As I wait for my clothes to dry this morning, the sky is spitting a little bit of precipitation....not really misting, not really sprinkling, but still getting wet from time to time.
Last night was my first night "on" the Camino, although traditionally, one's pilgrimage starts at the front door of your house. Already, I have been lost, so here is hoping that I got that out of my system. All I have to say is that I am eternally grateful for friendly locals who take pity on pilgrims who have confused/worried looks on their faces.
The Madrid airport. I find the colors and the sunlight very pretty.
Yesterday was a long day...it began at 7:00a, and didn't end until about 10:00p on Jun 3. In that time, I drove to Houston, flew to Dulles airport, flew to Madrid, took the bus to the train station, took the train to Pamplona, another bus to the bus station, a bus to St. Jean Pied-de-Port, and then walked to my Albergue.
An old rampart in Pamplona. It was right behind the bus station.
I forgot about how the Camino specializes in vertical cities. My Albergue was near the top of this hill.
And, it is time for me to get walking. My pack has been sent forward, all but one of my pairs of socks are dry (they are safety-pinned to my day pack), and the day is perfect for a long walk. Ultreia!
At my core, I'm a gooey, saccharine, hopeless romantic--I often try to hide it, though (and I'm probably not very good at it--I'm a terrible liar). I am attracted to guys who are rational, linear, analytic thinkers, and, at least in my experience, being a hopeless romantic tends to turn that kind of guy off. I'm not sure if it is because they perceive romance and sentiment as neediness or if they just see it as unnecessary, but it usually means that I dial my romantic side back when I'm in a relationship. I'm not ashamed of the fact that there is still a little girl inside of me that wants to be a princess swept off of her feet by a knight in shining armor. I've just grown realistic enough to know that most knights have tarnished and dented armor. Besides, I am not the kind of girl that needs saving. As much as I like the idea of a knight in shining armor, I think my parents instilled their daughter with just a little too much of their mid-western independence and ingenuity for me to be a passive princess, and my temperament is just a little too feisty to be resignedly patient.
This is one of the windows on the same floor as my office. Kind of looks like something you might see in a fairy-tale castle, doesn't it?
That being said, the sentiment of the following song appeals to my romantic side, and it captures the wistful hope that many single women have, just as it points to what it means to being open to whatever God has for us.
The longer I'm single, the more I suspect that I will remain so, and I'm good with that--life might not be how I envisioned it when I was in high school and college, but I have a blessed life: A wonderful job, an awesome parish, affectionate fur babies (err, pets), and tons of nieces and nephews to spoil. It doesn't keep me from dreaming sometimes, though. And, that is where this particular poem came from. It is corny, but like the above song, shows a wistful hope for what may or may not happen.
When I was younger, I would often separate out my gooey romanticism from my practicality--the older I get, the more I wonder if there is a way to reconcile these two disparate parts of my personality. Is there such a thing as a practical romantic? If so, that is what I'd like to become.
I think that I have made a personal record...After 3 months of dating, my relationship with the philosopher has ended. This is actually the shortest that I have ever dated anyone, with 6 months being the shortest before this. I think that the amazing thing is that I'm largely ok with this development, in part because I had an inkling that this might happen a couple of weeks ago, and in part because the Lord has given me a lot of peace leading up to this. I'm still processing it, but I'm at a really good place in my life--I have a job that I love, a parish that is downright awesome, and a new town to learn about and explore.
One of the flowers blooming around campus at my new job. I look forward to the fall colors. I also look forward to the spring when more plants will be blooming!
God used the Philosopher to get me out of my comfort zone back home and bring me to here to a better job and and an awesome parish. I can only be thankful for that. I don't regret the move, and honestly, I don't regret my behavior during our relationship. I conducted myself to the best of my ability in a Godly fashion, not without struggle, but with integrity. I hope that he can say the same.
So, my job for the next few months will be putting down roots where I am, and following where ever the Lord may lead...Right before I came here, I started a new journal, and decided that I needed to make my theme to be "Putting down roots." I actually had the perfect journal to use for that theme, as well.
My current Journal.
