'Cause I Gotta Have Faith

Questions about faith -- faith in general, not just in the religious sense -- have been a part of my life for a very long time.

I don't think too many people operate under a complete absence of faith. I feel safe in saying most of us accept there are unknowns in the world and that those unknown things can and do have direct and profound influence upon human lives. We're all also aware that just because we don't know something, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist nevertheless. The shock of learning something has happened and the subesequent change in one's own personal reality (a death, for example, no matter if it was minutes or years before) doesn't change the moment in time in which the death actually occurred. That's simple subjective versus objective reality and isn't a difficult concept to grasp.

When it comes right down to it, however, I firmly believe some people are better equipped to engage in the processes that faith requires of them than others are. I'm not one of those people. I have this voice in my head, an insistent and uncompromising one. It won't let me ignore it. It refuses to allow me to seek the bliss of believing what it knows I find personally inconsistent. In the past I've tried to reach out and speak to some deity idea and invariably it begins to hiss at me. "You know you lieeeee....." it whispers, and yes, I have to admit than I am.

An important part of being able to find faith is being able to ignore that voice. How many times have I told myself, "I just have to believe that [fill in the blank] " -- but I don't? Countless times. Unlike many others, though, I can't take that next step and believe anyway. It's easy to believe in something that you WANT to or DO believe in and quite another to find faith in the midst of the denials of all your other senses. There have been times when I've wished with all my heart that I COULD seek the comfort that I see others sink into when they release themselves into the arms of their gods. It's just not the cards I've been dealt.

That's okay, though. I'd rather live an internally honest life, even if outwardly it doesn't appear that I am, than live an internal lie. I'm in constant turmoil if I allow myself to do that. I've served my time in that place in the past -- bound with the dual chains of duty and pride -- and finally managed to extricate myself. I'm a work in progress; I'm slowly learning how to integrate the two and live outwardly as I believe inwardly. It means having faith in myself. I continue to seek that sort of faith as well.

When I reflect upon my beliefs and their origins as well as why I can't seem to ignore that voice I hear in this matter above all, I find the concepts of faith, validity, and justice are indelibly entwined in my psyche. In order to place my faith in something there has to be a valid reason for me to do so. This validity doesn't always have a basis in rational logic -- my feelings are of equal validity -- but it does have to be something I've seen in existence or have experienced in action and can therefore extrapolate from. There must also be a sense of fairness or justice before I can allow myself to place my faith in something or someone. It's not enough to merely meet the criteria of a valid reason. While I can accept the randomness in nature, or in whatever collectiveness may exist, or even of chaos itself, I can't seem to accept the same from a deity responsible for the caretaking of humanity. That something could be flippant with the responsibility -- quite frankly -- is beneath my contempt. It's difficult if not impossible for me to allow myself to submit to the whim of another being. To willingly hand my life over for another to run? Goodness, my control issues run deeply!

Go ahead and laugh -- I realize the irony inherent in requiring proof for faith. Faith isn't supposed to be something based on proof. Faith just is, for no "good" reason, for nothing other than pure belief. Faith can and does exist independent of all that could be contrary to it.

I can't, and won't ever, find that sort of faith within me. The voice that whispers the truth that exposes the lie and exists in the deepest recesses of my being won't let it take up residence there. Even when I do the opposite, I know when any choice I make or desire I have is contrary to what I know is my personal truth. That's why I'll never know the bliss of blind or unquestioning faith.

((Song: "Faith" by George Michael. Lyrics here:
http://www.fortunecity.com/tinpan/gallagher/47/faith2.html))

You Tell Me That It's Evolution

Monday afternoon, at her invitation, I met with Yo after work. We spent a few hours chatting over coffee.

I don't know what my expectations were going in and I really tried not to think about it all that much. There was some initial nervousness, definite hesitation, and qualifications offered up for statements before they were uttered. To her credit she brought up what she called the "white elephant in the room" (the fact that everyone we know feels and acts uncomfortable when she and I are in the same room together) with a maturity belying her years. Hopefully it's now on its way to being smoothed over.

