A Quarter of a Century--Leaving and Returning

22 November 2014

Written First, Typed Second

It amazes me that despite my love for technology I still have an affinity for pen and paper. There's something about it that calms me, slows me, and comforts me in a way that typing and/or talking never have been able to do for me. 

I am almost 25 1/4 years old. It seems funny to even write that as adults typically don't measure years so specifically. We don't slow down to notice how much we are still growing and changing even in adulthood. 

I had meant to slow down to process like this a week before I turned a quarter of a century, but it never happened. Now, I'm not quite as sprite and full of energy about writing as I was then, but I still have this immense need to pause and put pen to paper (most likely to be typed later as a way to keep myself paced a little bit better). 

Right before I turned 25, I started thinking about birthday traditions. I'm not sure why as I have never been a huge birthday person, but for whatever reason I couldn't shake it. I was especially fixated on the concept of a birthday wish. We tell our children "blow out your candles and make a wish." Why? I became very confused by this tradition. I kept thinking about how my seniors needed to stop wishing and start doing, about how I needed to stop wishing as well and start doing for myself. I decided I would attempt to come up with a goal for every year, and all I can say is maybe that's why we went with a wish rather than goals because twenty-five goals is an awful lot! 

On a different note, around this time and since then, I've started to notice that I don't quite recognize myself anymore. I texted two of my friends a while back with this revelation as I was having lunch with reading non-fiction for pleasure (which if you know me is an anomaly and sounds absurd for me). I started to realize that maybe this different version of me was why I was having trouble setting goals. I feel I'm at a crossroads where I can try to be the old me and constantly feel at odds with myself, or I could try to be the new me--embracing and exploring the nuances that are transforming a naive fiction lover into a more well-rounded human. Both are scary as vulnerabilities are exposed with each; however, remaining stagnant and neutral is no longer a feasible option. I am not, nor was I ever, designed to be a static character. Rather, I'm fairly certain my mother would contend I've been dynamic since birth--a bit eccentric, fiery, and full of life in a way that shouldn't be contained. 

These feelings were confirmed for me when a new, dear friend and colleague handed me an author's note he had given his students to read for class. My faith is still unsteady, but I could not deny the eerily poignant timing of my friend sharing this tidbit with me. 

It was the author's note by Donald Miller for his book, Through Painted Deserts. It talks about the act of leaving and the act of being, the essence of time. He didn't know it when he handed it to me, and I didn't know it either but he gave me the words to my current conundrum, it's in my staying. He asked me a few days later what I meant as I told him his timing was uncanny. He responded with his quick wit in something truthful and honest, saying "we call that the Holy Spirit." 

I guess he was right. I can't deny it. I never could. I've always known I lived a blessed life. My mom is always good to remind me of that. Now the trick is to figure out what that means for me personally, how do I let that idea, that faith live and breathe in this life I'm leading. 

Miller in that note writes, "I could not have known then that everybody, every person, has to leave, has to change like the seasons; they have to or they die." He continues saying that "Everybody has to change, or they expire. Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. I want to keep my soul fertile for the changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die." I'm starting to see truth in this slowly. 

I had to go back home to my parents in October after an unfortunate event. It was a whirlwind trip out of necessity. As I headed back West to the place that stole my heart, that I now call home, I felt myself mourning the idea of leaving as I saw the rich colors of fall in the foothills in my rear view mirror. 

I'm still not ready to return to my physical home, but I think it is time that I leave my uncertainty of faith to return to something that once was home to me. I'm ready to see it for myself, to claim it as my own. 

Donald Miller closed his author's note with this command, "I want to repeat one word for you: Leave. Roll the word around on your tongue for a bit. It is a beautiful word, isn't it? So strong and so forceful, the way you have always wanted to be. And you will not be alone. You have never been alone. Don't worry. Everything will still be here when you get back. It is you who will have changed." 

I've been scared of the change despite my exterior. I needed the reminder that I wouldn't be alone and that it wouldn't all be different. 

Thank you Rory, Becah, and Steph for helping me find my way back home. The road is still long before me, but at least there's now a sense of direction and purpose amidst the wandering. 

Here's to leaving and returning--they're not quite as different as we think!