That I would undertake such a trip that was both literally and figuratively at opposite ends of the spectrum was fitting at this point in my life. These days I feel like I have not suffered a minor setback to my inevitable forward progress, so much as a complete derailment and realignment of my entire world. I made some major life changes this year that involve my education and career, and have begun to finally understand who I am. I am finally asking questions about why I engage in certain behaviors, why I make the choices I make, and what I actually want to get out of my life. This process has brought me to some pretty dark places but it has inevitably yielded self-knowledge. I've sat with the worst side of myself, the most horrible things I've done, examined my motivations, and taken ownership for my past. It's been humbling experience at times but ultimately very necessary and long overdue.
This isn't to say life has been all "gloom and doom" for me. My trips out of town were incredibly fun. I absolutely love to travel, meet new people, explore new places, and try new things. Getting out of my comfort zone is the best thing I can do, especially since it helps lift me out of my depression. I met some really great people in my travels, laughed harder than I have in a long time, and felt a connection with people - sometimes complete strangers - that I seldom feel in my everyday life. This connection was possible because of my willingness to be open and take chances - to strike up a conversation or ask a question or even get excited about seeing alligators - which I seldom do on a daily basis due to my extremely shy, introverted nature.
As I traveled this Spring break and thought about the last two years, I realized that my life is undergoing massive changes because I never really finished growing up in the first place. When I divorced, I discovered that I had been using my relationship as a band-aid to fix my broken self and to provide me with the sense of belonging that I so desperately craved. For eleven years I pinned all my hopes on another person to fill the void in my life. By the end, the void only had grown larger, and ended up consuming the relationship like a black hole. My brokenness and unwillingness to continue my own self-growth past twenty-two years of age, for fear of pain and suffering, left me feeling utterly abandoned and isolated at thirty-three.
At the time it seemed like the appropriate course of action but I now understand this pain is unavoidable. No matter how long I tried to live the "successful" life - marriage, career, house - telling myself that everything is getting better each year and avoiding issues from my past, my neuroses, and baggage - eventually it caught up with me. In his book Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, Richard Rohr deals with this very issue. Rohr says that the only path to growth includes failures, setbacks, and disappointments and that they must not be avoided. "Psychological wholeness and spiritual holiness never exclude the problem from the solution. If it is wholeness, then it is always paradoxical, and holds both the light and dark sides of things."
In my own life I thought darkness was bad and to be avoided. I kept running from myself, running from the very people that could help me - my family and friends - telling everyone the narrative that I wanted them to hear. From afar nobody had to see the true me - and this included my ex-wife. I could craft a story and portray my life the way I wanted, thus making myself the hero and impressing everyone with (what I thought would be) my inevitable success, fame, and fortune. I even started this blog as a tool of my own propaganda.
In other words:
This is what I told everyone my life was like...
...when in reality this is what it actually was.
I kept telling myself that I was destined for bigger and better things - that there was more to life than what I was experiencing. "Don't get too comfortable now, because the next step will be better!" Life became an endless cycle of running to the next event because it was better than my current situation. This is how I ended up divorced, pursuing a degree I didn't want, and living in a town five hundred miles from my closest family and friends.
There is a great lyric from a Bon Iver song called Holocene which I listened to a lot on my three thousand mile road trip. The song itself is about moments of realization in life, how we as human beings are tied to the larger context of humanity, and how actually insignificant we truly are. The line goes, "and at once I knew I was not magnificent." I thought about this a lot as I drove across this vast country in the middle of a planet that is so tiny in the scope of the universe. I thought about this while surrounded by thousands of people on vacation, partying, and enjoying life. I thought about this as I sat in choir, praying with the monks at St. John's.
I've spent so much time imagining my own magnificence with my gaze turned inward, that I have completely neglected the here and now most of my adult life. At any point, I could have chosen to be grateful for the people around me and the life I'm living. Instead I kept imagining happiness or fulfillment to be over the next hill or around the next curve in the road. Sometimes I get really mad that it took the collapse of my marriage and my career for me to realize this, but I guess this is the way I needed to learn and grow. As Thomas Merton points out, "a man who fails well is greater than one who succeeds badly."
So here I am, embracing my failure in life, grateful for the lessons I've learned. I would not trade the loneliness, depression, or pain for anything because it has strengthened me and made me a humbler, more empathetic, and compassionate person. The pain is mine and it is a very important part of my story. I do, however, deeply regret the pain that I've caused others through my arrogance and selfishness. I also regret that I've spent so much time running away from those who are nearest and dearest to me so that I could prove my own self-worth. Greg Brown describes this perception so beautifully in his song The Poet Game, that I'm going to quote from it here:
I've lost track of my mistakes
like birds that fly around
and darken half my skies.
To all of those I've hurt -
I pray you will forgive me.
I to you will freely do the same.
There are so many things I didn't see
with my eyes turned inside,
playing the poet game.
I've been playing somewhat of a "poet game" my entire life. I've spent a long time wandering restlessly, searching for myself, hoping to find out who I am in the next job, the next set of friends, the next town, or the next relationship. I've focused all of my energy on "what" I am, and not "who" I am. I am more than mere adjectives that describe me. I am me, in all of my not-magnificence, with all of my paradoxes and contradictions. Darkness and light. Suffering and redemption. Sadness and happiness. It's all there. Life is such an amazing mystery, my friends. I hope I will learn to embrace who I am - and I hope for the same for each of you.
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