Dear Augustine,
In your last letter, you wrote:
A
time passes though and I find the time spent falling to be boring but also
luxurious. A solitude to the air rushing past me and now just a curiosity as to
what will happen when I land. "What is at the bottom of all this? Who is
to say?" Left to my thoughts for long enough and I can begin to recognize
and categorize them. The fear of the landing, the wondering of what it will be
like at the bottom, the desperation of wishing I was still grasping to the top,
the anger at everyone who didn't prevent this from happening, the dual
self-loathing and pity for now being here, the enjoyment of being in a freefall
and all the fun I can have while it lasts. Pema Chodron would call this all
"thinking;" to "touch the chatter and let it go." Anne Lammott would help me to visualize it as
the mice that won't top chattering in their glass jars; "Turn up their
volume for a moment, hear it all, then turn it all down." I don't remember
what Madeleine would say, but I'd imagine she would have me sit by a babbling
brook in her circle of quiet and give me a happy buddha to look at. I find
myself at this moment of falling feeling grateful to all the women who have
found themselves falling before. No particular thoughts, but a warm sense of
compassion for myself knowing they would have the same.
We
pray to Alice, the patron saint of those who are find themselves endlessly
falling, that we may find ourselves bored of the terror and chatter of our own
fears. That we may consider and then let go of all the things that led us to be
here and become curious and unafraid of what lies for us at the end of it. We
pray to find compassion for ourselves in the falling enough that the air that
rushes past will become as a soft support as we drift to sleep.
Reading these words were certainly a suckerpunch in the feels, in the sense that this is another moment where I can only say, "Yes. Me. Too." All I could think of when I read this was that scene between Danny and CJ on The West Wing where he suggests that if he's going to jump off a cliff and she's going to be pushed off, maybe they could hold hands on the way down. That sense of solidarity and companionship is perhaps why I cried in both happiness and sorrow when I found out that you too had left. Sorrow for all the stress that you and I are both enduring, but joy that we're not along in it.
It feels exactly like falling, and that was the metaphor that had come to my mind so often in my last days. Especially because I didn't want to leave, and it seemed like there might be opportunities for me to stay were it not for bureaucratic hurdles. Part of me wanted to say, "Yes, I recognize that I am the one who chose to leave. But I chose to leave because I had no other choice. And aren't I worth fighting for? Can't you prevent this from being a necessity? Would you not move this boulder to keep me?"
I let go of my grasp on the cliff face hoping that I'd find a handhold a few places down. That I might be falling but it would be temporary, and that I might figure out a way to climb back up the cliff face sooner rather than later.
I'm still falling.
And it's the uncertainty of feeling like I don't even know if there are handholds, and wondering whether or not I should just grab for the first one that I see [What if it crumbles in my hands? What if I fail again?] or keep falling for a little while longer.
These past two weeks I've just not wanted to get out of bed. I have work that I can do, but I feel so lazy. I feel so lost and can't' seem to navigate through what I'm feeling or find the words to put to it. Nothing more than just..."sad". I'm grateful that I have school work that I can [and should] be focusing on. I haven't been as diligent as I need to be about getting ahead on things, but I hope that I can change that pattern over the next two weeks. I have work for my class and work for my thesis that I can get started on. And I think I'll be excited about it if I can really just get into it. I'm worried about the loneliness of it though--reading by myself. Getting excited about scholarship and struggling to find ways to share it with other people.
And there's a part of me that is kicking myself so much through the laziness of things. I am so lucky to be able to have time right now. Yes, I am worried about money, but I also know that I will be okay for months. I know I have a safety net in my parents if push comes to shove, I know that I won't be homeless or wanting for food. That makes me so lucky, and it's something that gave me the space to let go of the cliff face instead of hanging there forever and risking a nervous breakdown.
I feel like I'm squandering my luck which makes me feel more guilty. Isn't this what I always wanted? Time to pursue learning that interests me? Space to breathe and reflect? And I'm...I'm not using it well enough and I know that I'll regret it later. But I don't know how to navigate the unstructured...falling of it all. I'm tilting and twisting upside down and round in circles and I feel like I just need a bearing. I just need hands to grab to say, "You're not alone in this. You're falling but I'm here with you." I know that I'll be okay, I know that I won't be crushed on the bottom. And I am so so so lucky to know that. I just need to work on getting my bearings. On remembering that I already have hands to hold. I just need to reach out and grab on.
+Athena
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