Forgiveness, Part 2

At the moment, we live in the gap between the way things are and the way things should be, and in the meantime, all we can do is try to make that space as lovely as we can.

-From the show Trying

I spent some time this week talking to my 21 year old self. I apologized to her. And forgave her. She didn’t know what I know. She didn’t know the pain she would walk through, the decades spent haunted by imposter feelings, the numbing that prevented her from breaking and the eventual shattering that would come anyway. And I... I didn't trust her to figure it out; didn't believe she was brave enough or strong enough to handle the necessary struggle.

Her craving for something that felt like stability and security impatiently insisted she force love, grab hold of what was present instead of guarding her heart and waiting for something safe. She did not understand it then: Love cannot be forced. It is forged, quietly, subtly, organically. She did not understand the implications of her decisions. She quietly neglected her inmost desire to be accepted for who she was, to be given space for who she might become, in order to be the right person for the one in front of her. She saw drive and ambition, excitement and adventure, and the hints of eventual financial security. She thought she could help heal the rest, those rough edges, and unhealed trauma that would later cut her so deeply she could not recover while still inside that construct. She believed love as a verb was far more important than love as a noun: That through her sacrificial actions and dutiful repetition, love would grow and love would heal and love would win. She did not know that it might only win for one while irreparably damaging the other. She insisted that the idea of “the love of her life” was simply a romanticized Hollywood concept, ignoring dozens of older couples who were still incredibly and deeply “in love” with their partners, whose eyes still sparkled at the very topic of their beloved, and whose voice softened as they recalled a memory or simply mentioned their name. She accepted the nagging numbness that was slowly taking over; the self-preservation that became her inner existence, and impatiently pushed forward, insisting she could make anything work, so stubborn and strong and scared. 

I forgave her for rushing in….for her impetuousness, the recklessness which brought us here. I forgave her for ignoring the signs that felt like danger, for packing away her doubts and fears and what her gut already knew. I forgave her for only seeing two paths instead of the world full of possibilities. And I apologized for failing her: For being unable to meet her whimsical expectations, for walling up to save what was left of us, for refusing to accept the notion that it all fell on us to fix and for digging in my heels when I realized we had thrown away dreams and clung to irrational hope for something terribly unhinged. 

And, then, quietly, I thanked her. Within the immense heartache, she gave me experience and joy and incredible, beautiful offspring. 

We sat silent and still. So raw. So much wiser. Together, we gather what remains and are making lovely this space in-between. And, in the end, love is all that is left and love will always win. If it didn’t win, then it was not really love anyway. 

Forgiveness, Part 1

 As a step in healing from the trauma of divorce and the years leading up to it, I have spent an inordinate amount of time working on my own character development, clinging to strengths like they were life rafts and becoming more curious about my weaknesses (real, perceived or otherwise) while figuring out what is worth devoting more time to (most of it) and what is not. And of course, I have been learning to forgive myself for all sorts of things in an effort to more fully forgive the acts of others as well. It's been quite a journey. 

One of my character flaws that pops up on repeat is a total lack of time perception, namely, how long it will take me to finish something so that I can move on to the next thing. This creates all sorts of unfavorable moments from being chronically late to certain standing appointments to telling friends I will "call them right back" only to never be heard from again (at least not in that hour...or day). One of the places this creeps out most frequently is when I am traveling to tournament weekends and I plan to leave at a certain time. No one, not even myself, believes I will get out of the house anywhere close to the designated time. Something about traveling (or simply leaving the house) makes my ADHD brain want to use the time pressure to do ALL the things I have been putting off BEFORE I go. So I might find myself cleaning out kitchen drawers or the chicken coops or changing all the sheets in the house which leads to a whole lot of laundry or maybe selecting new paint for the next house project I have no intention of starting in the near future. I have found I am better off not setting a time frame on my departure as it takes the pressure off and I no longer feel compelled to finish all the things: I just go when I go, end of story. (I still arrive VERY late to the hotel sometimes but let's be honest, this is not a huge issue.)

The upside, however, is I often find myself driving on the turnpike during the glory of the golden hour, watching the dance of light drenching the land in front of me as the sun sets behind, illuminating my path as if I were destined to go the very direction I am headed. It is breathtaking. 

