means no responsibilities, no plans, not being necessary somewhere. I want something that "ties me down." So, for now, I'll enjoy my freedom by curling up with a book. Not a literary book in which I would most like to delve. Rather, one for class. One I'd like to spend more time with for myself, rather than just using it to prepare for class.
The effects of my version of freedom, however, are a long time in coming, and I'm not even being oppressed! Is this why systematic change is so difficult? Either within a system, or merely within ourselves. Do we not realize that we are in a place to speak our voices, to advocate, to impact change until after the time has passed that we are truly free to do so.
My experience of freedom cannot compare to so many others. I use dramatic language to help myself understand that I have something good at this moment. Yet, at the same time, I wouldn't want the kind of freedom that means no responsibilities, no plans, not being necessary somewhere. I want something that "ties me down." So, for now, I'll enjoy my freedom by curling up with a book. Not a literary book in which I would most like to delve. Rather, one for class. One I'd like to spend more time with for myself, rather than just using it to prepare for class.
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Too much
Do you ever have one of those days when you can't tell if it's a good one or bad one? Like when you have the most enjoyable time of your day complaining? Or when good news completely disrupts your carefully considered and emotionally charged plans which means you have to start from square one?
I really don't know how to cope. I want to laugh at the same time I mope around the apartment avoiding productivity. It's distressing because it is not about hope. It's recognizing angst and sharing it, albeit shallowly. Can I find hope in skimming over the top of pain? Can I find hope in this good news, even though I'd almost rather be resolute in the bad news than have to wade through the muck of decision making again?
The title of my blog comes from a favorite poem, written by Denise Levertov. She describes problems, loud and foggy and the stillness that breaks through in the wonder that everything "O Lord, Creator, Hallowed One, You still, hour by hour sustain it." From this is where my hope must come. My time in this specific location is temporary making depth somewhat difficult (my time here on earth is also temporary, but that would be a different post), and yet, even this time God sustains.
I really don't know how to cope. I want to laugh at the same time I mope around the apartment avoiding productivity. It's distressing because it is not about hope. It's recognizing angst and sharing it, albeit shallowly. Can I find hope in skimming over the top of pain? Can I find hope in this good news, even though I'd almost rather be resolute in the bad news than have to wade through the muck of decision making again?
The title of my blog comes from a favorite poem, written by Denise Levertov. She describes problems, loud and foggy and the stillness that breaks through in the wonder that everything "O Lord, Creator, Hallowed One, You still, hour by hour sustain it." From this is where my hope must come. My time in this specific location is temporary making depth somewhat difficult (my time here on earth is also temporary, but that would be a different post), and yet, even this time God sustains.
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