(East of) Eden
My backyard is an oasis.
Every morning I sit in my office and look out on (what seems to me like) a great expanse of lush greenness, teeming with life. The trees soar above, tiers of small-to-large bushes line the perimeter, and the middle is a gentle slope of grass. Birds never stop singing, and the sun or rain quietly finds its way through pockets of tree leaves down to the grassy floor. There is a perfect mix of steadiness and movement - the old still trees with their ever-flitting leaves embodying both together.
And the creatures. The red cardinals and tiny finches, the birds that fight with squirrels, the birds that nest in the birdhouse. The chipmunks, the leaf cutter bees, and my favorite, the bunny who prefers early evening and rainy days. There is a constant flurry of movement in the yard, but you might only notice if you sit still enough to watch the window for a while.
When you do, you will notice another constant sound: the highway, with cars like ocean waves that never tire of beating the shore. You see, my backyard is an oasis, but my front yard is a highway. Day and night Atlanta rushes back and forth on Memorial Drive Southeast, making any imaginings of forest-living fall away. I may only see trees and birds from my window, but the ocean of semi-trucks gives it away: I live in the city.
My life is like this: a window overlooking an expanse of lush greenness, with the intruding reality of a highway assaulting my ears.
I've lived long enough to know my soul contains beautiful landscapes of hope and connection, but also failures, anxieties, dark nights, and dashed dreams. There is both selflessness and selfish grasping, desperate wanting and good deep satisfaction. I live my days out of my best strongest Wonder Woman self as well as my small, unsure, on-the-edge-of-drowning self. We are all big enough to contain both, and too small to contain only one.
Sometimes I tell myself this Atlanta season, with the job I never planned and the closed doors I expected to be wide, is a meandering, time-wasting, soul-crushing season. My heart has started to believe this place is all dried up for me, and that the real blessings and fulfillment lie out there - in the dream I have for my ethics career, in the wilderness of my place (Colorado), in the "someday" of getting a PhD and making it all come together.
But it is never that simple, is it? I've yet to live through a season that was one-dimensional; the darkness and frustration are always ripe with new beginnings. I don't usually feel like that's true, but here I am sitting in the wake of a major anxiety flare-up looking around and noticing this kinda green landscape where I expected only highways.
I made a pact with myself a long time ago that I would always go deeper. That no matter how dark and bleak life got, I would go down into that darkness and be relentless in exploring the pain. This is a major reason I care about medical ethics, and prison reform, and women's issues -- the places I've found pain to be strong, the places I want to run towards instead of away. I've made up my mind to not afraid of pain. To not be afraid of asking myself what is below it. This season of life, where my career is sidetracked and I'm not sure I'll ever feel inspired again, where I feel anxiety and panic every night as I try to sleep, where I feel alone and unknown, where I can barely remember who I am or what inspires me, I will consider it all a win if I can keep going deeper. What is lush and growing in this soil? What person am I becoming as a result of the struggle? What do I want and how creative can I be in pursuing those things?
At the end of the day, we have to reject the myth of simplicity. Life is always, always complex. We contain multitudes. Our spirits are strong and weak, our lives are delicious and bitter, our destinations are always journeys too.
I have to remind myself: this "east of Eden" world we inhabit will never be free of pain and longing. The connection we long for, with others and ourselves and the earth, is not fully available to us. But we can seek it out and bring Eden closer when we praise Him through our sadness, till the promise is fulfilled. And nothing ever stays the same; someday a door will open for me to dance through, and I'll be an ethicist and fight hard for that dream, and I'll live in the mountains where my soul comes alive, but if I can't be happy now - if I can't see God working now - I'll never be able to.
The best and only thing we can do is be defiantly hopeful, relentlessly exploring our own souls and this bittersweet journey of life. Be on the lookout for complexity, for healing that hasn't happened yet, for the life that we know (by faith) rises from the grave.
Every morning I sit in my office and look out on (what seems to me like) a great expanse of lush greenness, teeming with life. The trees soar above, tiers of small-to-large bushes line the perimeter, and the middle is a gentle slope of grass. Birds never stop singing, and the sun or rain quietly finds its way through pockets of tree leaves down to the grassy floor. There is a perfect mix of steadiness and movement - the old still trees with their ever-flitting leaves embodying both together.
And the creatures. The red cardinals and tiny finches, the birds that fight with squirrels, the birds that nest in the birdhouse. The chipmunks, the leaf cutter bees, and my favorite, the bunny who prefers early evening and rainy days. There is a constant flurry of movement in the yard, but you might only notice if you sit still enough to watch the window for a while.When you do, you will notice another constant sound: the highway, with cars like ocean waves that never tire of beating the shore. You see, my backyard is an oasis, but my front yard is a highway. Day and night Atlanta rushes back and forth on Memorial Drive Southeast, making any imaginings of forest-living fall away. I may only see trees and birds from my window, but the ocean of semi-trucks gives it away: I live in the city.
My life is like this: a window overlooking an expanse of lush greenness, with the intruding reality of a highway assaulting my ears.
I've lived long enough to know my soul contains beautiful landscapes of hope and connection, but also failures, anxieties, dark nights, and dashed dreams. There is both selflessness and selfish grasping, desperate wanting and good deep satisfaction. I live my days out of my best strongest Wonder Woman self as well as my small, unsure, on-the-edge-of-drowning self. We are all big enough to contain both, and too small to contain only one.
Sometimes I tell myself this Atlanta season, with the job I never planned and the closed doors I expected to be wide, is a meandering, time-wasting, soul-crushing season. My heart has started to believe this place is all dried up for me, and that the real blessings and fulfillment lie out there - in the dream I have for my ethics career, in the wilderness of my place (Colorado), in the "someday" of getting a PhD and making it all come together.
But it is never that simple, is it? I've yet to live through a season that was one-dimensional; the darkness and frustration are always ripe with new beginnings. I don't usually feel like that's true, but here I am sitting in the wake of a major anxiety flare-up looking around and noticing this kinda green landscape where I expected only highways.
I made a pact with myself a long time ago that I would always go deeper. That no matter how dark and bleak life got, I would go down into that darkness and be relentless in exploring the pain. This is a major reason I care about medical ethics, and prison reform, and women's issues -- the places I've found pain to be strong, the places I want to run towards instead of away. I've made up my mind to not afraid of pain. To not be afraid of asking myself what is below it. This season of life, where my career is sidetracked and I'm not sure I'll ever feel inspired again, where I feel anxiety and panic every night as I try to sleep, where I feel alone and unknown, where I can barely remember who I am or what inspires me, I will consider it all a win if I can keep going deeper. What is lush and growing in this soil? What person am I becoming as a result of the struggle? What do I want and how creative can I be in pursuing those things?
At the end of the day, we have to reject the myth of simplicity. Life is always, always complex. We contain multitudes. Our spirits are strong and weak, our lives are delicious and bitter, our destinations are always journeys too.
I have to remind myself: this "east of Eden" world we inhabit will never be free of pain and longing. The connection we long for, with others and ourselves and the earth, is not fully available to us. But we can seek it out and bring Eden closer when we praise Him through our sadness, till the promise is fulfilled. And nothing ever stays the same; someday a door will open for me to dance through, and I'll be an ethicist and fight hard for that dream, and I'll live in the mountains where my soul comes alive, but if I can't be happy now - if I can't see God working now - I'll never be able to.
The best and only thing we can do is be defiantly hopeful, relentlessly exploring our own souls and this bittersweet journey of life. Be on the lookout for complexity, for healing that hasn't happened yet, for the life that we know (by faith) rises from the grave.
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