A 7-year chapter of my life has come to a close. I have moved out of Isla Vista, a place that I called home for 7 years. I have been very emotional through this experience, and I am not sure how to react. Walking through the tired, worn-down, empty Isla Vista has had its effect on me. I have lived for my entire adult live in IV, and everything that I have done as an adult, the decisions that I have made, have been in IV. IV has shaped me and as I leave it, I feel that I am leaving a part of me with it. I think that I remember the relationships that I developed, many of which have since faded, and the experiences that those relationships wrought. It is intimidating, harrowing even, to face a new, extremely unknown chapter of my life, and yet it is necessary now. I cannot stay in IV any longer; I stretched it and wrung all of the juice out of it, and now I move on. But how? IV is covered with ghosts of my past and people that I once loved. I have prayed countless words over IV, cried so many tears, laughed uncontrollably, wanted to run and hide, learned to cook, got my driver's license, saw multiple generations of students pass through, felt the deepest emotion and the entire spectrum of emotion, felt no emotion, experienced bleak loneliness, experienced the utter joy of being alone, felt deeply loved, felt deeply neglected, grew out my beard for the first time, changed my haircut for the first time, got my first real job, got a college diploma, baked wedding cakes, walked every square inch of UCSB and IV, felt heartbreak, tragedy, and loss, baptized people, mentored people, discipled people, felt the depths of failure, learned who I am so much more, developed who I am so much more, gained friends and family, lost friends and family. And through all of this, IV was there, like a constant friend.
It is hard to leave, but, like I said, necessary. The greatest thing that I take away (and there are many) is that I can wade through this next chapter of my life confidently. Going in I had no idea what to make of college, and even less idea how to traverse life after, and yet the gentle guiding hand of God was with me, leading me through the high grasses. And now here I am, examining my past, trying to make sense of who I am. Isla Vista will always be a part of me, and not because I spent four years partying and I love to party, but because I spent 7 years maturing and becoming man, growing and changing with the businesses and streets around me. That seemed to be the constant in my life those seven years: God and change. I am scared now as I experience emotions and thoughts that I have not in many years, but I am confident as well, loved deeply by an infinite creator God whom I know in very different ways than when I first met Him. But I think that Isla Vista for me will always have a place in my heart because it is the place where I first got to know that God well. Just as so many relationships in my life now, I cultivated the relationship that I have with God through long walks in IV, through seeking throughout the streets, through doing life with Him. IV enabled me to do that uniquely in a way that no other place has. I feel it. There is an emotion that I feel at times, and it would not be inappropriate for me to call that emotion 'Isla Vista.' In many ways it is a conglomeration of 7 years worth of experiences crammed into one little lightning bolt that hits my heart from time to time and leaves me as quickly as it came.
In what has become one of my favorite books of all time, C. S. Lewis (who has become one of my favorite authors of all time) writes this about joy: "[Joy] must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again … I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and Pleasure often is.” When I think of Isla Vista and the seven years that I lived there (and honestly, if I allowed myself to properly simmer in the thoughts of that place, I could easily be taken captive and wind up writing an entire book. There are far too many places and feelings associated with that chapter of my life to be able to condense or list them all) I think of joy. I think that IV may be the place that I first experienced the type of joy that Lewis talks about (and if you, reader, would like a better understanding of the joy that I am talking about, read Surprised by Joy) outside of an experience that I link it to from my childhood, and I have experienced it too many times to remember in Isla Vista. The fact is, Joy like this is not necessarily pleasurable, that is the point. I do not feel pleasure at leaving IV, I feel sadness, regret, missed opportunity, and a touch of loneliness. Yet, I cannot connote these feelings as negative; they are deeply positive and thus I declare them joy. For it is in leaving IV that I see the effect that this place had in making me who I am and of using what was already there, taking the raw materials that this boy came in with, and shaping them into a man.
And now I step boldly into uncharted waters. I will react to these waters as much as they are reacting to me, just as Isla Vista has reacted to me. I mourn for it, and it mourns for me. And yet, ultimately one of the reasons that I know that it is time for me to leave is because I have felt a feeling of completeness. I feel that I have done what was set before me to do there. I have impacted so many lives, and that is what makes it so hard to leave. And yet, it is time. This feeling of completeness accompanies a feeling of wishing that I could be back in the thick of it-4 or so years in, loving Isla Vista and the people there because I knew my purpose there so well. And yet that purpose is done, and I am thankful that it is so. I know longer could do the same things that I did there. All things are being made new, and I am content with what I have done there.
