Dear Keren,
Remember how I used to walk into your room or apartment, and we'd talk about everything else under the sun before I finally 'fess up and start the, "So there's this guy..." conversation? You always responded with the knowing smile that also hinted, "Yes, of course. I even know which guy, but go ahead and tell me about it anyway." Well, we're about to have this conversation again. Except this time I'm going to go straight to the, "...but this isn't going to work out because..." part of the conversation. Because as we all know, I'm about to make another big transition and there's all that other fun stuff that goes with it. And the last thing I need is to worry about something like that.
But the reason why I'm bringing this up this time is because we've talked so much about what it means to live as people who are constantly in transition. Constantly displaced between cultures. Constantly trying to find ways to make meaningful relationships even while living as constantly transitional people.
I confess that I've never thought of myself as a person who is good with relationships. Good with people? Sure. But there's a difference there. I can be good with people, know how to entertain them and keep them happy, but I'm still not good with relationships.
I remember having this conversation with Daria a few summers ago. One of our really good friends was about to graduate and move back home, and I was lamenting to her as we were getting ready to throw a mini-farewell dinner for him that if I had a choice, I would have chosen to say goodbye from a distance rather than do a really meaningful and emotional one. Why try to get to know a person even more when we all know that the physical proximity is going to end soon? So that it would be even more painful when he moved away? Daria's response was simply, "But would you rather keep the distance and have all the what-ifs later, or would you rather make the most and have memories to hold on to for a long time?" I still had the, "Yeah, but..."s for her, even though I knew she was probably right.
And... After you left, this fear of getting too close because I was afraid of getting hurt again when they move or leave became even stronger. Moving to a different country was one thing. There was still AIM (at the time) and Skype. But moving to a place where I could no longer have the "So there's this guy..." conversations amongst others... That's a whole different thing altogether.
A few weeks ago, Dr. Brewer preached a sermon (in his Hawaiian shirt, no less) at Park Place titled "Live Like You Were Dying." While I got the gist of his message (and really enjoyed it, no less), at this point in my life, I'm not sure that should be my goal in life. Because if I was going to live like I was dying, I would have shut down by now, and kept up the good work with people but epicly failing at relationships. Not to imply that I'm doing a good job with relationships right now, but at least I'm doing better than my instincts are telling me to.
Or maybe my instincts are changing. Is that possible? Because the truth is, while the option of shutting down is still on my mind a lot, it's become a lot more natural for me to keep doing what I'm doing. And maybe that still means I'm doing ok with the people, but doesn't say much about the relationships. But truthfully, even if that were true, I'm ok with that, because I'm slowly learning.
And so as the storm clouds are rolling in outside, I catch glimpses of lightning that remind me of the few folks that I've held dear to my heart, and their common fascination with storms. Some have hurt me deeply by knowingly inflicting even more pain when I chose to not walk away or shut down before getting hurt again. Some have left me confused by their silence. But you, I remember for your fascination with dancing in the rain, and your ability to celebrate life even in the midst of transitions.
I don't know how to really live like I was dying. But I'm learning to make the most, not just out of the in-between seasons, but every single moment.
Wish you were here,
Me
Remember how I used to walk into your room or apartment, and we'd talk about everything else under the sun before I finally 'fess up and start the, "So there's this guy..." conversation? You always responded with the knowing smile that also hinted, "Yes, of course. I even know which guy, but go ahead and tell me about it anyway." Well, we're about to have this conversation again. Except this time I'm going to go straight to the, "...but this isn't going to work out because..." part of the conversation. Because as we all know, I'm about to make another big transition and there's all that other fun stuff that goes with it. And the last thing I need is to worry about something like that.
But the reason why I'm bringing this up this time is because we've talked so much about what it means to live as people who are constantly in transition. Constantly displaced between cultures. Constantly trying to find ways to make meaningful relationships even while living as constantly transitional people.
I confess that I've never thought of myself as a person who is good with relationships. Good with people? Sure. But there's a difference there. I can be good with people, know how to entertain them and keep them happy, but I'm still not good with relationships.
I remember having this conversation with Daria a few summers ago. One of our really good friends was about to graduate and move back home, and I was lamenting to her as we were getting ready to throw a mini-farewell dinner for him that if I had a choice, I would have chosen to say goodbye from a distance rather than do a really meaningful and emotional one. Why try to get to know a person even more when we all know that the physical proximity is going to end soon? So that it would be even more painful when he moved away? Daria's response was simply, "But would you rather keep the distance and have all the what-ifs later, or would you rather make the most and have memories to hold on to for a long time?" I still had the, "Yeah, but..."s for her, even though I knew she was probably right.
And... After you left, this fear of getting too close because I was afraid of getting hurt again when they move or leave became even stronger. Moving to a different country was one thing. There was still AIM (at the time) and Skype. But moving to a place where I could no longer have the "So there's this guy..." conversations amongst others... That's a whole different thing altogether.
A few weeks ago, Dr. Brewer preached a sermon (in his Hawaiian shirt, no less) at Park Place titled "Live Like You Were Dying." While I got the gist of his message (and really enjoyed it, no less), at this point in my life, I'm not sure that should be my goal in life. Because if I was going to live like I was dying, I would have shut down by now, and kept up the good work with people but epicly failing at relationships. Not to imply that I'm doing a good job with relationships right now, but at least I'm doing better than my instincts are telling me to.
Or maybe my instincts are changing. Is that possible? Because the truth is, while the option of shutting down is still on my mind a lot, it's become a lot more natural for me to keep doing what I'm doing. And maybe that still means I'm doing ok with the people, but doesn't say much about the relationships. But truthfully, even if that were true, I'm ok with that, because I'm slowly learning.
And so as the storm clouds are rolling in outside, I catch glimpses of lightning that remind me of the few folks that I've held dear to my heart, and their common fascination with storms. Some have hurt me deeply by knowingly inflicting even more pain when I chose to not walk away or shut down before getting hurt again. Some have left me confused by their silence. But you, I remember for your fascination with dancing in the rain, and your ability to celebrate life even in the midst of transitions.
I don't know how to really live like I was dying. But I'm learning to make the most, not just out of the in-between seasons, but every single moment.
Wish you were here,
Me
No comments:
Post a Comment