The last day of the decade.
I have been feeling the ... impulse? ... obligation? to reflect.
So here is my attempt to put some words down.
This decade has seen such low points.
Ten years ago, at the end of a different decade, depression and anxiety felt like the masters of my life. Panic attacks were a common yet terrifyingly unexpected occurrence. I slept all the time because I didn't feel sad when I slept; I didn't panic when I slept--until I did. That year I found myself wondering if it would be better to not be around at all. It was made clear to me that that was not a better option. I'm thankful.
Two years ago I switched masters programs at Fuller after abruptly and heartbreakingly discovering that the plan and vision I had had was not something I could sustainably do. I'm still in the liminal space of finding what it is I
This decade has seen high points.
Five years ago Sam and I agreed to love, honor, and cherish one another for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness or health. Only five years in and we've already walked through several of these scenarios. I'm thankful.
This decade brought hellos.
I met seven out of eight nieces (from my siblings) in the past ten years. I met and became part of the Kelly (and Doman and Lovett) family. I started and changed jobs. I moved to a new city where I met new classmates, friends, and church family. I worked with a couple of therapists who have helped me to learn things about myself that I didn't even realize that I didn't know. I found new places and spaces and returned to familiar favorites too. I'm thankful.
This decade has brought goodbyes.
Some were healthy; some were expected; others were neither. All of them were difficult.
The freshest goodbye is to the house I grew up in. The house my family brought me home to. The house where I had the room with the famously long closet and the swamp cooler. The house where I took my engagement photos and where I later got ready for my wedding day. It was and is a great place to live. Family members are buying the house so I'll still be able to visit. I'm thankful.
This has been a hodgepodge of memories. Lest you think too highly of me, the thankfulness that punctuates each one is found through much effort, and even then I don't always feel it.
As I close this post, and the year, I'll share this poem by Rilke. It's one I keep returning to and that I feel captures my reflections on the past, the work of the present, and my hope for the future.
God speaks to each of us as he makes us,
then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall,
go to the limits of your longing.
Embody me.
Flare up like flame
and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.
Don't let yourself lose me.
Nearby us the country they call life.
You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.
– Rainer Maria Rilke, Book of Hours, I, 59.
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| 2009 to 2019 |
