Fortune Favors the Bold...one way or another.

I've been meditating on the nature of risks, fears, and -most importatly- courage as of late. I recently did something that terrified me(primarily because of its potential to wreak havoc with my heart and emotions). I really wrestled with this decision...because I knew that making it could turn out quite badly...and it may yet. Quite frankly, courage doesn't always pay. Sometimes courage can cost you the greatest happiness you could ever desire. Courage means confronting an issue, facing a challenge that may result in the greatest ecstasy or the ultimate sorrow. Courage means honesty...and that honesty can be both freeing and devastating. Courage doesn't mean that you will be rewarded for your sacrifice, for conquering your fears and quelling your panic to reach for that dream which is just in sight but not in your grasp.

More often than not, it will instead leave you battered and broken. No single act can produce greater suffering, isolation, and utter devastation as an act of courage. No other effort can result in greater suffering, sorrow, and heartache. Courage requires risk and sacrifice. It forces us to surrender our facades, tear down our inner strongholds, and strip away the layers of our superficiality until only a breathtakingly vulnerable and beautiful authenticity remains. The physical, emotional, and/or spiritual cost of courage is the greatest of all debtors, because its rewards are as blissfully wonderful as its punishments are earth-shatteringly cruel.

There is nothing as rapturously beautiful as a moment of true courage. The boundless hope, the all too brief breath of belief that the future is limitless, and the fleeting second when possibilities are endless following a moment of courage is unequaled in both its divinity and savagery. The potential harm inflicted by moments of courage, the depthless despair that unrewarded acts of bravery can inspire, may - in fact - drive a person to abandon said acts altogether. Better to tread the earth in mediocrity than to taste the skies and fall.

This passive alternative, though, this quiet resignation to a world without joy, is no less painful than the wounds one may recieve in the quest for courage. The mind-numbing agony of indecision, the gnawing voice in your mind that screams "What if?" is by no means a better bedfellow. The refusal to act courageously is a decision to be tormented by the ghosts of what might have been. You will never have a moment's peace or a smidgen of traquility in the absence of courage, because courage can provide the one thing we humans crave the most: answers. For better or worse, courage enables us to confront our fears, summon our integrity, and discuss the things that most terrify us. Abandonment, rejection, heartbreak, isolation: we risk all these things when we choose daring over a silent despondency, but better an honest desolation than an artificial joy based on ignorance. To be courageous is to seek the truth, trusting that - no matter how painful - we are capable of moving beyond that pain and that it is impossible for us to embrace a lie - no matter how beautiful - and still be satisfied.

Courage is pain; truth is pain, but both courage and truth are unquestionably real. And I'd rather live an authentic life - one with both intense joy and uncomprehendable sorrow - than settle for a pale imitation.

Mere Christianity

So my friend, Christina, came over this evening to hang out for a bit. We watched "The Brothers Grimm," talked about our weeks, and just had a good time. It's been wonderful having someone nearby to talk to; we've both definitely been each other's solace these past several weeks. Christina is looking into taking some classes at a nearby seminary and, naturally, much of our discussion this evening centered on Christianity, the Church, and doctrine.

Since Christina's Episcopalian, one of the subjects we eventually drifted into was her disappointment with the division in the Episcopal church and doctrinal differences there. Obviously, one of the hot button issues in the church right now is homosexual rights and whether or not homosexuals can serve as ministers. Christina's stance was that she was less upset that the minister was openly gay than she was about the fact that he was practicing and, in doing so, cheating on his wife. Interesting line of thought, no? Sexual sin is sin whether it's hetero or homo. Her argument, based on the New Testament, is that if a person's house is not in order, he (or, in my opinion, she) should not be leading the church.

This concept, in turn, led to us discussing the nature of pastors and of the church in general, specifically the flaws within both. I remember that, once upon a time, I used to take every word that dropped out of a pastor's mouth as law. I would sit in the front row, frantically scribble down notes, and vow to memorize every sub-point of every sermon. I was so certain that, no matter how irrelevant a given sermon might seem, that I was capable of gleaning some shining truth out of it that would change my life and make me a better person and Christian.

Then, through a series of events that I will not relate here, I experienced that singular, painful, experience that initiates us all into adulthood: disillusionment. Through an emotionally traumatizing situation, I was forced to recognize the fact - the previously impossible and seemingly blasphemous idea - that pastors are imperfect. This, in turn, soon lead to the realization that church people - like all people - are also imperfect and -indeed- the church itself is far from flawless. This seemingly simple piece of information shattered my tiny, idealistic, world. It opened up a purgatory of grey space a reality in which I could no longer fully trust the words that dropped from a pastor's mouth, believe that my fellow Christians always had my best interests at heart, and that - perhaps - the Bible and Christianity itself as I had learned to perceive them could no longer be left unexamined.