I had already started doing so before the break-up, but now it starts in earnest. I now have an hour scheduled for weekly Adoration at my parish, and will begin teaching CCD classes this coming Wednesday...I'm co-teaching the 6th grade boys, so please pray for me!!! I hope to go dancing tonight at the local country-western hot-spot, and am finding my way around pretty well. I also plan to go for a bike ride just for the fun of it this afternoon--something I haven't done since I was a kid exploring my neighborhood! Just as I did before I started dating, I plan to enjoy being single--spend time with friends, exercise, work, and grow. Yes, it can be lonely, but I'm learning that, when you take it to Christ, that loneliness becomes solitude--it is all a matter of perspective.
This is my favorite Superbowl commercial ever--it seems to best illustrate the following poem!
So, because of travelling for work and just life in general, I didn't write a sonnet for last week, but I did for this week, so here it is. Once I have the Elizabethan Sonnet down, I think I want to try some of the other sonnet forms. One step at a time, though!
Forgiveness (Sonnet #3)
Egg shells, apple cores, coffee grinds, and more
In a heap, smelling vaguely like old socks.
Time to turn this pile gardeners adore:
Discards and trash morphed into seeds' toy box.
Not everything belongs in this treasure.
No matter the size, rocks will not crumble
Through heat, bacteria, and time's measure:
Nature's intransigence makes one humble.
They go elsewhere to confine, to create--
A seat, a bridge, or simple stepping stone.
They may not foster growth, but fascinate
The eye, the heart, the vista when not thrown.
Like compost, we forgive to readjust
And nourish the soil that grows mutual trust.
We had bins like this for compost near the greenhouses for my Horticulture class in High School. Too bad I have a black thumb of death!
So, the Philosopher came to visit for the weekend the Thursday before last, and I had a really good time...So good that I'm going to visit him in a few weeks for the weekend. We've been e-mailing and Skyping pretty regularly since we first started talking, and there is a lot of joy in getting to know another person.
I stole this from the Philosopher's Facebook page. I really like this picture of him!
So, after 5 weeks (to the day), of talking via Skype and text and e-mail, he flew in. I made him dinner (chicken curry over spaghetti squash--a really good recipe!!!), and we watched Blazing Saddles. My niece joined us for both, and it was really nice. Then, we went for a walk. Poor Ginger took a while to warm up to him, but she did finally quit barking at him, even if she wasn't sure what to make of this person in her house.
Friday didn't go quite like I planned, as I started the day by locking my keys in my house...Thankfully, my niece had gone to the gym that morning, so I was able to get back in without making her late for work, but it was kind of embarrassing to have to text the Philosopher that I would be later than planned because I did something that boneheaded.
We spent the morning at White Sands.
It was a perfect day to be at White Sands...not too hot, and partially cloudy most of the morning.
The clouds look a little bit like cotton candy.
My favorite picture of him from the weekend.
Attempting to surf the sand dunes. I got a few good runs: the Philosopher, not so much.
Falling off the sled.
Finally to the bottom of the hill!
Then, we had a picnic in Alamogordo at one of the city parks there. It was fun to sit and talk and learn more about one another.
Next, a trip to Coas--no trip to this part of the country is complete if one is a bibliophile! Then, back home in order to get ready for the evening: Dinner theater!
This was the play we saw: I liked it, anyway.
I specifically asked the Philosopher to dress nice for the dinner theater, and he obliged. Sadly, I forgot to take a picture of the both of us together. I did have my niece take my picture, though.
All dressed up and ready to go!
I probably should have taken off my fitbit, though...
Then, a quick trip up Scenic Drive to the lookout near the top of the mountain. I was surprised at how busy it was--there was no parking, and a couple of food trucks at the lookout, but the view was gorgeous.
Saturday, we went to Adoration at the Monastery downtown, but, unbeknownst to me, there was a group meeting there for communal prayer at the same time we were there. I was expecting the usual quiet time with God, and instead we sort of participated in an all Spanish prayer group for most of our time. I believe Robbie Burns says it best:
And, our plans went "agley" quite a bit on Saturday, for the afternoon was supposed to be for going on the tram, and it was shut down due to lightning. Then, we were rained in for close to an hour as a gully washer rolled through town and shut off electricity at my house until almost 11pm that night.
