April 4, 2009
With that last statement down on "paper" I suddenly realize I've already been given a glimpse of the things to come. About a week ago, after another challenging string of days and series of frustrated outbursts, I decided I needed to attempt something good for myself; something to both calm my mind and vent off more of its bubbling hostility. My walk again carried me over the causeway to the beach.
I remember hesitating a moment before climbing the lifeguard stand. A pack of teenage boys wreaking havoc with a green laser pointer occupied the stretch of walkway immediately behind and I was really in no mood for the assured laughter should I fall. Once at the summit of my obstacle I leaned back to close my eyes and let the world disappear.
The wind that night shared my aggression and played tricks on my mind as I retained my unseeing reclined position. Once or twice I opened my eyes to discover my perch was now located in the middle of the ocean. It would disturb me, but only for a second.
At that time I remember thinking about how I was being battered from above and below yet had no fear. In an instant that wobbly chair - something I knew could support me - became a picture of faith. The winds were life's trials pounding away at my body and the moments my eyes opened were when the knowledge of my safety couldn't overcome the feeling of falling. Seeing changed my perception only. The reality remained unaltered.
Later, as I walked back to my car, I stopped at the top of the bridge where the wind was the most violent. I rested my arms straight out along the railing and again closed my eyes. Those same winds that had beaten me less than an hour earlier now produced a sensation of flying. I was being carried upward into a gap between the stars, ascending more rapidly as the gusts rumbled louder and the cars shook the ground. It was one of the most freeing and amazing things I had ever felt in my life.
I hope I can get there some day in reality.
Captured At:1959
April 5, 2009
Discovery
The words are scribbled sloppily running down the back of a credit card mailing. The other side is made up of four checks, each bearing my last college address and an expiration date of March 25, 2004. The printed materials offer no hint of when the handwriting appeared.It was certainly a stream of consciousness sort of thing. That much is clear from the words and sentences scratched completely through for not fitting properly. At the time I'm sure I must have believed that the sentiments metamorphosing into ink blots were extremely profound or in need of release. Perhaps it was simply the moment; one of confusion or of loss or of clarity.
Regardless of the mysteries, it appears I felt the words important enough to retain. And in the interest of preservation - because I grow increasingly tired of the clutter, not because I feel any certainty in claiming that me today agrees - I shall save them once more for reasons unknown.
There is no great love without sacrifice. Friends are lost and families divide. Romance disintegrates and dreamers awaken. But that love which comes at a price, where at some pivotal moment in time all sense of self-fulfillment is abandoned for the good of another, that is the love which endures forever.
One cannot love greatly unless he has - by his own volition - lost greatly. And in this fact the truth is found - our collective suffering enables our greatest joys.
Like change in our pockets, the cost we pay lightens our load and allows us to obtain something better. Perhaps not immediately, and perhaps not if our minds our closed, but our loss can become a gain not just for ourselves, but for all around us whose lives ache for the universe's purest and most oft misunderstood facet of existence: love.
Herein lies a great paradox. If the secret to truly loving another is sacrifice, how does one succeed at truly loving himself?
What an interesting time it will be when all I ask are easy questions...
Captured At:1540
April 7, 2009
Beginning at the End
I really expected that I would have felt something as I walked away. There was nothing. I couldn't find gladness that it was over. I couldn't find fear about what came next. I couldn't find any sense of release in leaving it behind. I was too tired from the steps leading up to that moment to even think about looking for those things at the time. I only realized the absence later when I considered the milestone that had just taken place.The box was left on a chair in a darkened office. Six books attempting to recount 15 weeks of work waited inside for their final inspection. They were a day early; a miracle if ever there was one. My final submission had been made, and with it my studies were essentially over.
Yet as rough as the past few weeks have been, I'm going to miss them terribly. True, the fantasizing about my blankets has gotten a bit disturbing. True, my body needs more frequent fuel of a higher quality. True, my spirit is thirsting for sunlight and sea breeze. But it is also true that I have enjoyed the concept of actually "doing"; that I have enjoyed my teammates and having a project on which to focus my attention.
