Somewhere in time

8 10 2012

There are times that are infuriatingly ambiguous.  The between times, the times between events and the landmarks showing us where we are in space and time.  Perhaps this is one of them.  Or perhaps I need different landmarks.  Because I go through days of feeling untethered, like what I have is either a memory of a past event or anticipation of a future one, and what I want is now, not the unreality of imagined or remembered experience.  I want to live here. 

My birthday is a week in the past.  It was nice enough, and this wasn’t a “significant” birthday – and yet, it was tucked in among everything else and it feels like it went by in a blur of necessary celebration that could then be checked off the list.  I can’t even say it was someone else’s fault.  This is just one of those times when there’s a lot going on, and priorities have to be managed.  It’s a thing.  Things happen.

My chorus punctuates my time.  My rehearsal nights with them have become more important to me – not so much in terms of what we’re singing, because I’m not so in love with what we’re doing right now.  But because for that time I’m connected with those who are so important to me, joined in making something beautiful together, in finding a way to communicate what we feel and understand when we sing.  For that time I am part of something bigger, and I feel like I am understood as well. 

And maybe it’s this way for everyone and I’m only noticing it now.  It’s hard to tell if this sense of ambiguity is new, or if it’s been there for six long years.  It could have been buried under layers of loss for all that time.  Goddess help me, I feel like so much of my life and thoughts and actions have been wrapped around this one event.  I would tear the head off of anyone who would tell a grieving friend to get over it, to move on, to get a grip.  And yet that is exactly what I want to tell myself because I am so, so tired of this.  Six years out, that’s the single unambiguous anchor of my life’s thread. 

It’s not so much about finding connections.  It’s finding connections that I can trust.  One of the strongest I thought I had was with the church.  And that one I had to cut loose before it pulled me straight into the dark with it.  I miss the certainty that I had then, that I would always have a faith community and this was it. 

Life lesson: there is no certainty.  Not in a church, not in a job, not in a marriage.  The only assurance is that life will continue to happen, that sadness and joy and love and loss will still flow, and the single hardest thing I have to do – any of us have to do – is to let that flow happen.  To let life be what it will be, to give up the illusion that it can be shaped, restrained, or defined by what we’re expecting or wanting it to be. 

(Shamelessly romantic title song here.)




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