At least the rain was over by the time for the baseball game, and we were able to eat at L&J's for dinner.
My dinner: Chicken Enchiladas with a side of Guacamole.
Enjoying dinner.
Mom and Dad were sitting right in front of us. It was nice to enjoy the game together.
Sunday comprised of Mass, eating lunch with my sister, an then going to Chili's to enjoy the final for the World Cup before the Philosopher had to fly home. I'm glad he came and I look forward to seeing him again.
Since then, we have continued to Skype and talk, and that has been good, although I'm finding that the perpetually turned on world that we live in is quite the temptation. The Philosopher works from home, so I'm sure that I'm a bit of a distraction at times with the occasional text or message via Facebook--I'm trying to be circumspect about how often I say hi when I see him online, but I'm not sure that I'm succeeding. I'm also coming to realize that working from home can be both a blessing and a curse--it gives insane amounts of flexibility, but it also means that work and leisure can easily bleed over into one another, for there are no clear contextual clues to mark the end of the work-day. I suspect that is why the Philosopher will usually go to the local coffee shop to work rather than do so from home. Of course, that was also true when I taught, since grading takes over your life at certain times of the semester.
And, I count the days until I will hop a plane to go see him in his natural habitat. I had a lot of fun planning our time while he was here, and look forward to seeing what he will plan for us while I'm there.
The Bard's great sonnets have intrigued me since I was introduced to them in my high school English class, but I was never brave enough to attempt one...until now. That being said, I'm not sure what to title this, and I'm sure it could use some work. If you have any suggestions for a title or better word choice, I'm all ears.
Love lost, like Winter's bitter waxing fruit
Chills the heart, breathing frost to all corners.
Its rind shatters, a pernicious sharp brute
With edges pricking quick-fingered mourners.
Ev'ry waxing must wane in tired coats
Of fallen leaves and musty mothball bins.
The detritus swept within handheld totes
And carted out with empty Christmas tins.
What compost may transform such toxic shards:
Brittle Bastions to healthy fertile soil?
Which words of wisdom grip sleeping bards and
Mend long fallow tracts with frivolous toil?
Like all perennials, the fronds of hope
Unfurl to absorb, revamp, heal and cope.
Some of the beautiful flowers to be seen on campus
Back in High School, I spent a lot of time reading and writing poems--some of that is due to the fact that I was the poster child for teenage angst, and some of it due to my AP English classes. Amazingly, the only snippet I remember of all that poetry is these lines from Keat's poem, Ode on a Grecian Urn:
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all
Ye know on earth,
and all ye need to know.'
Even in High School, I had a hard time thinking that the truth of homelessness, world hunger or poverty was beautiful. The seedy, shady, and stark truths of living here on earth just don't seem very beautiful, but Keats seems to believe this is true if we take his lines at face value. At the same time, there is something intuitive about the beautiful that points us to something beyond ourselves.
Some trees along the race course in Sedona
It is why certain vistas in nature take our breath away, and why most of us look at great buildings, pieces of art, and listen to certain songs in awe-filled contemplation. It is why we love to look at Gothic Churches and their stained glass windows, regardless of how you feel about the Midieval politics behind the building of them. The majesty of good art turns us away from navel gazing to the transcendent, the Divine.
Another Sunrise picture from Sedona
And that is what I have the hardest time with when it comes to our society's construction of beauty. By those standards, I am probably a 6 or a 7 on a scale of 1-10 because I am overweight and on the downward side of 35. I'm not a nubile young thing anymore, and because of that, I have crow's feet, grey hair, and less tolerance of suffering for the sake of fashion. By those standards, I will never be as beautiful/pretty as I was when I was in my 20s unless I choose to wear make-up, wear revealing clothing, and possibly go under some plastic surgeon's knife. On top of that, I burn easily and don't always remember to wear sunscreen on my hikes and runs--because of my sunglasses, I have an almost perpetual raccoon tan on my face! It doesn't really bother me, but I know that it adds nothing to my ability to be photogenic. It also means that I will likely never be successful at online dating--it is entirely geared toward visual beauty/attractiveness. (I'm not talking about taking care of yourself, or trying to look your best--that is a matter of respecting yourself, not about beauty. I'm not advocating wearing sweats to work or failing to brush your teeth--I am just saying that there are some major flaws in our society's construction of what is and isn't beatiful.)
