I've been avoiding you

I've been subconsciously, but purposefully, avoiding this blog.  That's kind of sad.  Sometimes, you go through seasons of life where you don't want to think about your life, much less write about it and look at the words on a screen, much much less know that other people are reading it.  Sometimes, it's just a little too much to make life concrete - to type it into existence.  Sometimes life's just hard.  It's hard.  For me, right now, it's hard.  


Thinking about a lot of beginnings and a lot of endings.  A lot of changes.  A lot of evaluating.  A lot of questions like, "What kind of person do I want to be?  What kind of life do I want to lead?  Do I want to be a risk-taker?  What kind of regrets do I want to have?"  A lot of growing-up - in the not-fun, really uncomfortable, here's-a-hard-look-at-life's-realities kind of way.  A lot of putting on big-girl pants when I just really want to stay in diapers.  


Part of it is having started my internship.  I'm over a month in, saw clients on my first day and have been seeing four clients regularly for this whole time.  That's crazy.  But I don't know how to talk about it here because of so much confidentiality, so I've avoided it.  It's a huge part of my life now, and I don't know how to share my life without sharing parts of my internship.  Blop.  It's heavy.  I am learning so much.  I feel like an aged woman and a five-year-old all at the same time.  This work is so full.


I've started my third year.  The beginning of the end of my graduate education.  I can't begin to explain how loaded that is - I'm not ready to leave this place yet.  A year doesn't feel like enough time, and yet I'm so tired and ready to be something other than a student.  This year holds so, so much for me.  I feel so invested in my classes - both because I feel like I'm choosing them and excited about them and also because I know they will be my last ones.  This is my last Fall term at The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology (Yes, it's official.  No, no one is getting it right yet in conversation - we all still say "Mars Hill Graduate School." That's ok.)  This morning was my last beginning-of-the-year breakfast.  I have been so emotional this week because I keep thinking in "lasts"!  "My last this, my last that."  I love this place so much.  


Yet there is so much, as I said, that is beginning.  I am a part of Student Council this year - involved with serving the student body as a whole and what we, as students, want and need from our institution.  T is a member of a different realm of student leadership at my school - group called "Mosaic" that serves the spouses, partners, and families of students at The Seattle School.  We're leading/serving separately and together!  It's a beautiful thing.  I don't have a paying job.  That's weird and scary.  Although I'm sometimes selling pizzas at markets with T and I's friend who has his own wood-fired, brick oven pizza business.  I'm doing an independent study with my favorite professor and one of my dearest friends about food and hospitality and the sacredness of their interplay that already has me buzzing despite the fact that it doesn't start until the spring.  The three of us are going to eat a lot of good food together.  T and I have also developed relationships with several of our neighbors which is thrilling for us.  Both couples are older than us and not connected with our work or school lives whatsoever.  They are refreshing, beautiful, budding relationships.


There is so much goodness in the midst of much difficulty.  Isn't that how it goes?  That's what I'm experiencing in these recent weeks.  That's where the diapers come off and the big-girl pants go on.  I don't like them - my metaphorical pants.  They're tight, uncomfortable, constricting, and too responsible-looking.  I liked the freedom of the diaper - to have a metaphorical accident and to have someone else clean it up for me.  Or at least help me clean it up.  Big-girl pants means it's time to do it on my own.  To clean it up myself, or to never make a mess in the first place.  Yuck.  I don't like it.

Anniversary

Bainbridge Island
August 6, 2011

move

MOVE from Rick Mereki on Vimeo.

Can't help but laugh

Just keep watching...

Letting Go

All growing is changing

From one state to another.

Leaving a world behind,

Entering the fear of the unaccustomed:

Of colors that don’t blend,

Of holy words that jar,

Of fractures that give rise to visions

We have left one realm

But have not arrived at the other

We have given up on safety

But not gained another.

Above the gazing crowd

The trapeze artist lets go of his swing,

And then, if his timing is right,

Seizes the other swing,

Without asking time to stop for him.

That is the flight into growth.

That is the changeover

In which we experience our nakedness

To the point of hurting.

But there is not real growth

Without leaping

Without burning bridges,

And standing wide-eyed and shivering

On a new shore.

And yet

Without growth

There is nothing.

"Try"

I took this video at the concert on Tuesday night. One of my favorite songs by Ben Sollee, "Try." I apologize for the wobbly camera at times - it took everything I had to keep that stupid thing still.

Try, try, try

Try to move a mountain without a shovel in your hand

Choose, choose, choose

How to choose

When there ain't no right or wrong

That must be why we've invented fate

Sky, sky, sky

Can't see it all at once

Tell, tell, tell

Theres no telling what history will bring

That must be why we've learned to pray

I can't wait to hold your little hand

Hold your hand, child

Hold your hand

Why, why, why?