I have tried for some time now to figure out what my next step is. How from here do I want to grow and change my life? Increasingly I wish I could just start over.
Sometimes I imagine quitting my job and moving out of the country. I have always wanted to live outside these borders for a little while. I wish I had found and taken an opportunity to study abroad when such things were still possible.
And sometimes I imagine quitting my job and being a full-time student again. I've realized it doesn't matter which of several subjects I chose to pursue. The allure to me is having something to really dive into and play with and figure out; of having a mentor who will challenge my mind in all of the right ways and help me discover the boundaries of a potential it has taken me far too long to recognize myself.
Growing up I always remember wishing that somebody saw something in me worthy of their attention. Ironically enough, on the few occasions any confidence was expressed I dismissed it because I had so little confidence in myself.
When my chorus teacher suggested I enter a solo competition, I sort of blew it off. Today I couldn't carry a tune if somebody handed it to me in a paper bag, and I wish every time I open my mouth that I could actually sing. When an English teacher wanted me to make a few modifications to a paper so he could submit it to a magazine, I declined for reasons I no longer remember. Today misdirection keeps me from getting anything worth reading down on paper. My programming teacher in high school handed me back 100 after 100 seemingly glad that the only girl in her class was pursuing the field, yet when I actually got to college my first professor made it known I didn't belong and I essentially gave up on the academic side of my undergraduate career.
I have been given so much more than I deserve, and I have wasted so much of what I have been given. I see the tragedy there and I know I don't want the trend to continue. I ask myself what I want my life to look like, but I see no path toward the only vague notions I have. I'm scared to want anything. I'm scared of the changes it would probably take to get it. I'm scared to fail.
But in not wanting - or maybe it's not letting myself want - I am missing out on the parts of my life I still have left. In abandoning the things I deem unimportant I have abandoned everything. I see the errors of my ways yet do not know how to change them. I see things I don't know how to reprogram. I see things I don't think I'm ready or willing to sacrifice. And until I do, nothing changes.
Perhaps that is part of why I have enjoyed being buried in schoolwork. I don't necessarily have to think about any of it. And perhaps that makes more schoolwork the absolute last thing I should put in my life next. Maybe the reason the dots aren't connecting is because I'm trying to skip over the unpleasantries between them. Maybe the road to something better starts somewhere else.
Tonight the only path I can discern starts beneath a fluffy comforter I have seen in my daydreams. The form of that soft, chocolate-colored mass I left haphazardly balled up as I stumbled around after a mere 3.5 hours of unconsciousness has danced through my mind all afternoon. I've imagined slowly sinking into the mattress as I pull the covers into place, closing my eyes in contentment as it delicately presses out the air to embrace my body. I feel the gentle cold of it against my skin, then the protective warmth as heat traps itself in the cocoon. I exhale calmly and my mind drifts away. Mmmm...
Captured At:2031
April 11, 2009
Cut the Cord
"So do you people celebrate lent?" Though he couldn't see it through the phone, I smiled at the question - one which combined natural curiosity with humor and a desire to be inoffensive. My brother's words and tone had joined together in a way that is uniquely his and I, probably in a way he has come to expect from me, began the answer very simply with one syllable. "Nope."And I was glad. Lent was another one of those things that had never made any sense to me as I was growing up. It would begin with ashes. "Remember you were dust, and to dust you shall return." It would continue with weekly dietary restrictions whose rationale was never quite explained. It would conclude with the waving of palms that would be tucked behind some object on a shelf and forgotten about until their replacement a year later. What was the point of it all?
I'm sure each component of this "season" was deeply symbolic at its inception. Many things about Catholicism are, but the emphasis on ritual always bothered me. Be good, do everything as told when told and you'll be set for eternity. Faith in the mechanics seemed more important to many than actual faith. When I challenged a portion of those mechanics - not aggressively, but with a genuine desire to understand - I was condemned. My attempt to find out how requirements of the religion seemingly at odds with what I'd always been told about God had not only failed, but had shoved me almost completely in the opposite direction.