Unlike this Lorikeet at the Ostrich farm, most of us aren't born with such pretty plumage!
I'd rather have the kind of beauty that comes from within--the kind that shines through because of who you are, not what you look like or what you wear. I had a roommate in college like that. She positively glowed because of her relationship with God and the beauty of her spirit. And, as long as I continue to strive in that direction, where I am right now is the ugliest I will ever be. With this kind of beauty, all of us have the potential to be a solid 10! This kind of beauty is much harder to achieve, though, as it requires being painfully honest with ourselves about our flaws--our personal pettiness and habitual sins--and opening ourselves up to letting God help us build the kind of virtues that overcome those flaws.
Some sort of flower on one of the trails around Sedona.
This kind of inward beauty also means that I become like a beautiful work of art or a gorgeous vista in nature--I become someone who points to the transcendent, the Divine. I don't know about you, but that is a goal worth striving toward. May we all reflect the Truth (John 14:6) with our beauty.
I woke up this morning with this song, Lady Gaga's Applause, stuck in my head (the preceding link is to the lyrics only). You can see the official video below, but it is pretty explicit, so it isn't good for little ones.
Anyway, I first heard this song because one of my colleagues likes to turn up his volume really loud and then lay his headphones on his desk rather than wear them on his ears. It is a catchy song, and I think it points to something that all of us crave: affirmation. We all want to be liked, to be cheered on. But, earlier this week, someone on my Facebook feed posted this response to this article in the Wall Street Journal about how annoying it is to see people with 13.1 or 26.2 stickers on their cars. I used to have a 13.1 sticker on my car, and will probably put one on my car again at some point. Why? Because I'm proud of the fact that I have finished a half marathon, and because I hope to finish several more before the end of 2014 (at least 4 and maybe 5, in fact).
There is also a pitfall to this craving for affirmation, and it is one that both the original article and the video for the song point to: when we live for the applause rather than for ourselves, it leads us further and further away from who we are (note that Lady Gaga has several moments in the video where she looks almost deranged--living for applause is making her crazy!). Applause in our culture is very fickle, and unless I continually talk up my own achievements or conform to the most recent fad, it is also very fleeting.
It is so very easy to fall into the trap of constantly seeking affirmation. I've actually been trying to refrain from posting about my exercising/races on Facebook because my nephew once tagged a post #humblebrag. His tag had the sting of truth, and that little response was enough to make me think more about what and why I'm posting on Facebook, or even here. Am I writing because I want to see more traffic on my blog, because I want to see who is "like"-ing my posts, or because I really have something to say? I'm not immune to doing the same thing in person either, though. To my chagrin, I worked that I had run a race before coming to dinner on Thanksgiving day into the conversation. It was entirely unnecessary to even mention it unless I wanted my family to ooh and aah over my discipline, and I should have kept my mouth shut.
Ginger and me at the Turkey Trot. I couldn't resist adding a picture...
It's not like I expect God to reward me for running, although He does all the time through the sheer joy of it. It's also not like my running times are anything to really brag about. I get done faster than the people that are walking these races, but just barely! I know that some would say that I'm still lapping the people who are still on the couch, but is rubbing my new-found active lifestyle a valid way to motivate them to join me? I don't think so. The principle of the above verses is still valid--If "I live for the applause" as Lady Gaga sings, I'm doing it wrong.
