Messy

I'm having a tough time in my Spiritual Autobiography class.  I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking.  (Actually, I do know what I was thinking.  It was something foolish like, "Yeah.  I'm ready to revisit this."  That was a bit of a miscalculation on my part.)

Since returning to school this past September, I haven't had too many cases of anxiously staring at a blank white screen, but the number has definitely gone up in recent weeks.  I look back at the old blog posts and think that things would have aligned much more nicely had I taken this class a few years ago, when writing about my spiritual life was what I did for fun.

Now... "Meh" would be the most accurate term for how I feel about trying to find good words for the particular place I'm at in my journey.  It's one thing to fling my thoughts out into cyberspace, allowing them to be read by whoever cares to visit more than once.  It's quite another to be vulnerable on the page, and then sit in an arbitrarily selected workshopping group, nervously reading out loud to three or four blank faces who may or may not have any idea what it is I'm talking about.  Some kinds of hangups only make sense to those who have been there themselves, at least, I suspect this is the case most of the time.

Meh, indeed.

When I mentioned to Daniel that I was going to be taking a Spiritual Autobiography class, he couldn’t have been more pleased. “Let me know when the book’s coming out,” he quipped.

“Yeah, I don't know about that.  I haven’t even figured out which way is up yet when it comes to all of this,” I said. “It’s all… messy…” I said, trailing off into defeated silence. Over the last few years, “messy” has become a catch-all term for what’s left of the faith I used to know.  (Perhaps you've noticed.)

“Ah. There’s your title. ‘Which Way’s Up’ seems like a great place to start.”

I wonder if he’s always been this comfortable with uncertainty. It very nearly makes me want to slap him. Then again, it’s nice to have someone in your life I can tell all the horrible things I think sometimes. He never cringes, much as I would expect a pastor to.  I told him once that I wasn't sure if I was really a Christian anymore.  The conversation continued no differently than if I had told him that I like pepperoni pizza.

I love him for this.  It's this kind of permission that helps me keep trying to find a place for faith in my life -- somewhere I can be a thinking person and a graced one.

Still... I'm not quite sure what to say.  At 27, I haven't come close to anything resembling a landing place yet.  An autobiography of any kind, much less a spiritual one, seems like an exercise in futility, an exercise in ascribing significance to events as they're happening.  I don't have a good lens for this yet.  I haven't really moved past that moment of finding myself on the ground, looking around to see who pulled the carpet out from underneath me.

I'm not sure how to.

Hey kiddos!

We're still alive!

Just barely.

A few things of note to report:

1) I just wrote my first sonnet!  Yay!  I should be ashamed at how clever this makes me feel.  But sonnets are hard!

2) The car accident injury stuff (yes, from five years ago) is finally all settled and done with.  I barely came out ahead of my medical bills, but I'm grateful that they're (at last!) all paid.  Not without grief, however.  My lawyer, my own lawyer, was less than professional and harsh at the end of working together for about three years -- all because he wanted to push me to go to trial to earn him some more cash.  Money-grubbing louses, all.

Things I wish I would've known to do at the beginning of this: don't let yourself be passed on to a new lawfirm without researching them and having a say in the matter.  My first lawyer retired, and I "inherited" this juniorest of junior lawyers, who consistently failed to give me relevant case information in a timely manner (i.e. me calling his office the day of the deadline for the other side to appeal, thinking we were all done, finding out they'd appealed it two weeks prior and no one told me, even though I'd specifically asked to be notified as soon as we got word), who failed to return phone calls or emails when promised, who contacted witnesses to appear two days before the arbitration, which was scheduled months in advance -- among other lovely behavioral gems.  It was as if I had to babysit my own lawyer.  Awful.  Make expectations clear as far as communication goes, etc., right in the very beginning.  And, last, don't let them push you around.  They work for YOU, not the other way around.

More than anything, I'm just happy to put this whole thing behind me.  It's been a stressful part of the last five years.

3) On a far more fun note, I'm loving this quarter!  Poetry.  Spiritual Autobiography.  Mythalogical Lit.  I'm in heaven.  (And working my ass off).

4) I had the wonderful opportunity to fall completely in love with a new author this past week.  Peggy Shumaker came to read at Village Books here in Bellingham and Prof. Miller introduced me to her.  What a gracious, warm, lovely individual.  I wish I could capture in words the resonance of her voice as she read her work.  Mesmerizing.  She then visited our Spiritual Autobiography class the next day and read for us, occasionally kicking back into teacher mode, which was a real gift.  If you get a chance, check out Just Breathe Normally.  It's an amazing memoir constructed while Peggy was piecing her memory back together after a cycling accident left her with cranial injuries.  I'm thoroughly enjoying it.

5)  It's supposed to snow this weekend.  RIDICULOUS.