the last post: a commencement address

For the last post I thought about writing a reprise of the first post, an excuse to celebrate.

But when I went back and read it again, it was instantly clear that this, in its simplest sense, would not satisfy me. I don't know why I am surprised, but it felt less relevant. It is not what is needed now.

But it was originally written as a commencement speech. And, lo and behold, we are in the throes of commencement season. And this is a commencement of sorts...

So, given my timeless love for commencement addresses, here is my address to the Second Set of Baby Steps Class of 2014!



Let me preface this by saying that by no means do I expect us to be done walking these particular baby steps. I suspect that life comes in circles, of confidence and insecurity, of beginnings and endings, and that any of us may find ourselves retracing some steps at any point in our lives. This isn't a bad thing; there is comfort in familiarity, and we can only hope that some things get easier the second time around!

I also have few hopes of avoiding cliches in this commencement. Cliches were something I was determined to avoid the last time around, and giving advice is another. It would have been disingenuous, I thought, to presume to have any answers. Which says a lot about where I was at the time, metaphysically.

What I hoped to leave my audience with in May of 2011 was courage, and permission to enjoy the uncertain days to come. Because this is what I needed to hear. I was overwhelmed with uncertainty and the overwhelming message of the time was, "You will do great things." Not exactly the best combination, and I harbored a lot of resentment toward different people and systems and institutions because of it.


Of course we need courage and good humor now as much as ever, but there are fewer loose ends in my life now, fewer surprises, and I guess I am getting used to the long-term insecurity of being alive and maintaining my middle-class status.

I think that is an important message for graduates: life isn't fun and games, and a lot of it is out of our control. But we are the ones who choose how we approach it, which parts to focus on, which parts to accept and foster. This, I believe, is the difference between a happy person and an unhappy one, and this is where courage and good humor come in handy. And maybe faith as well. The courage to do what we need to do, to overcome hesitations and sally forth into the unknown; the good humor to rise from a particularly nasty fall, especially when everyone is watching; and the faith to believe in ourselves, in what we are doing and the paths we are on.

So here is my hope now: that no matter what happens, we will never let the world steal our souls or crush our spirits; that we never give up on happiness, on the power of good to win out, if only in small ways.

I hope we keep dreaming, and that we put work into bringing these dreams a little bit closer to fruition, even if it takes our lifetimes and our children's lifetimes to happen.

I will continue to pray for peace, in the world and in all of our hearts.

I hope we never give up on finding beauty in the world, and if it ever seems like a hopeless cause, that we set ourselves to the task of creating some.


We have to be committed to our best life, the best versions of ourselves. Nothing happens, or works, unless we choose it, stubbornly and decisively: not a successful relationship (with human, god, or animal), not a dream job, not a delicious homecooked dinner, not a single post on this blog, or its graceful finish. The things that are important, and meaningful, and worth living for - those things are not mistakes. They cannot be mistakes.


This is not happily ever after. It's not a happy ending. Life is not that clear-cut. The story doesn't end just because the narrator stops telling it (or pauses to catch her breath). It just calls on the readers for a little imagination, to bring it to life in other ways, beyond the back cover.

Please, readers, graduates, baby step-takers, President of the Board - breathe life into this life. Breathe life into the steps you take beyond this grand finale, beyond the pomp and circumstance.


I know I will.

Until we meet again...
xoxo
Clara

posted from Bloggeroid

second reaction.

I'm still reeling from the events of yesterday -- again, what we end up dealing with over the long term is a sense of personal invasion.  I'd like to thank the officer who was looking over our house, when I apologized for touching things and closing drawers, he looked me square in the eye and, with an unbelievably even tone, said, "It's O-K."  As though the word was this huge, smooth round rock I was thrown upon, gasping, from a turbulent sea.  "I'm just going to take some fingerprints and the most that would happen is we'll have some to compare with.  It won't be a problem."

Also, it's incredibly disconcerting to see a bag unzipped that I know I just closed yesterday; to remember some funny photo or video clip on my computer I might never be able to watch again; to remember a place I stashed something in the rush of leaving St. Croix Falls that might have also been disturbed, or something taken.  It's like you can't forget, because you keep remembering.  I had just, literally the day before, decided to settle in to the room I was given, even though I didn't love it, and it is upsetting that it was my careful order which was disturbed instead of the suitcase-living I'd been doing up 'til then.

But throughout my phone conversation with Ann, who was exhausted from her own emotional day, I realized that I can't take it personally.  Bad things happen, life isn't easy, we all share the burden of our collective human pain in some capacity, at some point in our lives.  It's not just me.  All these wild things that have happened in Delaware since I arrived have also impacted at least 4 other people -- it's not some personal karma or the sins of my great-great-grandfather coming to rest alone on my shoulders.  I slept well last night, after a really comforting conversation with my parents.  Remembering all the traumatic events my parents experienced right after they graduated college, living in the tiny town of Baeza, Ecuador -- gunshots at night, the sounds of neighbors fighting, military raids, and mountain lion invasions, to name a few.  We talked about how easy it is to focus on the bad things, the worst-case scenarios, because those make newspaper headlines, those are the horror stories we tell from inside mummy bags or in the everyday moments when we realize: life can be excruciatingly painful.  But there are good headlines too, and pleasant editorials, and love stories that last.  There are beautiful moments when, amidst agony, we feel a soft, strong hand reaching for ours in the dark and we know that there are two (or more) sets of tears flowing in rhythm, and suddenly the imperfect world bears some flicker of redemption.

Yes, I still feel that gut-wrenching no-ground-beneath-my-feetness moment here or there, and you might be at least a little bit right if you're thinking my clear-headed and compassionate response to this Unfortunate Event is a cover, that I'm trying to convince myself as much as yourself.  (Read Liz Lampman's post about "doing so well" for another take.)  There is a slight disconnect between my gut reaction, my emotional responses, and my mental-intellectual processing of this event.  But ultimately this is how I locate my homeostasis, that tightrope amidst the haywire.

***

On Sunday my dad gave a sermon about forgiveness.  "How often must we forgive?" the disciples asked, and Jesus said, "Not seven times, but seventy times seven."  So Papa handed out half-sheets of paper with the single word, in large text: Forgive.

There were five Forgive reminders in the house yesterday -- one within a foot of almost every item that was taken.