Instead, I want to have more of the attitude of this song, Katy Perry's Roar (The above video is more cute than racy, so it should be safe to watch around kids as far as I can tell). It is the difference between saying, "look what I did." and *shrugs* "Of course I did. I'm a runner." I'm still working on transitioning from the first to the second, and I'm sure that I will have the occasional slip up like what happened on Thanksgiving. I guess it's hard not to brag when something is so integral to my personal healing process... In the year since the divorce was final, I believe that building my identity as a runner has been a means for me to repair my identity of myself as a woman, as a human being, and as someone worthy of respect and basic decency. It is something that I cherish, and because of that, something that I want to share with those that I love. And lastly, it is something that this Katy Perry song exemplifies. I'm stronger and more healed than I have ever been in my life, and I can't help but want to share that... Not for the applause, but for the sheer joy of being closer to what God intended me to be than I have ever been in my life. All the glory goes to Him, but please rejoice with me about it!
This verse in I Timothy 6:6 has been going through my head ever since I have been home from my Camino, and at least part of it is that the greatest result from my pilgrimage has been that I have "found my peace." So, really, I have found some contentment in my life and in my current state in life. That doesn't mean that I'm like Mary Poppins ("Practically Perfect in Every Way")--Not by a long shot!
This is some of the Camino-related graffiti that is on the trail...If you can't read it, it says, "Still a long way to go!" It was at about the 150 km mark from Santiago. One of my friends told me after the fact that she mentally gave the writer the middle finger when she saw this. Of course, she had already walked about 650 km at that point, too!
One of the things I'm realizing as I integrate back into my "real life:" I am still the same person I was before I left, only more joyful. I still struggle with getting up in the mornings, especially if my niece and I left the A/C on all night. I still struggle with being lazy at work, and procrastinating (although staying on track is easier since coming back). I still struggle with what it means to be creative, and what my role is at my place of employment. And, I still struggle with doing the same chores that I found onerous before I left for Spain! The difference is that I don't feel this all-consuming discontent about my life and where I am. I don't have that "itch" in my gut that is telling me that I need to be doing SOMETHING (only God knows what) to change where, what, or who I am right now.
This is the Femur bone of St. Benedict, the father of Monasticism. It was given to the Monastery in Samos by the Monastery in Monte Cassino in order to show how important their community is to history (this monastery is the oldest monastery built to care for pilgrims on the Camino) and to the Benedictines.
That is why we have so many different types of saints--It is because God doesn't change us into something that we aren't when we become saints. Instead, he makes us into the people He truly intended us to be, and in the process, we become lenses for His Love to shine through to the people around us. That means what I would look like as a saint, and we are ALL called to be saints, is different from any of the saints that have gone before. Honestly, I really like the idea that God doesn't make cookie cutter saints--only one type of saint would be boring, and it would mean that only certain personalities would have a fighting chance of becoming one!
This particular sign in Leon made me giggle--we have been prohibited, El Paso!
One one level, I have expecting the contentment to dissipate because I have a hard time believing that it can last the onslaught of all the craziness that is my life. While walking the Camino, life had a different pace and a different rhythm to it... But, it hasn't been going away, and for that I am very thankful. For the first time in my life, I can truly say that I am comfortable in my own skin--something I'm not sure I have ever truly felt until this point. Now that I have been home for a little over a week, I'm beginning to suspect that this contentment may last for the long-term, and that is a joy and a blessing in and of itself.
As I have been exploring this contentment (much like a child worries a loose tooth), I think a large part of it stems from the fact that I have come to a greater understanding of what it means to trust God, no matter what the circumstances. Like I told one of my co-workers upon coming back, I didn't get the Camino that wanted, but I got the Camino that I needed. God seems to be incredibly good at that, just like any good parent would be!
The arrow on this post is actually pointing right, but I really liked the blurb someone had written on it, about 100 km away from Santiago: "No amount of miles can make a mockery of IRON WILL."
I also gained some insight into how my free-will interacts with God's plan for me. Heck, I think I became the queen of getting lost while on my Camino, in spite of the fact that I was trying to faithfully follow the arrows along the trail. And really, I only ever had to backtrack once. All of the other times, my "lostness" ended up becoming slight detours that, pleasant or otherwise, still got me closer to my goal. Some of my prettiest pictures were the result of getting lost, so good even came of those times when I wasn't sure of where exactly I was going. This process made me realize how utterly ridiculous my deepest fear and insecurity really is: I have always feared that I would wake up some day and find that I had totally missed God's will for my life. Pilgrimage is our walk with God writ small, you see, and every time I lost the trail or got lost, because I was seeking those arrows, I never strayed very far. There were also people along the way that pointed me in the right direction (and a few that got me lost unintentionally--unless you know the pilgrim has walked this way before, DON'T follow their directions!!!). If God sees to it that I don't end up in the middle of Nowhere, Spain, how much more will He see to it that I fulfill His will for my life, especially if I am seeking it out?