Rather than go over all the excruciatingly tedious details I'd rather just explore my impressions. She's more than I gave her credit for. I'm more than she gave me credit for. She wanted to know how the exh and I could remain friends and I think much of what I said -- and how I said it -- helped to ease her mind in that regard. We touched on each other's hidden insecurities and thoughts and bringing them out into the open helped release us from their power. As we left, she said she thought she understood now why everyone she spoke to said that if she got to know me, she'd like me. She expressed this with relief, as if it was now "okay" for her to like me, too.

Things like that just take time and I'm pretty sure it would have happened of its own accord eventually, but her willingness to face it head on instead of scurry around it, ignore it or backpedal earned her my respect. I understand now why the exh found her attractive. As I left her, I told her that I hoped she made him happy because although I'd tried, I just couldn't seem to do it. And for the first time, I actually meant it.

((Song: "Revolution" by the Beatles. Lyrics here:
http://www.beatleslyricsarchive.com/viewSong.php?songID=234 ))

It's Time For A Few Small Repairs

Sometimes the choices we make are instinctive ones driven by some internal compass pointing us in a certain direction even if we're not completely aware of its motives for doing so. My impending move, a desire that has risen more and more to the surface in the last few months, is one of these.

Last week my roommate asked me in a delicate tone (as if worried how he was handling the question), "So....what made you decide to move right now?" It was obvious he was concerned whether my choice to move had been triggered by anything in particular that he'd done or hadn't done. I told him no, that it was simply the "right time" and that the enjoyment and readiness I'd felt in the two weeks I'd spent alone had been the real turning point in my decision making process.

All that was true, though an incident yesterday definitely put the stamp of internal, rational approval on my abstract feelings. I'd decided on a whim that after work I would go about 40 minutes out of town to pick up an IKEA chairbed that someone was selling on Craigslist for my new apartment. I have precious little furniture of my own since I left most of it with the exh when we parted. I know a lot of women would have taken a lot of stuff, but really? I'm happy I didn't. I get to purchase my own things now. Purely, wholly mine. It's fun!

Anyway, I picked up the piece and went out for a relaxing dinner. I'd just hopped back in my car when I got a call from the roomie. He asked if I was going to be home in time for dinner or whether he needed to fend for himself; I told him where I was and to do what he needed to do. A brief frisson of irritation passed through me (when he doesn't show up for dinner, I don't have any trouble eating without him!) and then I shrugged it off, thinking no more about it for the remainder of the trip home.

Then I learned why the roomie called to begin with. He'd been concerned about the pork chops I'd had marinating in the fridge. He'd apparently been looking forward to them, and had no doubt halfway expected to see them served as the main course for dinner.

Objectively, this makes perfect sense. In his place I would've thought the same thing given the same circumstances. That's not the issue, not really. It's just that for me, it illuminated another underlying aspect to all this, one that I've figured out I really no longer want to deal with.

I'm done with cooking for people.

I've spent nearly two decades cooking for people, and men in particular. Don't get me wrong here -- I love to cook, and the creation of good food is a real joy for me. When I think about the pleasure I get in making a meal for a bunch of friends or my daughter it puts a smile on my face, and when I get the urge to experiment, the kitchen is usually the first place I start. Oh, I do so adore the process -- the planning, the purchasing, the creation, the meal itself. I just don't adore it when it becomes an obligation. An expectation. A responsibility. Those three words sap all the joy away from what is normally one of life's more joyous pursuits.

That's how this roomie arrangement of ours has ultimately ended up. The roomie doesn't cook and I knew that going in (we've been friends a long time) so when we agreed to be roommates it was agreed that I'd do the cooking. I've held up to that part so far, but as of now, I'm done. I wish to remove myself from any further obligation towards the upkeep or continued provision of another grown human being.

My feelings about this aren't the roomie's fault (or anyone's) and I don't want to even allow myself to begin the process of placing resentment or blame where it doesn't belong. Been there, done that, and it sucked. I'm well aware this is more about me. It's an aspect of my personality that isn't bad or good, but simply IS. I need to attend to it before it grows in a direction I don't wish it to grow. Unlike before with the exh, I need to tend to my emotional garden and prune it back before it gets out of hand.

Oh yes, I'm ready. It was a good call.

