Thursday, May 10, 2012

Faith Needs A Backbone

There's a lesson stirring for me that I need to put into words.  Since I've let go, recently, and been floating in the quiet surrender of knowing that I'm moving east in September, I've felt like an observer of my own life.  I've been enjoying it, really.  I've been choosing to let go of the desire to control or demand things.  I've been trusting that each step along the way has been a part of the grand plan.  I haven't been questioning as much, which is a very new thing for me.  I thought.

When my roommate suggested we move into a one bedroom for the remainder of my time here, I was open to the idea.  It came suddenly and in reaction to a one-week consecutive stay at our apartment where our upstairs paranoid schizophrenic neighbor was raging on the streets, and our uniquely loud next door neighbors were having their usual high volume, repetitive conversations.  It was the standard cacophony of sound and insanity I've not yet grown accustomed to here, but have at least come to know.  I understood her reaction and let myself float along with the romantic idea of shared space for a brief period of time.  I imagined my bedroom in the living room and let myself see it as the dorm room experience I'd never had.  Even still, I imagined that she might change her mind while looking... perhaps realize that it was a hasty decision, and just stick it out with me until September.  I didn't say or question any of this out loud, though.  Just kept it in strong faith that it would work out, no matter what.  (Which I'm still sure it will.)

Things kept moving forward in the search.  She found a place she loved and I should have known then that it was inevitable she'd get it.  (She has a way of making these kinds of things happen through tenacious persistence and insistence.  It's admirable, really.)  But I still clung to the hope that she might change her mind, and if not, I still had that vision of living there together.  When she got the apartment, she came to talk to me about it.  It was the first time we had actually sat down and discussed it.  It was real.  She asked me what I would be taking with me.  I told her everything.  We started to discuss the logistics of it all.  I started realizing I'd have to find places to store my things.  That would be difficult, but I was willing.  I thought about moving twice in less than six months.  A bit overwhelming, but I was willing.  When I told her I'd keep my bed in the living room, I saw her wince just the tiniest bit, and at that I winced, too. Today, following that conversation, I received a text message explaining that I couldn't have my bed in the living room.  I knew then that I wouldn't be living there.

I haven't thought for a moment that this was intentional on her part.  I've not even given a second's thought to the possibility of her not caring.  I could spend some time writing about my feelings of disappointment or hurt or indignation or frustration, but I'm not going to.  Not here.  What I want to acknowledge is the lesson that San Diego just refused to let me leave without: Know how to honor what's best for me, even when it might inconvenience someone else, or ask of someone else, or feel uncomfortable to say.  Know how and when to ask, rather than find an answer.  I've given lip service to some of this, and to my credit I've gotten much better over the years.  But when it really comes down to it, in the moments of true need, in the moments of really having the choice to say the difficult thing, I still turn away.  I space out.  I hope that someone else will just take care of me.  I trust that someone else is considering me along with themselves.  I believe that this is possible, because it's what I do.  It's a hyper-awareness of others that, for me, often leads to a lack of self care and consideration.

I wish I had asked the questions.  I wish I had at least asked her to wait until we had the chance to discuss our ideas and needs.  So, even though I am sitting with a lot of emotions right now, I'm thankful.  I'm so thankful that I didn't leave without this one.  I'm so thankful that I've been given the opportunity to face this lesson knowing what I know now, being fully present to myself and in my life. I'm thankful that I can see so clearly where I abandoned myself in this situation.

No one in the world has an obligation or responsibility to me.  I won't put that on my roommate.  I won't project that sense of abandonment onto her, even though it would be easy to do.  She did what she needed and desired.  I could learn a lot from her in that respect.  What I promise to myself is that I'll raise my hand the next time I'm unsure of something and ASK.  I'll ask for time if I need it.  I'll acknowledge and honor the importance of my own needs when they might be compromised.  And I'll forgive myself and anyone else involved when it doesn't work out perfectly, because it always does work out.  So, my faith in humanity, in life, in spirit, carries me in many ways.  But, it doesn't always have to look like quiet surrender to circumstances.  Sometimes having faith means joining the conversation, feeling discomfort, asking of another.  When faith has a backbone, it speaks up and trusts that even when the questions/words/requests might not be welcome, that they will be received and acknowledged.  I'm looking forward to the next opportunity I have to put this into practice.

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