Hindsight

It is strange to me, the memories that attach to you most vividly. One of my greatest flaws is caring what others think about me, so it does not surprise me that several of my most vivid memories revolve around someone else’s thoughts. The thoughts that inhabit my mind, however, are those I believe others would quickly render insignificant. Recently, I have begun to unlock the relevance of these thoughts. They are reflections of my own thoughts, the thoughts I have been unable to entertain honestly within my heart until now. Three specific memories come to mind:

In high school, a fellow classmate asked me what I planned to do after graduation. When I replied that I would attend Flagler in the fall and study Youth Ministry, he gave me a puzzled look and said, “well that’s a waste”.  I knew he meant this in the most flattering way possible, referencing my intellect and creativity; even back then I underestimated my potential. At the time I felt offended that anyone could think studying with the purpose of pursuing the Lord’s work could be a waste, but deep down I knew he was right. For me it would have been a waste. Don’t misunderstand my meaning here, youth ministry is a great field, if you are called to serve within it, and well, I simply was not. Even standing in the halls of my high school I knew that much was true.  I did go to Flagler in the fall, but I never took a single youth ministry or religion course.  After much debate, and many major/minor changes, I ended up double majoring in Psychology and Fine Art.

Another fundamental memory was formed during one of many critiques in my last studio class, Portfolio.  A terrifying class, no real assignments and deadlines, just you, your process, and your art… Oh, and a room full of your peers, their opinions, and an open forum for them to destroy what you’ve created. You would think the moment that has attached itself to my soul would be one that involves a piece of work for which I am particularly sentimental, but it isn’t quite the case. In all honesty, I don’t even remember if it was my work that was being critiqued this particular day.  It was a sort of side conversation in which I made a comment about having made it through college without ever pulling an all-nighter. The look of shock on my professor’s face has haunted me ever since. I’ll never truly know if she was shocked because (always the over-achiever) I managed this feat while making above average grades, being involved in several clubs, even acting as President of one, working, and being married, or rather if she was disappointed that my art had never consumed me to the point that I simply forgot to sleep. I like to believe it was the latter reason, as that thought has captivated me ever since. (Not to mention in my current state I find all the attributes of the former completely meaningless when compared to the creative process.) This memory led to the realization that I had never allowed myself to submerge completely into my creativity, and consequently sent the first domino tumbling into the chain reaction of my current search for self.

The self, for whom I’m searching, has been lost a number of times, if ever she has been truly found. In one of the many lost times is the third memory of recent significance. Chronologically, it occurred between the two previous events, but emotionally it is something I have only come to face in the past two years. It was a warm December, (yes, December in South Florida is always warm despite the misleading term “winter”) my mother and I were alone in the dark of the evening. I can still see the brick courtyard surrounding us on Uncle B’s property. It’s odd, how it felt as though we were on vacation, when life at that time was anything but relaxing. Charles had just given Dad a kidney a few weeks prior, a decision I know I will never grasp the full weight of, but will never cease to be grateful he made. Although Charles had been released to continue healing at home, Dad was required to stay close to the surgery center, just in case. Thus Mom and Dad stayed in Uncle B’s guest cottage tucked away in Tampa, and I suppose despite the stressful reason for the visit, being away from home in a picturesque setting allowed us all to escape reality a bit.  And so I sat, soaking in the stars, the warm Florida winter, and the gentle presence of my mother. In the safety of this setting, away from the everyday pressures of college life, I pondered the significance of the new little diamond sparkling on my 19-year-old finger.

I don’t remember which of us brought it up or exactly what was said, but I do remember my mother indicating that an engagement is not yet a marriage, and if I was not sure, it was ok to change my mind. Slowly my eyes swelled a bit and a few salty tears rolled down my cheeks.  I looked to my mother and said, “I’m not crying because I’m sad, or scared, but because I can’t imagine my life without him.” In that second, there was a part of me that was thankful for the darkness that covered us, for then she couldn’t see the flicker of doubt in my eyes; she couldn’t see that I wanted to believe what I was saying, and that I spoke not for her benefit, but for my own.  I am not saying that I was not in love, as I was in every capacity that a 19-year-old completely unaware of herself, could be. For the next five years, when doubts crept in, I reminded myself of that moment, the moment I knew he was “the one”. Hindsight, however, is a devil of a concept. I truly could not see my life without him, because I had made my life his. I lost myself beneath the excitement of affection and lust and empty promises, and lose myself, I did…

…It’s been more than six years since that evening, but in the past two, I’ve continued to find fragments of myself I was unaware were missing.  

