Alone and … happy?

The music from my computer plays softly.  The furnace kicks in, offering a steady stream of warm air and adds its own steady hum to that of the humidifier and air purifier already running.  A single candle flickers across the room.  And I sit, wrapped in my most comfortable clothes, literally curled up with a book and a cup of tea.

The computer pings.  Lets me know I have a date with an old friend in March.  And pings again.  This time it means a possible girl’s night this weekend.  As I return to my book, my mind wanders to a discovery  I’ve made over the past few weeks.  I am increasingly contented.

Tonight is no exception.  Few thing would make this evening better.  (A dog, curled up in my lap or by my feet, for example.  Possibly a fire in a fireplace.)  And I think back just a few hours ago.  My current job has brought with it a variety of  people and introduction to life as a single adult.  Growing up, singleness was not “right.”  Every “adult” I knew as a child and teenager was either married or looking to be married.  To be single was a sign that something was inherently wrong with you.  Too tall, too skinny, to fat, to awkward.

This idea is only propagated by the Protestant neglect of monasticism.  Sure, Paul says that it’s better to stay unmarried, but no one ever listens…  There are few, if any, examples of real, quality people who remain single. As I’ve continued my journey into Orthodoxy and life in general, I’ve gained a significant amount  of respect for monastics.  And I see in the lives of the saints solid examples of both married and single adults.

Slowly, and with much resistance, I am beginning to think, “Maybe singleness isn’t that bad after all.”  As residual stress from a previous life passes away, and I sit here, alone, I realize that I’ve never been less alone in my life.

For once, I’m not anxious to change my situation.  I’m excited about where my life is, where it’s heading.  And the rest I’m finding along the way.

Another end…

Today I come to grips with what I’ve done.  What it means to move on.  To leave the life I have made for myself over the past 8 months.  The energy I have poured into it.  The sacrifices I have made because of it.  One email, one phone call, and it’s all over.  I thought I would have more time to digest what I’ve done.  To let everything sink in slowly.  To find closure.  But closure was ripped from me.

My feelings of hurt weren’t about the money that time promised.  They were about closure.  The time and ability to say goodbye.  To leave things as I wished I had found them.  To ensure those coming after are not left bewildered, confused, and overwhelmed.

I hate it when things are left unfinished.  When the edges are left tattered, evidence of life gone crazy left scattered and unkept.  And yet, this is where I find myself.  The proverbial boot, right into…yeah.

We talked this afternoon, J. and I.  Attempted to reconcile.  Words were spoken, few actually heard.  Even fewer truly understood.  I walked away confused.  He knows what to say; how to craft each sentence in order to get the desired effect.  For the most part, it works.  And then reality hits, words fail to materialize into action.  If they do, that action lasts but a short time.

“You think everyone has a hidden agenda, D.”  You’re right, J.  I do.  I don’t trust easily.  I keep people at arm’s length.  I try not to care.  Try not to delight in praise, try not to be destroyed by criticism.  Try not to feel your stress, your pain, your concern.

You see, my problem is that I do care.  I pour myself into everything I do.  I give 100% to everyone else, often at the expense of my own sanity.  I suck at “self-care.”

This INFJ lives up to her typology.  Except for one critical aspect:  I’m a horrible judge of character.  In this one thing, I often ignore the reality I see in front of me.  Instead I focus, rarely by choice, on the potential I see before me.  The ability that things can be different.  That good can come.  That with a little work, things can change.  Unfortunately, they rarely do and I’m left hurting, wondering why I ignored the sign?

Deep down, I think I knew this wasn’t going to work.  I saw things for what they were–the manipulation, the impossible expectations, the stress.  But I chose not to see them.  I chose to believe the words.  Promises of change.  Promises of something different.  Empty words of encouragement.  Somehow, I think I knew the words were empty when I heard them.  But I chose to believe I was wrong.  I chose to believe that the potential I saw could be reality.  If only I worked harder.

So I worked my butt off.  Sacrificed my time, my energy, my education, my mental health.  And I am left with the same mess I began with.  The same empty words.  The same unrealized potential.  Only now, I am tired.  Very tired.

And I have only myself to blame.  I look back, seeking to understand the lessons I have learned.  Lessons on how I function; what I need to fully live.  Remind myself that I cannot change anyone but myself, no matter how hard I try.  To seek to understand your pains, how my actions, my failures have affected you.  I have failed. And for that, I am deeply sorry.

I just wish I had been given the chance to clean up a little of the mess.

-d

Looking back

This past weekend, I participated in one of the town events that makes my town endearing: Old Fashioned Christmas.  Shops along main street open, providing hot drinks and sweet treats to the perhaps hundreds of people wandering around.  There is no real “point” to this event, other than wandering around the town and talking to people, and of course, ending the event with a brief community sing-along in the church along main street.

As I wandered around, dragging a friend around a town she’d never been to, talking to people she’d never met, I was reminded, once again of last year: my first Old Fashioned Christmas experience.  Being coerced by my roommate to wander around in the cold.  I was taken back by the difference one year has made in my experience, in my perceptions.

I was reminded of the darkness that surrounded me last year.  Looking back, I felt suffocated by it, but was unable to free myself.  So I curled up, and resigned myself to wait it out.

It still comes back…that heavy darkness.  And I realize that I still do not experience my world with the wonder and joy I once had.  Maybe in time.  until then, I’ll choose to be thankful that I am not currently sophocated with darkness.

Desire to turn a page

“The world is a book, and those who don’t travel read only one page.” – Augustine

I’ve noticed the “itch” growing more and more prevelent over the past few weeks.  Perhaps it’s the desire to run from the ball of stress and chaos I now call my life.  Perhaps its listening to the travel stories of a new friend, or remeniscing on life abroad.  Perhaps its discussing future lives abroad with friends and co-workers.  Perhaps its the support letter I got from an aquaintance preparing to serve human trafficing victims just last night.  Or, perhaps it’s the combination of all of the above.

Whatever the cause, I feel myself growing more and more impatient, less and less satisfied with life in America.  I’m ready to explore.  To serve hurting people abroad.  Yes, there are plenty of hurting people here, and I continue to be interested in helping American populations.  However…I guess I just want to turn another page, to see beyond American consumerism, to experience another culture, to learn new languages and travel to new places.

And yet, I know that I cannot.  Not yet, at least.

on the other side

This evening I went to vespers as has become my custom over the past year or so.  Tonight we prayed an Akathist to Christ, light to those in darkness.  It was an interesting reminder, to be honest.  I remember praying this Akathist for the first time last year about this time.  I was in the midst of depression–looking back on it I can see more clearly how bad it really was, but I knew even then that it wasn’t simply a period of feeling “down” or “blue”…life was dark.  Even on the brightest, most gorgeous fall days, I wandered through life as if it were the middle of a cold and cloudy night.  That night, as I chanted, prayed, and listened to the words of this beautiful prayer, my heart was warmed.  I remember gazing on the icons of Christ and seeing love shining forth from his eyes.  Love and compassion.  Every section, every sentence, every word seemed to resonate deep within me…for I was one of those in darkness.  And I knew it.

This year, I approached with a different vantage point.  Tonight, I approached with people other than myself heavy on my heart.  Chemical imbalance currently in check, and my job suddenly a lot less stressful, I approached as one who currently rests in light, not darkness.  I remembered my first experience, filling my heart with even more light to see how far I have come.

And yet, I was reminded of how quickly things can change.  How although I may not be in the midst of the darkness of last year, I am surrounded by those who struggle; those who need my prayers and encouragement.

Lord, Jesus Christ, son of God, have mercy on those in darkness.