((Song: "Sunny Came home" by Shawn Colvin. Lyrics here:
http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/colvin-shawn/sunny-came-home-10530.html ))

The Feeling Coming From My Bones Says Find A Home

My apartment search ended this weekend with my John Hancock on a great little one bedroom place both near my office and not very far away from where I'm living now. It's tucked away on a side street behind a suburban subdivision instead of on a busily traveled road. The complex is clean and well-maintained and feels safer than most of the places I've looked at so far. The price was right, I get to choose a color for an accent wall, and the best perk? The complex is paying a moving company to move my stuff from my current apartment to my new one. Score!

My BFF has made a joking comparison of my living situation. She says it's as if I'm coming full circle again from my youth until now. When I first moved out of my parent's home I moved in with a roommate. I then graduated to living by myself for a few years before marrying and settling in with my husband. Now I'm doing the same thing but in reverse. After my divorce I moved in with a roommate. Now I'm "graduating" again to my own place.

All this is true on its face, but I certainly hope this doesn't mean that my next "graduation" is moving back in again with my parents! Ha! The horror........

I'm so looking forward to this. My own place! Those two weeks without my roommate helped cement my desire for a space of my own and spurred me to decide to start looking. I can't wait to decorate and stamp it with my own personal style. Yeah, I know. I'm a big doofus. Bring it on!

((Song: "Seven Nation Army" by the White Stripes. Lyrics here:
http://www.whitestripes.net/lyrics/lyrics-elephant.htm ))

Don't Tell Them To Grow Up And Out Of It

A conversation I had yesterday about my daughter....

"I don't agree with her lifestyle. Of course I love her, that goes without saying. But if she asks me if I agree with her choice of lifestyle I won't feel right lying to her. I'll have to tell her that I don't."

"So you think it's a lifestyle?"

"I think it's a choice, yes."

"I see." Long pause. "So.....okay. A choice. So you could choose to love women?"

"Well......no."

"Then why do you think she can choose to love men?"

---

This exchange has probably bothered me more than it should.

On the one hand, I know my daughter is secure enough about who she is to spend precious little time worrying about what other people feel about her sexual orientation. As a friend of mine said, she is intelligent enough to know that not everyone will embrace who she is, or understand, or even wish to bother to make the attempt. She knows some might try to strike out at her with verbal or even physical abuse. She knows this but follows her own path anyway. It's something I admire about her, to be so self-actuated at her age.

On the other hand, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of frustration, exasperation, indignation, impatience, contempt and superiority sweep over me at the words. My daughter isn't a freak and I resented the implication. I could see not being able to accept someone's choice of action or behavior, but being unwilling to accept my daughter for being lesbian is like being unable to accept me because I'm not. Hating on people because of the way that they're born is singularly stupid.

I realize that's applicable only if you believe that orientation is something you're born with. But....how can you not believe it? Setting aside the people who do choose to have relationships with one sex, the other sex, or both sexes (because there are those who make a choice to do so) there are a great many more who were simply born that way. I was born heterosexual. I didn't wonder or question my basic orientation. I experimented, sure....many do. But anyone who was born hetero should be able to acknowledge that they didn't make that choice; nature made it for them a long time before they had any concept of choice or belief. They simply embrace the reality of what they are and society embraces it along with them. I wonder what they'd do if society suddenly decided something else was "normal?"

I knew what my daughter was before she did. She was a little girl, and I knew it. I couldn't articulate it then, it was an amorphous knowing, but it was instinctive and it was correct. She didn't "choose" to like girls when she was 6 or 7 years old. She simply behaved according to her biology, as the rest of us do. I saw and experienced this awakening in her and there's no way anyone will ever convince me it isn't a natural phenomenon. To many, many people, it's not something they can grow out of. It's not a choice. It's who they are.

Yet I know that not everyone has the benefit of my experience to guide them as they're building their belief system. Attitudes are changing now, thank goodness, but there are still many people for whom any other option but Tab A into Slot B "just ain't right." I'll concede that it's much easier to do when you've been on the inside instead of the outside looking in. And I guess I'm being too hard on people -- you can only expect a certain amount of give in each of the people that you know, according to their capabilities. I know the urge to protect my daughter and defend her from judgment is what spurs my desire to obtain their acceptance as well as their tolerance. I know from experience, though, that many people can't give what they haven't got. I hate being a hypocrite, so I shouldn't expect from others what I can't do myself.

Still, she's my girl. My Mama Lion instincts are strong ones.

((Song: "Changes" by David Bowie. Lyrics here:
http://www.teenagewildlife.com/Albums/HD/C.html))