Bottom line: church people are no different than un-churched people. They share the same hopes, dreams, and ambitions. They also share the same flesh, the same weaknesses. A pastor will sin just as readily and easily as a drug addict. A priest can be a pedophile just as easily as a convict. The only difference between Christians and non-Christians is that Christians - when truly seeking God and acting out the tenets of their faith - will understand and admit their failings, seeking redemption for their failure and incapability to be righteous (thus the whole "it is by grace you have been saved, through faith; not by works, so that no one may boast").

This realization, when actualized, is both freeing and terrifying. It means that the concrete answers I once thought I had are not so concrete anymore. It means people who I thought would never betray me, simply because they were Christians, can and will one day. It means that pastors will say things that are wrong, Christians will do things that are wrong, and I too will do things that are equally unacceptable. Because we are imperfect.

It also means that I can allow people - both Christians and non-Christians - to be just that: people. This knowledge enables me to, since I am aware of my own failings, leave room for the faults and flaws of others. It enables me to love the homosexuals and heterosexuals, just as they are. It keeps me from judging them, from hypocritically using the Word as a weapon in a quest to smite them into submission, from coercing them into conforming with my limited vision of the gospel and of God. It means I no longer can assume that I have all the answers and it prevents me from trying to change people who don't fit my concept of how people should be. It forces me to recognize my own bitter mistakes, to swallow my pride and acknowledge my own utter idiocy, and utter the two most difficult words in the English language: "I'm sorry."

Most importantly, it compels me to love people - just as they are - because there are people who have and there is a God who has - in spite of my imperfections, my neuroticisms, and my endless selfishness - chosen to love me. It allows me to accomplish the most difficult feat in all the world: to forgive and be forgiven. All because I am not perfect. We are not perfect. The world is not perfect.

But God is.

This is the truth we, first as individuals, then as fellow strugglers, must build our lives upon. We cannot focus on legalism or religiosity. Ritual, regulation, and rigidity have no place here. Wearing the right clothes, saying the right things, and attending church every Sunday like good little saints is not the answer. Prancing around and wailing in self-righteous self-denial and martyrdom is hardly what the solution is. Nor is condemning others for their mistakes, touting our own "holiness" (as if it was ours to begin with), or isolating ourselves in a "holy huddle" from the world is not the answer. Trying to be good enough won't do it. Abandoning hope all together because we feel we can never earn enough redemption - and, indeed, we cannot - won't fix it. Pretending that we have no doubts, fears, or anxieties won't solve the problem. Simultaneously, refusing to hope and deciding to never trust again is equally insufficient.

Being good is not the answer. Sacrifice is not the answer. Indulgence is not the answer. People are not the answer. Pastors are not the answer. The Church is not the answer. And, yes, even the Bible - by itself - is not the answer.

Jesus is the answer.

The call, the question, and the solution. The perfection, the trust, and the revolution. The scandalous, the sacred, and our restitution. Our life, our love, and our absolution.

Jesus.

Kindred Spirits

Have you ever noticed how the vast majority of women writers - Emily Dickinson, Jane Austen, etc, etc - remained steadfastly alone? Their works have touched the lives of millions. Their creativity and passion are the stuff of literary legend. However, they failed to attain the one thing they desired above all else: a loving, lasting, relationship.

Jane Austen, in particular, strikes a chord with me. Granted, I'm probably focused on her more since I just went to see "Becoming Jane," but -nevertheless- I identify with the poor girl. As characters in the movie all too frequently proclaimed "The good do not always come to good ends." In fact, I think the word "seldom" was even applied at one point. Jane, for all her fire, passion, and devotion, was denied the one happiness she craved most in life. She spent her entire life writing, yes, and doing what she loved, but she paid for it: she lost the love of her life.

When given the choice between being "good," "successful," or "happy," which do you choose? Particularly if the three show no signs of aligning? In terms of heaven and hell, good is the obvious choice. And, sometimes, good people gain success. But for all our insistence that righteousness will be rewarded, the rewards are decidedly few and far between in this fallen world.