So, I am basking in the contentment and joy that I have been given, and seeking to be more godly in my thoughts and my actions. I'm not there yet, but my prayer of late has simply been, "God, make me a saint." I don't know if I will ever make it, especially considering all of the selfish, thoughtless things I do on a pretty regular basis, but the Yellow Arrows embedded in the Sacraments, Scripture, the lives of the Saints, and in my little corner of the Church Militant keep me moving forward and redirects my path. As C.S. Lewis writes in The Last Battle,
[As an aside, I think I like blogging so much because of the fun of choosing titles....But that is another post for another day. ;-D]
Most of the time, when I think of cheerleaders, I think of something like this:
You know the type, the way too perky, always happy person that lives in some kind of la-la land most of the time. And yet, I am finding myself in the role of cheerleader more and more in my life....If anything, I've always thought of myself as the antithesis of the typical cheerleader. I'm more of a brooding pessimist than a perpetual optimist with a perky, sparking personality...I am more like this:
I've never been a true goth, but I definitely have a corner on introverted navel-gazing
So, I'm finding myself surprised at how well I can fall into the role of cheer-leading. How did this happen? I really don't know, but I am currently my department's Wellness Ambassador, so I've been using that role to convince my colleagues to become more active, and in the process, I am doing a Couch to 5k training program with them on Tuesdays and Thursdays in addition to my normal exercising. (As an added bonus, I am cultivating more running partners!) With some of the less athletic members of my department, that means reminding them that they can do it...hence the cheer-leading!
Back when I used to teach public speaking, we spent considerable time talking about public speaking anxiety. When it came to this particular class, I would usually start by asking students what they were most afraid of about getting up in front of everyone: the answers ranged from passing out or throwing up to having everyone's eyes on them. A few mentioned that they felt sure that they would die of embarrassment! And yet, in my time teaching public speaking (6+ years), I have never had anyone die, pass out, or throw up. I have had a student break out in tears, and another one trip and skin her knee on the way to the podium (and a few other jokers taking prat falls for the laugh), but the worst things people thought would happen have never materialized. The best part of teaching public speaking was seeing how students were able to get past their anxiety to do well!
I'm convinced that we all need encouragers in our lives to keep us from psyching ourselves out of the opportunities God has put in our paths. Without encouragers and people who can help us look at our own insecurities with a little bit of objectivity, we lose sight of the unique gifts and talents God has given us to share. Then, we become like that guy in the Parable of the Talents--the one who buries his talent and doesn't do anything with it. Scripture says that the master throws this servant out for not at least giving the money to money lenders in order to create interest...I don't want to be that kind of person. I want to use my gifts and talents so that I can leave this world a better place, and that requires both taking risks and receiving encouragement.
While I'm not sure that I will ever be the perky cheer-leading type, I do want to be an encourager in my daily life, and I think that is something that all of us can strive for, since all of us need to be encouraged at times. Most of us have insecurities, and because of them, we tend to overlook some of our own abilities. When that happens, we tend to avoid putting ourselves out there because we don't want to deal with rejection or failure. Here's the thing, though. If we don't try, we can be 100% sure that we won't succeed. So, sometimes, we need a friend or a colleague to come along side us and encourage us to get out there, to try, to let us know that we can try and will (usually) succeed. I think that is why I love Dr. Seuss's book, "Oh the Places You'll Go." so much. It doesn't sugar-coat the fact that we will sometimes have to move through failure to find success, but it also encourages us to take that risk.
The last page of the book. I love Dr. Seuss!
What risk have you been hesitating about? What has been holding you back? Go ahead! You can take that first step!!!
A friend of mine posted this on a forum that I am a member of...