My thoughts post-inquiry brought about an interesting revelation. For somebody who so strongly decried the ritualistic nature of the Catholicism she left behind, I had allowed my life to become locked in ritual. I would succumb to the same feelings during the same seasons year after year. I could take one glance at a calendar, note the anniversary of something best not remembered, and watch the world change from there. I was spending more time just going through the motions than I really wanted to accept.
Reprogramming isn't a quick or simple task. I think some of the habits I'm recognizing now have taken a lifetime to develop, they may take just as long to break and, as I recently read, they will never actually be forgotten. For some, I suspect the "truly living" habit comes naturally. I see traces of it in myself, but it is tethered to segments of my grey matter I have been consistently unsuccessful at overcoming.
As a kid I can remember having visions of a triumphant life. There were never any associated details, but I believed there was something amazing down that foggy road should I ever get there. What has only registered recently is that a life of triumph is only possible in a life of obstacles. How can one claim victory when he has been given nothing to challenge him and nothing to defeat?
So I will have to continue battling, and I must battle smarter. When one stands before a dragon and is armed with only a butter knife, what else is there to do? And if I am to win, the ropes latching me to this tree have to go. I'm not sure exactly what they're made out of and I'm not at all certain how to cut through them; all I know is that it must be done. It's not enough to hope for something better. Something better has to be pursued.
Captured At:1445
April 20, 2009
Blink and the Years will Pass
It felt a bit strange walking toward HQ with the stack of books in my hand. After two months spent sitting around my apartment the information they contained was no longer necessary. The work was over. The competition was done. The degree had been obtained in requirements if not yet in paper.I remember walking out of my first astrodynamics class two years ago. The instructor had spent the better part of the three hour block scrawling calculus on the board and deriving equations so far over my head I wondered what on Earth I had signed up for. I walked out that night and called a friend, then responded to his question of how it went the only way I knew how. "Well, I'm screwed. But I'm going down fighting."
And fight I did.
I won't claim I fully retained everything I crammed into my head, but I do know that certain words in meetings or conversation send my mind wandering down a path of hazy lectures and homework problems. I still experience the horror of realizing I'm scanning a rocket engine and dissecting it into its component parts. I know that when NASA finally does leave for Europa I'll be watching with more interest than I have for any other mission to date.
Perhaps the best and worst thing this program did was show me what I was capable of. I have heard it said that GPA doesn't matter in grad school, but coming out with a cumulative number higher than I saw in any single semester as an undergrad tells me more than I can begin to explain. It is simultaneously gratifying and heartbreaking. The fighting paid off. I finished well.
And now it's over.
Much like the night I delivered the written proposals, once our presentation concluded there was no sigh of relief. I suppose it's habit. I still recall the numbness I experienced walking out of my last final as an undergrad; how the expression on my face confused an office of people who usually saw it animated and alive. I remember the battle between triumphant celebration and mourning tears.
This past Thursday, after the A's had been handed out and the lack of a clear winner had been declared, all I felt was empty. I searched for something - anything - and came up short every time. I shared my frustration about the outcome with an office of coworkers waiting to hear how it all ended, but I couldn't find the time or the words or the ear to express to anyone the sort of things that were really going on inside of me. I carried a copy of the proposal with me as I greeted my parents later that evening, but could do little more than shrug at any mention of congratulations.
My dad would later comment on my inability to express gladness about being one tiny step closer to being a rocket scientist. I suppose part of the problem is that my goal had never really been the end state. It was the journey and the new things it would expose me to that I cared about. The degree marked the end of the trail; one that presently feels like a dead end. I see no other path. I wish I did.
I know that in time it will appear, much like this opportunity and every other one I have been given. I just wish I didn't feel like life was moving too fast and leaving me behind despite my best efforts. I close my eyes for a moment and when I open them again another chunk has vanished. The clock is running down and I am no closer to understanding it all then when I began.
April continues the trend of closing chapters. It continues the challenge of discovery. And, much like everything else, it, too, will soon be gone.
Captured At:2127
April 24, 2009
Good Day Sunlight
Arriving first was entirely unexpected. I waited for a few moments on the deck overlooking the ocean before deciding I would much rather be on the beach welcoming the sun. I had watched him on the commute, first peeking over the horizon and then as a full neon orb sliding up the sky between the condos. I hadn't seen him that color orange in a long time.I stood slightly out of reach of the waves in the spot where the brightest light touched the sand. There wasn't another soul within imagination for miles north or south. A gorgeous new day was springing to life and I could almost be convinced I was the only person to see it.
