Becoming

This is my commencement post.  Which isn’t entirely just for those who have recently graduated, but a “commencement post” because commencement has just passed and left me feeling particularly reflective.  And emotional.  And frankly a little unstable.  So this is a post about life.  And about the future.  And about how really no one knows what’s coming next.  And how to keep moving forward even when everything in your body tells you to sit down.

I’ve had a lot of “those” conversations over the last few weeks.  With anxious students just beginning to think about what happens when you leave the nest of college.  Those hard conversations about “what-ifs” and “where-do-I-gos”.  Riddled with insecurity that it will be too hard, too complicated, or too big to manage.   Fretting over the big leap.  The journey.  It.  Life.  The not knowing of where you’ll land or what it’ll take to get to where you’re going (if you’ve already determined you have a final destination). 

These conversations always loop me back to my own journey, thinking about my own choices and adventures, and the many hard and beautiful paths I’ve found myself on in my 29 years of life.  Like a Grateful Dead song.  What a long strange trip it’s been.  Indeed.

I don’t know much about life.  But I watch it happen all the time.  All around me.  Life in abundance.  And I know that we all have in us the capacity to survive it.  

I read The Sun, an independent journal packed to the brims with good writing, stunning poetry, beautiful black and white photography, and interesting interviews with people I’ve never heard of (which is a great change of pace from my other “journal”, UsWeekly).  This month they interview a painter, Ran Ortner, who paints incredibly large and emotional seascape pieces.  In answering why he paints the ocean, he shares: “It wasn’t until I read Thomas Merton that I came upon something that helped me.  He wrote that there’s nothing as old and as tiresome as human novelty; there’s nothing as immediate and as new as that which is most ancient, which is always in the process of becoming.”

There is nothing as immediate and as new as that which is most ancient, which is always in the process of becoming.  Wow.  How profound, Mr. Merton.  Even though Ortner relates the quote to the ocean, and the ocean’s infinitival presence, this line jumped out of the magazine and practically hit me in the head.

Like the ocean, we humans are in a constant state of becoming.  Of finding things about our soul and our minds that are brand new, all the time, while our bodies physically remain the same.  Our bones and cells unchanged by the choices we make, while our values and our belief systems grow stout and heavy with ideas.   Only as we age do we begin to show the scars from our battles.  The lines from our laughter.  The stretch marks from our gracious giving.  And even these changes are slight.  We remain, at our core, the same DNA.  The same cellular structures.  Our hearts still pump blood through our veins.  Our skin softens, our hair thins, but we remain the same person.

So when people get all panicky right before a big change, there is validity to it.   Change requires growing.  And allowing new patterns to develop.  And requires the emotional capacity and space to rebuild something for yourself, no matter how many times you’ve built it before, or perhaps never at all.  There is a truth to our fear of the unknown.  A bittersweet knowledge that growing up is hard work.  Growing into your skin and your voice and your body can be a beautiful, painful growth.  Learning your limitations.  Identifying your weaknesses.  Discovering your strengths.  Allowing yourself to see your own beauty.  All a process of growing up that doesn’t magically end at 18 or 22, 25 or even 45.

There is no mysterious point where the universe says, “to whom it may concern, just as a reminder, you haven’t accomplished x, y, or z, so here is a list of things you need to accomplish to get there. love, the universe.”  Nope.  Frankly, you’re lucky if you ever hear the universe talk at all.  Life is too noisy.  People are too loud.  The silent nuances of the earth get lost.  The cue that the rain is coming or the weather pattern is changing.  All signs that should help us make choices, hidden between concrete beltways and planned communities.

But our world is what it is.  With all its failing systems and warts and flaws, we still live in a beautiful world and in an incredible space in time where anything can happen.  Where there is so much possibility.  And we have all the tools we need to figure it out.  And yet there are aspects of our humanity—of our simple breathing and aging—that will always make things harder.  Because despite being so simple, we humans are capable of great complications.  We don’t always speak our truths.  Sometimes we don’t try hard enough.  We make bad choices.  We get greedy.  And we ladle in grief and illness and it can all feel huge.  Impenetrable.  

But the mediocrity of it all is part of being human.  It’s falling for the gimmick.  Getting your heart broken (as many times as it takes).  Being disappointed.  Falling in love with the wrong person.  Accepting a job that isn’t work you love, but just helps you pay the bills.  Working really hard and still not seeing any change.  Meeting people you hate.  Fighting with your siblings.  Or your parents.  Or your friends.  Misunderstanding each other’s words.   Misunderstanding each other’s body language.  Falling apart.  Getting in trouble.  Making those painful choices where there really is no good side.  No silver lining.

And part of growing up is also about recovery.  Finding the strength and grace inside that unchangeable body to move beyond what hurts in the immediate.  Remembering that our bodies cannot be purged by our emotions.  Discovering the things you shouldn’t ever do again.  Learning what you love to do.  Creating a home for yourself, when it feels like you have no where else to go.  Finding people to be with who become your family.  Thoughtful, kind people who love you no matter what.  People who create a web of love and support and honesty for you and who allow you to grow with them, even in the darkest spaces.  Apologizing.  Accepting responsibility. 

And when you find yourself in a place where everything has fallen apart, taking the time to locate the pieces of your life you want to bring back again and slowly putting them back together.  Even if it takes a slightly different shape than before.  Learning to make do with what you have.  Appreciating the simple things.  Learning the things you can do and have a great time without spending any money at all.

It’s about understanding the patterns we live.  Understanding that every action has a reaction and learning how to manage that.  How to be responsible with that pattern.  How to not take too much from others.  The process of learning how to filter our words and our actions so that we don’t unintentionally push people away from us.  Even strangers.  Even people on the other side of the world. 

Discovering our happy places.  The places that renew us.  The people who restore us.  The spaces that allow us to just be without needing to explain ourselves.  Our safe houses.  Where nothing can touch us, even if only for one day.  Or one hour.

It’s about learning that big ideas like justice and sustainability are more than just helping someone through a rough spot or recycling your cans—they’re about people and relationships and building community.  About connecting to people from different places and learning from each other about what could be.  About what should be.  About doing the dirty work of working through decades of ignorance and misunderstanding.  About rebuilding new paths towards justice.  Acknowledging our sources of privilege and power and learning how to use those to make the world a better place for everyone, not just ourselves.

It’s about listening more than you talk.  Learning to watch for those beautiful silent signs we send to each other with our bodies and our voices and our eyes.  And being aware of the way we communicate back with the world.  Learning to adapt.  Learning to accommodate.  Learning how to say I’m sorry in a sincere way.

And when we’re in those tight spots.  Those dark afternoons that seem like they’ll go on forever.  Those moments where it feels like you’ll never feel better.  You’ll never wake up (or you don’t want to).  You’ll never stop aching.  We have to remember that it always changes.  It always gets better.  If we let it.  If we allow it.  If we’re willing to work on it.  If we’re willing to admit our dark secrets to someone.

Learning to be honest can be the hardest part of it all.  Learning how to say the things no one wants to hear.  Or the things you yourself don’t even want to hear out loud.  Being open to the idea that we all make bad choices sometimes.  We all do it: we ignore all the signals and the people telling us “no”, “stop”, “don’t do it”, and do what we want, when we want, and sometimes that doesn’t end well.  But that it’s just like everything else.  There is always a way out of it.  There is a gradual process of rebuilding.  Reconnecting.  Repairing.

It’s about perspective.  Realizing that we’re constantly in a state of becoming.  Even when we think we’re finished.