Welcome To Holland by Emily Perl Kingsley
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.
The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.
It’s just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.
But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.
Since I don't have children, I can't speak to whether this is true of having a child with disabilities. However, I often feel the same way about being where I am in my life: divorced and childless (unless you count my animals--they are spoiled like children at times!). I remember dreaming about having a large family in high school, and then feeling the pressure to "find the right one" while in college. I remember the moment in my marriage when I realized that having children was unlikely, and then the moment when my ex's behavior removed all doubt. I remember the point when I realized that I had married the wrong person, and then the moment when I no longer had the ability to fight for my marriage by myself.
As you can see, the animals really rule the house...This is what it often looks like when we are watching TV.
Now that almost a year has passed since my ex moved out, I find myself (finally) getting used to Holland, and I like it here. Unlike the above author, I didn't start out in Holland. I got on a plane expecting Italy, and ended up landing in Somalia on the battlefield--I fought with everything I had for the duration, thinking that, if I fought hard enough, Somalia would become Italy. I lost my ammunition, my weapons one by one, and finally, the will to fight over the space of 11 years (I'm not a quick study when it comes to my personal life!). When that happened, I walked off the field, got on a plane, and landed in Holland. It still isn't Italy, but Italy, even if I get there, will never be the same because of the scars from Somalia. Even so, I'm beginning to love Holland. The tulips and windmills are peaceful, and there is a joy in finally living without bullets whizzing by my ears. Sometimes, I still duck at loud noises, but that is happening less and less. I have hope that there will come a day when I can look back and be thankful for Somalia and the lessons I learned there.
A picture from my most recent hike. This was the sunrise as we began our hike over the Ron Coleman trail. Isn't Holland Beautiful? (This is actually a picture of El Paso from McKelligan Canyon, but I'm trying to stick with the metaphor)
Right now, while the scars are still tender (but healing), I'm not always very thankful for the pain....I spend more of my time with God being a big fat whiner than I'd like to admit to! When I am at my worst, I tend to hear the voice in my head saying, "Suck it up!" If I listen to that voice, I find that my being quiet allows me to hear what the Lord has to say to me. And that is the best part of being in Holland....I'm finally at a place where I can really listen to the Lord instead of just reacting to the chaos around me.
Another picture from my Hike yesterday. Living in Holland is like this flower--you bloom where you are, even if you have less soil than you would like.
It may not be Italy, but Holland is a pretty good place to be!
I have never really been a shrinking violet, scared of the unknown or of doing stuff by myself or on my own. I will admit that there are some things that I'm not able to do, with others or otherwise--anything that requires I fall from a height, for instance....even rappelling is out, since it requires that I let go of a perfectly good mountain! I will admit to wanting to sky-dive at least once, but I also know that, if I'm the one responsible for jumping out of the plane, there is no way that this particular item on my bucket list will ever happen. Unfortunately, that is the residual of having a fear of falling. I can be up high all day as long as I feel safe from falling, but I even have trouble jumping off a high dive!
I would not be this happy if I ever jumped. I suspect that the picture would basically show sheer terror on my part!
Even so, I went to Albania on a short term missions trip by myself when I was 16, I spent my senior year in Germany as an exchange student, and then I went to Mongolia to teach English for a summer when I was in College. I have driven multiple long road trips across country by myself--the most memorable was the one where my car caught on fire, or maybe the one where I had a trucker try to pick me up via the CB my dad gave me--it was his way to make sure that I could get help if my car broke down in the middle of nowhere (this probably dates me, since I didn't have a cell phone and cell phones weren't common at the time).
Honestly, I have no qualms about walking the Camino by myself, and I'm actually looking forward to the adventure. I know how to be safe with my valuables by keeping them on my person at all times, and I have enough money in my budget that, if everything else is stolen, I can still finish my Camino. If someone really needs my backpack and my hiking clothes that bad, they are welcome to them. I also know how to protect my person...my sister Sarah made sure of that in high school, and my superiors while working in the dorms finished the job with ways to get out of holds and run. *shrugs* I'm not going to be stupid, but if a situation comes up, I can deal with it.