The weight of the backpack I carried finally overcame the tension in my shoulders inducing my whole body to relax. I assumed the traditional pose of surrender and worship, tipping my head slightly back with my eyes closed and stretching my arms out slightly like the birds do when they perch to dry off. Everything disappeared.
When I walked back up the path I discovered another car had just pulled in. The keeper of the key arrived moments later and the day of work slowly began.
Being first a second day was equally surprising. I left the earphones in this time, but again returned to my spot on the beach for another moment with creation. Whatever it wanted to give me, I would gladly accept. It's silly, but sometimes I think that if I absorb enough light from these sources I treasure, eventually it will radiate outward for everybody else to enjoy. And sometimes I liken my standing there to a clay pot in a kiln building strength as it faces the elements. I'm there as a challenge, but in a good way. I also know the beauty always wins.
I'm not sure how much time passed before I thought I heard a voice. I looked left and pulled out an earphone as he smiled and asked, "Are you recharging?" For somebody who admits they don't have me figured out, he still has his moments of surprising me with the knowledge he does have. I smiled as I took a few steps closer to answer. "Some days all you can do is stand there and dare the sun to shine right through you."
Apparently it worked. He saw the car but wasn't initially able to find me. I had chosen my position perfectly and, from the distance, was lost in the brilliance of the sunrise. Again I smiled. After years of wishing I could vanish into my surroundings, I discovered I finally had.
Captured At:1427
April 28, 2009
Slow is Not Always Gentle
To be completely honest, I am utterly exhausted and have little business attempting to string two words together. But perhaps it is that very weariness that motivates this pause for a moment of vulnerable reality. I don't know what to say at all, and yet there is so very much that could be said.Perhaps the strongest motivator to draft a few sentences came as I stood on my sister's lawn tonight. I looked up at stars and a crescent moon against a clear sky realizing that what is usually such a lovely scene has never before seemed so flat and empty. I have had many moments like that these past few days. I notice something in the world around me and am suddenly struck by the realization that while I stand in that beautiful moment my grandfather is dying in a New York hospital bed. How's that for perspective?
I am learning that the waiting really is the worst part. We no longer have to wonder if that next phone call could bear the news. We expect it to. We assume that by the end of the week we'll be changing out of dark, tear-stained clothes after leaving our patriarch to rest for eternity.
I try not to think about it too much, yet at the same time I can't quite look at the world the same way. I suddenly realize all of the things about this man - his life, his family, his world - that I will never know; that I never once thought to ask. It makes me wonder how I can ensure I don't fail in the same way with everybody else I care about. I also recognize the truth that I probably will.
Tonight I'll go to sleep wondering whether I'll be woken unexpectedly for the last update. I wonder what words they'll use. I wonder what it will feel like when the message hits me. I wonder how I'll respond. I wonder how that moment changes my life and the lives of so many people I treasure.
As we've stumbled through these past several days and look toward the ones to come I remain thankful for the people I am privileged to call my family. I am grateful for the coworkers who have absorbed tears in my moments of weakness and held my hands in prayer for comfort and encouragement. Love, multi-faceted though it may be, is the most precious thing we can give.
So it is with a sigh and a shake of my head that I sign off tonight. Tomorrow could change everything or, almost more horrifying, tomorrow could change nothing. All I can do is trust in the one who knows tomorrow and have faith that, as difficult and drawn out a passing this is, everything will be well. After years in decline his suffering and the associated struggles of all involved will finally be over.
Prayers go out to New York tonight; to four children on the verge of losing their father and a woman about to lose the man with whom she shared over 60 years of her life. They go to North Carolina where a wife and son wait to comfort the head of their own household. They reach out to grandchildren who enjoyed 2-3 decades with this member of the Greatest Generation and a pair of great-grandchildren too young to understand or one day remember.
Life is an extremely fragile thing. Treasure it and use it well.
Captured At:2144