My life has been defined by a series of subtle realizations. Some have brought me disappointment, and others have brought me peace of mind. They’ve always been within reach, but I figured it was time to put them in writing. Here’s just a few of the ones I can remember.
I was raised Catholic for the first half of my life, so I have a tendency to carry around guilt pretty easily. The fear or paying for my sins regardless of what’s in my heart was beyond scary. I did the best I could, but I was a kid then– and kids mess up from time to time. It’s probably related to the lack of control that stays in our bones until we’re older.
What really kept me going in my teens was the concept that God knew what was in my heart. It sounds incredibly cheesy and silly, but it helped me get through the inconsistency that had become my life. Back to the point, though. I was thinking about it sometime in the past couple of years, even though it feels very, very recent, and my mind wandered to the concept of Hell. It was the one thing in my mind that kept people in line so neatly, and for good reason; Hell was this horrible place where good people went to suffer for the things they did wrong– that’s how it felt anyway. But it made no sense to me.
Then the thought entered my mind: What if there is no Hell? A brief pause followed that thought, followed by panicked thinking– I was trying to figure out what that meant. It meant freedom; it meant I didn’t have to worry so much. Then an immense feeling of relief came over me. The weight was gone. When I exhaled, my heart felt lighter and my mind was free from the clutter that had previously been there. That feeling, in my mind, registered as some kind of truth.
That realization– or feeling, rather, was so deep inside, I felt it in my very core. And it was the moment I really broke free and started listening to what I felt. This, I would say, was one of my more important moments.
Religion seemed to be a common theme up until a few years ago. When I was young, I’d spend time with my very traditional and very religious grandmother about once every other weekend. She’d give me money for visiting her, so that’s probably half the reason I’d go. That and she had a huge orange tree, and she’d peel oranges for me like a pro. When my parents divorced, that was out of the window for a long time. Sometime before or after the divorce, I was thinking about her, and I thought I’d ask my mother about her. I wanted to better understand my grandmother’s life. She told me a few things, but what stood out the most was that my mother called her a hopeless romantic. This made no sense to me at the time.
I might’ve been around eleven or so, and I knew that my grandmother had been in one very sour marriage that had turned a bit abusive. So I couldn’t comprehend how this was the case, had she never remarried and had devoted the rest of her life to religion. I thought about it some more. And I guess I should add that my mother had tried to instill some very dramatic, very idealistic concepts on how love was supposed to work. So why would my grandmother be lonely– had her Prince Charming never shown up? I realized in the coming few hours that things don’t work that way at all. And I, too, could be lonely forever.
The thought alone made me sad. It was a lot to take in for me. Throughout those years, I just hoped things would improve with time, with age. I was pretty young, but I decided then that I needed to be okay with being alone, just in case I’d be alone forever.
As I previously stated, I really looked forward to the future and what it could possibly hold for me. The opportunities were endless. I still felt that way until several months ago. I didn’t know what I was doing with my life; I had no direction, and I was at a complete stand-still. I watched several television shows at the time, sometimes as a means of coping, and I remember in one, there was a character in her mid to late thirties; she was very artsy, very dorky, and she had frizzy hair. She was a little on the cute side but I wouldn’t call her pretty, and she was plagued with clumsiness. She broke down crying in one scene, talking about how she had never figured out her purpose or what to do with her life.
At first, I was annoyed and upset. How could someone go that long without stopping to figure things out? It seemed ridiculous to me. I thought, how irresponsible of her. Then I remembered my own situation– that I had no idea what I was doing either– and I, too, had been trying without success. This sadness overcame me as I reached the thought that I might never figure things out. I didn’t think that was even an option. I realized that it was possible to wander forever without purpose– and I panicked. I grew afraid, but then I grew determined. There was no way that I was going to let that happen to me. I decided that I wouldn’t be lost forever.
In part, that’s probably why I kept choosing different paths, unsure of which one really called my name. But in some ways, it probably helped further me in my search. I’ve learned to treasure the things I remember, since they remind me how the world works.