At this point in my life, though, I feel like if I am "good" then I cannot be "successful" or "happy." For me, successful would be a writing career and book deals...something I seem unable to attain without writing about dark, Anti-Christian, themes. Is that sending out a postive, Christ-focused message to the world? No. But am I good at it and, on some level, do I enjoy and believe in it? Yes. It's also troubling to me that the minute I enter "yay Jesus," mode, when I ignore human suffering, I seem completely unable to write anything at all...

But, even if I am successful without being good, that does not mean I will be happy. Like Emily, Jane, and so many other women writers before me, I wonder if I too am destined to spend my life alone, craving love and a connection with someone but never attaining it. While watching a scene in the movie in which Jane Austen is attempting to Elope with Lefroy, my friend -Christina- leaned over and asked me "If you had to give up EVERYTHING in order to be happy, would you do it?" Overwhelmed, all I could offer her was a weak "I don't know" in response.

Everything. That's a big word, isn't it? What price would I pay to be genuinely and truly happy? Would I sacrifice my friends? My family? Would I suffer my mother's tears and my father's silent disappointment? The potential subsequent disowning that would be likely to follow? Could I handle being an object of disappointment? Shame? Someone who is whispered about regretfully behind closed doors? Could I surrender certain ideals, traditions, and manners of thinking? Eschew values with which I have been raised, thereby breaking the hearts of others who love me in the process? Could I give up dreams of being "famous"? Of pursuing my own career in whatever field I choose? My dreams? My goals? My ambitions? Could I really surrender EVERYTHING? And is being happy really everything to begin with?

I'm not sure that I have a concrete answer to that question. Experience has taught me that love is sacrificial in nature and, by default, one should expect to give something up in order to gain it. True love, after all, is rooted in an absence of selfishness, in considering the other person and loving them enough to realize the difference between wants and needs. Ideally, they should look after your needs and you should look after theirs. Then both parties are equally protected and cherished. Knowing that, then, part of me is more than willing and, indeed, capable of surrendering things in order to love and be loved. It's part of being human, really. And there is most definitely a rash, reckless, and zealous part of me that would joyously burn bridges if I knew something beautiful would be waiting for me on the other side.

So there's the eternal pardox: Happiness = love. Love = sacrifice. But what happens when your sacrifice, your "selflessness" towards one person, causes you to act selfishly towards another? What if the person you love causes you to hurt others? Ex. Family doesn't approve of your sacrifice/the one you love. Or someone else also cares about the one you love and you hurt said someone by pursuing the one you want. Can you be selfless and selfish at the same time? Can your willingness to love someone else, to achieve that happiness that all human beings crave, be construed as selfish as wrong?

Part of me desperately craves to break free from everything I've ever known. I both do and do not want to be selfish. I don't want to hurt anyone...but I want my life to be MINE. I want to chase after something I think is beautiful and wonderful...even if other people I care about don't agree. I don't want to be condemned for being different, for being a-typical. I WANT TO BE FREE. Free to just be...me. Unhindered by the expectations of my family and the church. I daresay God - who made me - must be aware of how I am. None of this, therefore, should come as a shock to him. I just want to be human: a flaw-filled, imperfect, human. I want to be allowed to make mistakes and not have people think less of me because of them. I want to break rules. I want to taste the forbidden. And who says it's forbidden anyway? The fam? The church? Some long dead Jewish disciple who was just as human, flawed, and sinful as I am? Hmmm.....

It will be interesting to see where things go with this boy of mine. I feel like this will be a pivotal decision for me - should things continue on the course I hope. Will I draw back and return to the life, values, and beliefs I've known? Or will I surge forward and abandon "everything" for the chance to encounter something real? Or will I even be allowed to have the chance to make that choice? Will I have the courage to do what seems to be the harder of the two - choosing happiness?

I've gotten all too skilled at playing the martyr. I discussed this very issue with my friend Kadi the other night. In regards to "The Boy," she told me the following: "You need to take that chance and experience what it is he has to give you.. Or later along the road, you'll regret it. I mean.. he's what you've been looking for, and you deserve your chance at being happy, at least for a while. Take it... you've just got to give yourself at least this.... It's time to live."

Something in me soared upon reaading those words on my AIM screen. I only have this one life to live, this one chance to learn, grow, and fail/succeed on my own terms. When it's done, it's done. When I'm in either heaven (hopefully) or hell, the time for decisions and changes will have come and gone. I am utterly terrified...I don't know what will happen...I do know I'm tired of feeling like I'm living a hollow shell of an existence. One thing is for certain...Kadi's right: It's time to live. God, please....PLEASE, let me live....

