“During the Cuban Missile Crisis, President Kennedy received two letters from the Kremlin. One was aggressive, the other gentler. And because Kennedy said to his men, ‘Let’s respond to the saner message’, we didn’t get blown up, or have to blow up the world.” Anne Lamott continues, “So, I try to respond to the kinder voice.”
The aggressive voice says that I’ve lost my Goddamn mind. That it literally must have fallen alongside the road while driving across the country this summer. That I am not to be trusted. That one singular, selfish mistake could lead to an eternity of suffering. Eternal loneliness. “How could I have been so… thoughtless?” The aggressive voice says I need to keep my membership intact in order to save my family. It’s me. Or them. The aggressive voice says I can’t have both. It says that I can’t make decisions for myself. That there are blind spots. And shadows. And ravenous wolves. Only authority figures can see these things. Therefore, what they say is what’s truly credible. How dare I? How dare I think I could go it alone? How dare I think I could understand? How dare I leave my family hanging, suspended in the afterlife with no mother? How could I do such a thing? How could I create such unfathomable suffering in the people I love most? What kind of person AM I?
But, since I don’t want to get blown up, or blow up the world, I’m responding to the gentler voice. The gentler voice says the way I am is exactly right. That what I want is true. Pure. Holy. What I know is real. Valid. And revolutionary. It’s ok if others don’t see it. I see it. That’s enough. I know what I know. I want what I want. I follow the wisdom of my heart. I trust myself. I live a life of great and deep and eternal love. For myself. For my family. For humanity. The gentler voice reminds me that I know God. And that, to me, God is love. To them, God may be fear. But to me, God is love. I know. The gentler voice says the present moment is all there is. That life is not to be lived anywhere but now. It says that I am allowed to grow. Without restrictions. Unrestrained. Free. The gentler voice says I am free. To be my own woman. To breathe my own breath. To dance to my own tune. The gentler voice says I’ll be ok. And that grace is bigger and better and sweeter than I can imagine. And that it shows up every time. It says, as it cups my face lovingly in its palms—that I am safe, and all is well. It tells me to live. Loud and big and sure. That this one wild and crazy life is all I’ve got and that it’s worth living. It is worth living. Living. Alive.
I read this and it brought up feelings of my past. My whole youth and onward until about a year ago I lived for the afterlife. "Life really sucks here but everything will be better in the afterlife." I would tell myself. I would question why God made me this way. "I love to learn. I want to learn. Why can't I read like the other kids." They told me I chose my trials and that it will all be work out in heaven. So I dreamed of how that would be. How I could sit and read and learn without hiccups. How I could wake up and be able to see without my glasses. How I could be without the worry that I will have to read something aloud to a crowd. Then as I got older I lived for that afterlife of no stress no anxiety. No judgment. I would be happy there with the love of my life by my side. Then the love of my life "gave up his right" to the afterlife of my dreams. Now I was to be there but be there alone. Without him reading, learning, seeing it all didn't matter. My world shattered. Why would God do this to my. My heaven became hell overnight. I fell apart. My world started crumbling. This was supposed to make me happy. I realize now it never brought me happiness only broken dreams. I can still learn I can still read. Maybe it takes me longer but that's ok. I can do me. And I'm enough. No need to wait for my dream afterlife. I can be happy now.
ReplyDeleteThank you Laurisa for your word. I hope mine can inspire you as much as yours inspired me.