Time vs. the Moment

Time: : the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues.

Engulfed by a warm porcelain bed of water my connection to reality quickly dissolves. I look down to my thigh to discover a colony of bubbles resembling a sphinx. I am reminded of cloud formations and the enchanting beauty they hold for a romantic like myself.  Like time, clouds can be explained in terms of science, but what difference does that really make? Understanding the concept behind something so marvelous does not make it any less awe-inspiring. Clouds are like moments: never is the next exactly like the last.

Is this how we should define time, in moments? Would it change anything to measure time in something other than minutes, hours, days, weeks, or years? Time remains the same no matter how we choose to measure and define it. Constantly moving, unable to be captured, impossible to be manipulated. Even understanding time scientifically doesn’t help us. You cannot make the moments you cherish go by more slowly, or accelerate the ones you wish would pass more quickly. You cannot eradicate the moments you wish hadn’t happened, or repeat the ones you are glad existed. We have failed and always will fail, at controlling time. Truly, it is time that controls and defines us. We determine so much of our lives based on time. Plans, goals, risks, they all depend on time to some extent. So, when someone shatters our timetable, do we shatter with it as well?

Perhaps, time ceases to exist when our definition of who we should be floats about us in a million shards of glass, each containing a tiny moment. Disconnected do they mean less than unified? If each moment is completely unique of another, if a singular moment cannot exist outside of itself, then no moment can ever truly be defined. If we were to define moments using time, then we would greatly depreciate the value of the moment. The moment that a mother hears the cry of her child entering the world may last a mere second, but that is the second she will measure every moment of her life against. On the other hand, a woman trapped for years in a suffocating relationship may take the contents of those years and see them as a singular moment in her life; significant for what she learned and who they allowed her to become, but miniscule in the grand scheme of her life.

I suppose, the real question here is not “what is time?” but rather “how do you value time?” If you allow measurements and 5-year plans to determine the value of time in your life, time will not only define you, but also control you. Being a puppet to time is an exhausting way to live. My dreams do not have expiration dates and I refuse to live as if they do.  

Time: a nonspatial continuum that is measured in terms of events which succeed one another from past through present to future.    

Definition of MOMENT

1

a : a minute portion or point of time : instant

b : a comparatively brief period of time

2

a : present time

b : a time of excellence or conspicuousness

3

: importance in influence or effect

4

obsolete : a cause or motive of action

5

: a stage in historical or logical development…  

Born

Thanks to a friend, I have recently started listening to a band called Over the Rhine.  I have fallen quickly in love with them, as I typically do with bands that incorporate piano and clever lyrics into their music.  Songs like “Born” make me want to abandon all responsibility and paint my life away.  Perhaps, I should embrace these moments and be less responsible and more dedicated to my creative side. “Born” could very easily be the theme song for my life…

“Pour me a glass of wine, talk day into the night, who knows what we’ll find. Intuition, Déjà vu, the Holy Ghost haunting you. Whatever you’ve got I don’t mind.

I was born to laugh; I learned to laugh, through my tears. I was born to love, I’m gonna learn to love, without fear. Put your elbows on the table, I will listen as long as I am able, there’s no where else I’d rather be…”

When I hear this song, I’m reminded that I have been blessed with the gift of joy. In the past few years, I have truly learned what it means to laugh through my tears. I have discovered that my true strength comes from my ability to find joy even in my bleakest moment. I am still learning to love without fear, but I will continue to pursue this goal, even if it takes me the rest of my earthly life.  It’s a tragedy that we tend to define ourselves by our “responsibilities”: jobs, cars, houses, debt to income ratio, etc.  I am making it my personal mission to define myself through laughter and love.   

Born- Over the Rhine

Learning to Surf

To me the ocean is the hand of God; gentle and fierce with unfathomable wonder and adventure beneath each ripple. In it you can find the peace of solitude and the overwhelming vastness of His creation. Familiar and new all at once. And like the love of Christ, it is so incredibly beautiful it's difficult to believe it is real.