Sorrow, Serpents, and Searches

I've come to the conclusion that I am a somewhat depressed person. Or, at least, I suffer from a very melancholic personality type. It amazes me how quickly I can go from feeling absolutely wonderful to bone-shatteringly heartbroken. Maybe it's just that I'm overly sensitive. I do tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve: a classic symptom of an artist's temperment, I know, but I just can't seem to help it.

I'm feeling horrendously overwhelmed. This whole "you need to be a grown-up" thing is starting to kick in and I'm absolutely terrified. I'm starting to realize how little time I have left before graduation, before I'm supposed to find a "real job" and become an "adult." I feel...trapped. Like I'm suffocating under the weight of my own future. My writing block has yet to dissipate, I have to hunt for jobs and apartments, and hope that I get into a decent grad school that I can simultaneously afford.

Of course, my foul mood is compunded by the fact that I don't know where I stand with "The Boy." First he drops words like "couple" and "dating". Then he reverts to the ever so dangerous "friends." Back and forth, back and forth. My mind and heart can't take much more of it. I really am tired of being alone. I've been as patient as I know how to be. You'd think after being single for all except 2 weeks of your life that a girl would be long overdue for some luck. It's not that I can't make it on my own: I just don't want to. I'm so tired of being alone. I want someone to hold me, to cuddle up next to me in bed as we watch stupid action flicks and make fun of the actors. I want someone I can leave random notes for to brighten his day and remind him that he's loved. I want someone who I can laugh with, argue with, cry with, and -most importantly- love. I'm so ready to be taken...and it would be so nice to actually win in that arena for a change...

A friend of mine, who has since sadly regressed to being more of an acquaintance, once told me that I was the best Slytherin incognito she knew (Meaning that I was sneaky, clever, ambitious and -above all- competition). On the one hand I was flattered. On the other, I was deeply saddened. She - like so many people I know - cast me in a category that I have yet to understand: threat. Apparently, I'm wonderfully skilled at intimidating the dickens out of people, which makes me laugh because I spend 3/4 of my time being intimidated by everyone else. My newfound "prowess" makes me laugh. It's so strange to go from social outcast to quasi-butterfly. People think I'm this terribly confident/arrogant individual who's out to step on everyone. In reality, I'm just a bookworm who has gained a smidgen of poise and masquerades as a confident person because I don't want to make myself a target for those who DO step on people...

Yes, I'm horribly ambitious. I want to DO something with my life. I want to be remembered years from now as someone who contributed something to the world. If there's anything I fear, it's mediocrity. I want to be respected, recognized, etc. I want my life to MEAN somthing. I want to prove my worth, significance, and skill. In some ways, I guess I do want to be competition (that's just not all I want to be).

Yes, I'm fairly clever. I can do the social manuvering thing just as easily as I can ace a Lit exam. I know the words to drop and the smiles to plaster on, much as I hate doing so. I'll admit it: I most definitely DO know how to play the game. Trouble is, I don't have the heart to.

So the ultimate dilemma then, is this: I have all the skills and traits that signal me as "threat" but not the selfishness to act on them. Well, not that I don't have it, but I try desperately to supress it because I have no love of hurting people. I'm just so tired of scaring people. Why does "different" have to be frightening? Yes, I'm smart. I guess there's no denying that now. But that doesn't mean I'm going to use my intellect to abuse you. I've slipped on ocassion, but that's never really been my ultimate goal. Yes, I suppose I could be classified as "cute," but that doesn't mean I'm out to steal your boyfriend simply because I said "hello" and smiled at him. I LOVE it when that happens (insert eyeball roll of epic proportions here).

I could be that cruel. I could be that vicious. I could be that selfish...but I choose not to be. Why? Because I care about people. Becasue, beneath all my failings, I'd rather help people than harm them.

So what do you do when you're a Slytherin with the heart of a Hufflepuff, the brains of a Ravenclaw, and the reckless loyalty and zealousness of a Gryffindor? Really? Where do you fit? Where do you go? What do you do? I sometimes wonder if my perpetual singleness and isolation are the result of my "scariness" factor. I'm really not that scary. Not really. It's just that no matter what I do, people seem too eager to believe their preconcieved ideas about me rather than inquiring and finding out the truth...

I suppose this boils down to the fact that I want someone to see me for, well, me. Someone who can look beyond the facade, beyond the mask I wear to make others happy, and see me for who I am...and like what they find. God help me find contentment and hope in my solitude for the meantime....