Why did Socrates apologize?

Run, run, run

You can't run from your shadow in the light

That must be why some people crave the dark

I can't wait to hold your little hand

Hold your hand, child

Hold your little hand

Give, give, give

How to give it all to someone not yet born

That must be how

We've learned to love

Heart strings: mended.

I'M GOING TO BEN SOLLEE TOMORROW!  My leader is amazing - he knows the value of good music and rescheduled our meeting.  He couldn't bear for me to miss one of my favorite artists.

Community

This is one of my favorite songs.  It's by Alexi Murdoch, called "Orange Sky" - it's gorgeous.  I was listening to it while I walked home from school today.


I think about community a lot.  T and I are building a relationship with a neighbor couple; they own and run the consignment shop around the corner from our apartment and live on the second floor.  They have a rooftop garden and patio and are having us over for dinner this week.  We sat in the shop for 45 minutes this weekend dreaming with Klaudia, the shop owner, about a community garden for our neighborhood.  She was so energized by the idea!  I was with my Sabbath community last night for the first time in three weeks.  So rich and good is their warmth, conversation, journeying.  I missed them.  After Sabbath, T and I helped some friends move.  We have had at least 5 good friends move within walking distance of our apartment.  I stopped by one of our friends' new places this morning on the walk to work - they were in their pj's, I had my coffee mug.  We just sat and chatted.  My people are such good people.  


Today, I picked up a graded paper when I went into school for work.  It was the Personal Ethic paper that gave me so much trouble back in June; I had to write down basically what I believe about therapy (i.e. what I believe about humanity).  Sort of.


Anyway, my TA (who is a precious gem - her feedback is always kind, gentle, and encouraging) had a lot to say on my paper.  I loved seeing her scribblings all over the pages. (Note: a huge difference in receiving papers back at Mars Hill vs. UNC is that I actually get excited to see lots of words written.  I know, here, the words are inquisitive, gracious, and always calling me to more).  One of her last comments really struck me, and feels like it will take root in my soul for many, many years:

Sometimes our questions make us pioneers, adventuring into new places, and sometimes they keep us as nomads, wandering, alone, "Where is home?"  Sometimes, it may not be a place, but home may be found in good fellow journeyers who can help set up a cozy camp inside the question.

I am grateful to my wise teacher.  I love people.  I need people.  Even when they dizzy me with heartache, bitterness, and rage.  Even when they spin me into a storm of fury.  That's when, actually, I hope I learn to run faster into their arms.  That's when I hope I can hold my arms open, ready to embrace.

That's when I miss you

That's when I miss you, you who are my home

Heart strings: ripped.

Today I was thinking about this cellist that I love, Ben Sollee.  I was thinking about his voice and the grace with which he plays the cello and how his sound sweeps over me and washes over me, clean.  I wasn't listening to him today, just thinking about him.  


Then, I remembered that I looked up his tour dates several weeks ago and was saddened that he wasn't coming near Seattle.  It seems that, with the influx of musicians there are in this city, I never seem to know any of them, so I never go hear music.  Or...rarely.  That's a sad thing for me.  But, I got home from work today, longing for his sweet sounds, and decided to check just one more time.  When the page of his tour dates loaded, my heart jumped because I saw the word, "Seattle."  Then, my heart lept, because I saw the words "August" and "02."  The rolodex in my mind ferociously spun - what day is it?  What week is it?  What time zone am I in?  Where do I live?  What country is this?  

It's August 01.  The day before Ben's show.  Ben's show is in the

future.  That means I haven't missed it.

So quickly my rolodex shifted gears, into reality, and I began running through my actual schedule for tomorrow.  I knew I had to work, and I knew I had a meeting after work - I had just checked the calendar on my phone.  My meeting ended at 6:30.  The concert is at 7:30 - PRAISE BE TO THE MUSIC LORD ABOVE!  My heart sang!

So, I frantically fumbled for my phone and called my meeting leader, leaving him a frenzied and chaotic message about wanting to double check that I had our meeting time correct because this guy was coming in town and maybe I could just make it to the show and that I peed my pants a little.  That was probably a little too much information, but word vomit had completely taken over.  I hung up the phone with a slight grin and crazed look in my eye.

Then, I opened my e-mail.  I found the last e-mail from my meeting leader to double, double check.  And...there it was.  "7:30 - 9:30."  My heart turned into a black, volcanic rock and sank to the bottom of my ocean.

I sent him a message telling him to disregard my voicemail.  

I will not be going to the concert tomorrow.  

I will be in a meeting, humming Ben Sollee tunes, and very bitter.