Saturday, June 18, 2016
Sunday, June 12, 2016
How to Mourn Amidst Tragedy
I apologize in advance for the title of this post-it may lead you to believe that I have an answer to this question. I can firmly tell you that I do not. What happened last night in Orlando, FL (the worst shooting in American history, which is saying something, at a gay nightclub in which 50 people died and more were injured) is an abomination, but unfortunately and with great sadness, not uncommon. True, we have never seen anything on that scale but mass shootings in this country and this broken world happen all too frequently, and every time that they do I find myself faced with the same question-how do you mourn? If you are of the family members of those who were lost, how do you handle it? Can you possibly take the condolences and the prayers and the nice-sounding words and sentiments and internalize them and squeeze some hope out of them? It does not alleviate the reality. It does not change the fact that love has been taken away, at some level. Tragedy. How does anybody possibly deal with it.
I am not here to offer a solution. True, I have lived through a tragedy (The Isla Vista shooting of 2014 in which more than 5 were killed and more injured) and I saw a community mourn and advance from that. But even in that, I have no solace to offer because I do believe that it differs in any and every situation. As a religious man I can point to a God who has things under control despite the chaos and who will ultimately work things in this hurting world out, but that might mean nothing to you. As somebody who believes staunchly in the power of community I can point to how communities and countries come together during tragedy, but that also might not do much for you. And if they do not, that's fine. I offer nothing.
But I offer everything. I will listen to anybody who has gone through some thing of that nature. I will sit with them in silence if they need be; I will hug and not let go for as long as it takes. We need to rethink things in this country, not just gun laws, but our own hearts. What a year it has been between the biggest mockery of an election to a litany of gun violence to intense racial tension. We need to examine the values of our culture and its current trajectory and ask ourselves difficult questions about where our hearts are at. And then make necessary changes. Discussion will go on for a week or two about this and then sadly something will come along to take it all out of our minds. We cannot let them happen. But these are lofty goals that it takes lifetimes and generations to accomplish. In the meantime, it is imperative that we treat each other with humanity-that we try to understand not just the plight of those afflicted, but the plight of any who have less. We need to love each other well. If you believe in prayer, actually pray, with all of the fervency and zeal with which you pray for your most passionate requests. If you believe in the power of hope and love then hope, and love.
These all sound like concepts, and we must begin with those. But sit with each other. Do not be afraid of awkwardness or of intimacy extended to those who have lost. Empathize and take some time out of your schedule to think deeply of those around you who are suffering every day. There is no easy solution, no simple explanation of extremely complex and intricate problems and tragedies. But there are steps. There are ways to be with people in the hope that if nothing else, presence, will make pain more bearable. And that is what we have to hope for-not to take pain away, because pain of loss is permanent. But to lessen, to bring joy and laughter back, to help people move on, but at their own time. Think well and be considerate. Nobody is evil, just deeply hurting.
I am not here to offer a solution. True, I have lived through a tragedy (The Isla Vista shooting of 2014 in which more than 5 were killed and more injured) and I saw a community mourn and advance from that. But even in that, I have no solace to offer because I do believe that it differs in any and every situation. As a religious man I can point to a God who has things under control despite the chaos and who will ultimately work things in this hurting world out, but that might mean nothing to you. As somebody who believes staunchly in the power of community I can point to how communities and countries come together during tragedy, but that also might not do much for you. And if they do not, that's fine. I offer nothing.
But I offer everything. I will listen to anybody who has gone through some thing of that nature. I will sit with them in silence if they need be; I will hug and not let go for as long as it takes. We need to rethink things in this country, not just gun laws, but our own hearts. What a year it has been between the biggest mockery of an election to a litany of gun violence to intense racial tension. We need to examine the values of our culture and its current trajectory and ask ourselves difficult questions about where our hearts are at. And then make necessary changes. Discussion will go on for a week or two about this and then sadly something will come along to take it all out of our minds. We cannot let them happen. But these are lofty goals that it takes lifetimes and generations to accomplish. In the meantime, it is imperative that we treat each other with humanity-that we try to understand not just the plight of those afflicted, but the plight of any who have less. We need to love each other well. If you believe in prayer, actually pray, with all of the fervency and zeal with which you pray for your most passionate requests. If you believe in the power of hope and love then hope, and love.
These all sound like concepts, and we must begin with those. But sit with each other. Do not be afraid of awkwardness or of intimacy extended to those who have lost. Empathize and take some time out of your schedule to think deeply of those around you who are suffering every day. There is no easy solution, no simple explanation of extremely complex and intricate problems and tragedies. But there are steps. There are ways to be with people in the hope that if nothing else, presence, will make pain more bearable. And that is what we have to hope for-not to take pain away, because pain of loss is permanent. But to lessen, to bring joy and laughter back, to help people move on, but at their own time. Think well and be considerate. Nobody is evil, just deeply hurting.
