I'm going to try something with this, which is to talk about something very personal without explicitly stating what it is. I realize this is going to be difficult, but I want to write about it nonetheless, because it represents an important crossroads, and because sometimes I'm not so good about writing if I don't imagine someone reading it. (I don't fit the profile of a Leo in many respects, but it will out sometimes.)
For the last three and a half years, I have been more or less consumed by an idea. At first just a feeling, it quickly became a strong desire and a goal. I made lists, I made plans, of how to achieve this goal. I prayed, I cried bitter prayers because the thing I wanted was so far from my reach, but I knew I could get there eventually if I just bent all the energy of my mind and my will toward achieving the thing.
Off and on, I battled within myself about whether I REALLY wanted this or not or if I was simply buckling to certain societal or cultural or other pressures. This desire, this goal, this feeling, however, persisted through the passage of time, through many setbacks and delays, and even through our exit from religion.
I should explain why that last bit is significant. In Mormonism, spiritual experiences or "promptings" as they are often called, most often come in the form of feelings. They can be strong (sometimes described as a burning in the bosom) but most often are feelings of peace and calm, a "still small voice." Within the Mormon paradigm, how one feels about something is often assigned as much importance, if not more, than rational thought or empirical evidence. I say this without judgment, so if you are a practicing member of the Church, please don't take that as a criticism. It is simply part of the nature of religion, I think. Understanding this paradigm is paramount in understanding why I clung to this idea so fiercely for so long. That the feeling persisted beyond a belief in Mormonism, and even in a belief in the Divine, held major significance for me.
"It must be real," I thought, "if among the ashes of my belief, this one thing remains. It must be!" There has only been one other instance in my life where I have felt as strongly about something, and that was the idea to serve a mission. (That experience will require its own book-length entry.)
This feeling that serves as the subject of this post, as with the "prompting" to serve a mission, shared a couple commonalities: both were strong and both involved a lot of complicated mixed emotions. But in both instances, I felt I "knew" what I needed to do, and took steps to achieve the desired outcome. I made lists. I checked boxes. I knew my feeling/goal/desire didn't make rational sense but I wanted it so badly, so it had to be the right thing. Right?
Right?
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In the past couple weeks, I have had to have a very difficult reckoning with myself. I have had to accept what I think I've suspected for a while now, that I needed to let this feeling go. That it was not best for me or my family. That it would stretch us beyond our means, emotionally, physically and mentally. It has been one of the most exquisitely painful experiences of my life. I have sat on the shower floor and voicelessly screamed and screamed and screamed a primal roar of anger and sadness bursting out of every pore. Unjust! So unfair. To have come so close, to have arrived almost at the finish line, to have the thing almost in my grasp only to willingly let it go... After all the time and energy and emotional labor... The sunk cost was staggering. I was breathless with pain.
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There is another side, as there almost always is. In between the thunderstorms of sadness, guilt and regret, there is a lot of peace from knowing it's the right decision to move on. I no longer believe in a Holy Ghost that whispers promptings to my heart and mind, but even when I did, I understood that the feelings I should act on were the ones that gave me calm and confidence. The storm and stress were important too, but they were not to be the ultimate guide; they were feelings to sit with, acknowledge... and let go when they were spent.
That still small voice still sits with me like a good friend that is just steady and good, and who lets me ugly cry onto their new shirt, and gets me tissues and doesn't tell me that my nose is swollen and reassures me that I am still a good person, even after I royally fuck up--or think I have. And when I've stopped yelling my pain, it whispers of the good things to come, gets me excited about the things I've put on hold in deference to this all-important, all-consuming goal. I know that I am allowed to hope that there are other good things (maybe better things?) in store.
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If I conclude with anything, I think it will just be this: I think it's really ok to have super mixed feelings about things. I don't think my original goal was a bad thing. In different circumstances, it might have been the right thing. I don't think I was wrong to want it or pursue it. I do think I was right to give it up in the end. I also believe I will also carry a little bit of pain around with me about this decision, possibly for the rest of my life. And that's ok.
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