Doing certain things alone still feel a little unnatural to me, though....I would prefer to go dancing, to a concert, or even to some races with other people rather than by myself. I can and I do go by myself when I can't find anyone to go with me, but I have found that some things are better when shared. For instance, last March, I completed a color run in ABQ...It was fun, but watching some of the other runners as they interacted with their groups, I realized that it would have been more fun with others, even if only to be able to make fun of how everyone else in my party looked at the end! I'm hoping that doing things by myself will eventually feel normal. While I'm really more of an introvert than an extrovert, I have no problems introducing myself to others, so I can make friends where ever I go, and really, that is part of the fun of being single again.
I am terrible at self-portraits. This is the better of the 2 I took at the Color run back in March...This is probably a good thing, as I'm less likely to inundate here and my Facebook account with self-portraits!
These shoes turned every pair of socks green for the next 4 weeks!
I asked one of the volunteers to take a picture of me. I showed them how to zoom, but they chose not to...
It is funny....Being single has a different kind of loneliness than the loneliness I experienced in my marriage. The loneliness I feel now is less sharp-edged, less painful....and it doesn't last as long either. I haven't figured out exactly why yet, although I suspect that the loneliness in my pre-divorce days was mixed with feelings of rejection. Whatever the real reason, I have come to realize that I may not have full control over whether or not I feel lonely, but I do have control over what I do with it. I can mope and wallow, or I can go out and live my life. When I do the latter, I end up making new friends and spending time with the friends that I have....which takes care of the loneliness. Even when I end up doing something by myself, the act of living mutes the loneliness, if not extinguishes it completely. It becomes a cricket singing outside my bedroom window rather than the drone of a mosquito inside my bedroom at 3 am.
So, I continue to work on being willing to venture out by myself, and in the process, I'm finding contentment. I'm blessed by friends, but I'm learning that I am also blessed by my own company. It is ok to go to an event alone!
Since I wrote the post about humility, I went to confession...Not that interesting in and of itself, although I will say that the act of confession definitely helps with the whole "I'm trying to stay humble" thing. It also helps with gratitude, at least for me--every time I screw up, confession reminds me of how very blessed I am in such a Merciful Savior!
When I go to confession, I really like to go to a parish near the center of town--in part, because it offers confession every weekday morning from 7:30a-8:00a, so it is convenient. I also like going there because this particular parish is run by the Jesuits, and some of my best confessions have happened with the priests there (some of my more lackluster ones as well, but the good ones way outnumber the bad ones!). That morning, I got a priest that I had never talked to before, and the interesting thing was that, after I had confessed my sins, he asked me what grace I was seeking from the Lord, then gave me several examples like humility, patience, gratitude, etc. I replied by saying that there were so many graces that I need, and that it is hard to choose, but that I'd like to cultivate more gratitude in my life. I then made the same argument as my last post--that one needs humility to be able to be grateful.
In turn, he turned the whole argument on its head. His premise was that gratitude comes first, and that humility grows out of gratitude because we are seeing the blessings that God has given us...that the act of seeing the gifts we have for what they are--gifts that we did not earn--we are able to see ourselves with the right attitude and will be able to see ourselves as God sees us.
I find myself most grateful before the Blessed Sacrament...
Since then, I have been contemplating what the priest said, and I'm not sure that either of us are entirely wrong. Really, it seems to come down to what sin you are more prone to--envy, or pride? All of us can see that humility is really the virtue that is the antidote to pride, and the priest pointed to the fact that gratitude is the antidote to envy. No matter what, I think that these two virtues are incredibly intertwined, and I would be interested to hear your thoughts on their relationship.
Personally, I probably gravitate more toward pride than envy, so I'm thinking that pride is the major barrier for both humility and gratitude in my life....so, I'm thinking that humility is really where I need to focus my attention, and gratitude will follow. However, the idea of focusing on gratitude appeals to me because it seems like a gentler way of creating humility--I HATE the breaking that usually comes in asking for humility. Having the Lord excise pride is painful! And yet, when I can recognize what He is doing, it is easier to handle because I can see how it makes me more like Him. I just don't usually see it until WAAAY after the fact.