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Pretending to be an Adult
Last night I said to my roommate the following sentence: "Man, I have so many errands to run and I owe so many people money. Is this what being an adult feels like?"
And with that it hit me: I am an adult. I work a job from 8-5 everyday, I have insurance payments and bills, and by just about every other standard of adulthood (with the exception of perhaps the most obvious, being the head of a family) I am firmly entrenched in that quite odd phenomenon of post-adolescence. Although, I am only 25 and it does not always feel like I am an adult. By this I mean that although I am one by external measures, I think that the measure that is perhaps simultaneously neglected and utterly necessary is that of the process of becoming an adult. That is something that you cannot cheat-you cannot really wake up one day and realize that you have struggled and given advice and felt deep pain and exuberant joy and been controlled by rage and fitted with logic, that you have made difficult decisions and wrestled with the moral consequences of your actions. These and more are intricate parts of becoming an adult, and I think that without this struggle, part of it is lost. In other words, an essential part of adulthood is the process of becoming an adult.
So, when I say that sometimes I feel like I am merely pretending to be an adult, like somehow I was able to sneak into the club without anybody noticing in and nobody has kicked me out yet. It is a difficult feeling to explain. One day you feel like a teenager, able to rage all night and make late-night taco bell runs (not that there is a single thing wrong with those) and seemingly the next day you are going to sleep at 9:30 looking at adolescence in the rear-view mirror. Adulthood is ill-defined in our current culture leading a friend of mine recently to comment to me that he is tired of being a 'kadult'. And maybe it is that word that best describes the way that I feel-trying to understand who I am and merely directing my own trajectory in the right direction and hoping that I come out of it resembling that great men that I grew up admiring.
But I know that I am not there yet; the 'k' is still at the front of that word and as old and even at times out-dated I often feel, I do not have wrinkles or grey hair. I have not experienced the loss of a child, there are still many markers that point to the underside of adulthood for me. So, it often does feel like I am cheating. I guess that that is a part of learning how to drop the 'k'. Becoming not my parents, but hopefully greater, not privy to the same mistakes. Mistakes are a part of who I am, and necessarily so. I cannot cheat.
Sometimes it feels like I am pretending to be an adult. But the process is part of the man.
And with that it hit me: I am an adult. I work a job from 8-5 everyday, I have insurance payments and bills, and by just about every other standard of adulthood (with the exception of perhaps the most obvious, being the head of a family) I am firmly entrenched in that quite odd phenomenon of post-adolescence. Although, I am only 25 and it does not always feel like I am an adult. By this I mean that although I am one by external measures, I think that the measure that is perhaps simultaneously neglected and utterly necessary is that of the process of becoming an adult. That is something that you cannot cheat-you cannot really wake up one day and realize that you have struggled and given advice and felt deep pain and exuberant joy and been controlled by rage and fitted with logic, that you have made difficult decisions and wrestled with the moral consequences of your actions. These and more are intricate parts of becoming an adult, and I think that without this struggle, part of it is lost. In other words, an essential part of adulthood is the process of becoming an adult.
So, when I say that sometimes I feel like I am merely pretending to be an adult, like somehow I was able to sneak into the club without anybody noticing in and nobody has kicked me out yet. It is a difficult feeling to explain. One day you feel like a teenager, able to rage all night and make late-night taco bell runs (not that there is a single thing wrong with those) and seemingly the next day you are going to sleep at 9:30 looking at adolescence in the rear-view mirror. Adulthood is ill-defined in our current culture leading a friend of mine recently to comment to me that he is tired of being a 'kadult'. And maybe it is that word that best describes the way that I feel-trying to understand who I am and merely directing my own trajectory in the right direction and hoping that I come out of it resembling that great men that I grew up admiring.
But I know that I am not there yet; the 'k' is still at the front of that word and as old and even at times out-dated I often feel, I do not have wrinkles or grey hair. I have not experienced the loss of a child, there are still many markers that point to the underside of adulthood for me. So, it often does feel like I am cheating. I guess that that is a part of learning how to drop the 'k'. Becoming not my parents, but hopefully greater, not privy to the same mistakes. Mistakes are a part of who I am, and necessarily so. I cannot cheat.
Sometimes it feels like I am pretending to be an adult. But the process is part of the man.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)