That is where I found myself mesmerized on Friday. My path lit up, my brain spinning with the stunning beauty of it all and I was left contemplating something that had happened that day. You see, I had a smudge on my sunglasses and from what I could tell, it was on my left lens. I took off the glasses and cleaned them up, but still the smudge remained. I tried again with no better result. Because I was driving at the time, I couldn't look closely at the glasses so instead, I put them on, closed my right eye and realized that my left (non-dominant) eye could see clearly, no smudges. I switched to keeping only my right eye open and found that, in fact, the right lens was the issue. My dominant eye was so convincing in its resolve that the issue was on the other side that I just bought it, hook, line and sinker. It wasn't until I shut that dominant eye off that I could see clearly what was really going on. 

With the sun's warm glow still hugging my soul, I realized that in so much of my life I have let the dominant voice around me tell me what the problem was when the reality may have been something very different. When we shut off those outside voices, quiet the noise and pay closer attention, sometimes the solutions look very different, because the problem was misplaced in the first place. Sometimes, there isn't even a real problem at all. 

At any rate, I am learning to forgive my younger self for making the decisions she did; afterall, they seemed right at the time and she had no idea she needed to quiet all that external and internal chatter. I am forgiving her, knowing she made the best decisions she could with the experience and knowledge she had.  And at the same time, the path in front seems to be full of golden hours as if this was simply how it was always supposed to be. And for that, I am truly grateful. 

Liam's Ash Wednesday

Picture this: You are sitting in church on Ash Wednesday, listening to the words of the minister telling you that the idea of fasting during the season of Lent is to remove anything that is a stumbling block in your relationship with God, not necessarily the snickers bar you had intended to give up. It was never about the food but about the obstacle preventing you from walking fully with God. He then begins to give better examples of things one might remove (and it isn't the snickers bar): adulterous thoughts, laziness, screen distractions. And he starts to say: "Like that neighbor, you know, the one who built the fence that blocks your view....." and before he can go on to explain we need to remove the resentment in our heart, I leaned over and whispered to Liam, "Wait, we can remove our neighbor?" To which, Liam, in his full abundantly joyful glory, bursts into hysterical laughter. RECORD SCREECH. 

The entire church, (all 8 parishioners), and the now very silent minister, turn to look over at him, still so tickled he cannot contain himself. So I explained what was said, everyone laughs, the minister is left speechless and Solomon, face in palm, sits mortified, hoping maybe he can give US up for Lent.  

I am pretty sure I won Ash Wednesday. 

Changing Infrastructure

As I was stopped at the intersection near my kids' high school this morning, I found myself praying a prayer of gratitude. I was acutely aware of the changed infrastructure: the new turn lanes, the big lights giving plenty of time for cars to pass through, the convenient gas stations, the gentle traffic flow. It just struck me in that moment that, while I am certain this intersection had originally been just fine, as the community started growing it became downright horrid: Cars waiting forever to turn, preventing more than a single car or two to get through the light, lines gridlocked because of a backed up drop off lane, people frustrated as they tried to get to work and school, complaints being posted daily on social media. It was insanity. And don't even get me started about what happened if we left the house just a little late. We were toast. 

Then one day, things started to change, rather abruptly. And in the murky middle was so much stress and anxiety and irritation: construction seemed to last forever, everything was messy and inefficient, people seemed to drive with even less patience and mercy. It was an absolute miracle we, as a community, survived it (if you believed everyone's vicious internet comments.) No doubt, the transition was rough. 

But today, the same road was calm and smooth and met the rhythm of the people with what felt like generosity and joy. And I found myself so very thankful. And hopeful. Because just like that intersection, I spent years acutely aware that our infrastructure was a mess and nothing ran efficiently and oh, the complaints. And even though I am still in the murky middle and all the unknowns are destabilizing and scary, I know there will be "the other side", when the rhythm of my life will feel authentic and will be met with peace and joy. 

This Lent, I choose to continue my daily gratitude practice and to see the hope in all things, even the very hard ones. And while I need to give up the late night doom scrolling (why do those reels have to be so darn funny?), intentionally claiming back joy, one little light at a time, speaks to my heart, and feels like love.