For some it's sports; for others it's music. Some are into theater, while others are even into cup-stacking. These are all "anti-drugs," according to the campaign that began several years ago to keep kids off drugs. If they have something that brings them meaning; value; brings them life; then they are less likely to try drugs, so the campaign goes. Reading is my anti-drug. If there ever comes a day when I can't read, I will need drugs. Probably just amoxicillin. Nothing too strong to start.
I really do love to read, mainly to learn, but sometimes for relaxation. As long as I can understand the vocabulary, I'll read it. The back of a shampoo bottle, signs posted in the YMCA bathroom, magazines, books, blogs. Anything. I've come to learn (not through reading) that I use reading as my anti-drug, or in reality, my anti-anxiety. At least that's the hope. If I have a problem, I read. If I have free time, I read. If I want to learn something, I read. If I want to feel moved, I read. If I'm bored, I read. If I need an idea for leftovers, I read. If I need to figure out what the rash is on my kid's back, I read. Alan has, on at least one occasion, stated that reading is tearing our family apart. It seems like actual drugs also tear families apart. Interesting.
Not only do I like to read, but I like to read fast. Not to impress all my friends (which they are impressed), but because I can't handle being in limbo. I need to get to the end. I need closure. I need to know the bottom-line. This is not just the case for my reading-life, but also the case for my real-life. Not getting to the end as in dying, but getting to the end of a stage so I know I made it; having closure in conversations so I'm not left guessing what the other person meant; knowing the bottom line so I don't misunderstand. Some call this a control issue.
Living in limbo is really hard [for me]. When life is in limbo, I struggle with living. Really living. I'm not sure how to "thrive" in the in-betweens of life. Just like reading, I want to skip to the end
– the end of the chapter, the end of the book, the end of the series
– so that I can feel settled again. This presents a problem, as it is becoming more and more apparent that life with kids and life with an international move on the horizon has lots of in-betweens and limbo-ness.
So what is one to do? What I have been doing is hunkering down, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for this nothing-ness to pass. Nothing-ness freaks me out. I can handle being busy and on the go; I have a hard time handling the stillness. It's just.so.quiet. And I can't control what I can't hear. And if I can't control it, I am anxious. And if I'm anxious, I'm not living. I'm existing in a world of thoughts, mostly worries, but I'm not living. I'm missing out on real life. My beautiful life.
I've been asking the question lately of how to live in the quiet. How does one like me (if you don't know me well, think Tina Fey meets Rachael Ray meets "Claire" from Modern Family) learn how to live in the in-between? In one of my first appointments, I shared my goals with my therapist for what I'd like to get out of our sessions. She looked at me with this smile, that I think means she is practicing silence as a way to meditate on what has been said, but I interpret it as an invitation to keep talking. So I proceeded to ask her for steps in achieving those goals. I explained that I'm a really good student and if she could just give me some exercises to complete, some practical tips, and most importantly, a projected timeframe that she thought I should start to see these goals accomplished, that would be great! She may have laughed out loud at this. She explained that inner healing and growth is a journey and it happens in its own way for everyone, on its own timetable for everyone, and it's not something one can control with a list of steps. Bummer.
Stillness and quiet freak me out because all the distractions and accomplishments are stripped away, and all that's left is me. And when my mind is programmed to think in checklists and accomplishments, if all that is left is me, then I am the checklist. So I start going through the inventory and decide what to work on, how to improve, how to be better, when really, the stillness and the quiet are invitations to just be. To allow God to move and breath and restore and heal.
I want to stop squeezing my eyes shut and hunkering down through the transitions. I want to live through them and enjoy the journey with my eyes wide open and my heart filled.
- M
