I’m worried about being exposed. About being asked, “why can’t you be normal?”. About being made fun of for having what is perceived as a peculiar interest or hobby. Like reading. Or studying.
If those examples are confusing, let me explain.
Rituals and routines have had the second greatest impact on my life in 2020. The largest impact was therapy (as much as I thought I didn’t still need it). But for a reason that perhaps might be surprising. It was helpful because I heard myself repeatedly say that I was doing really well. That I was coming to appreciate who I am. That I felt like I was whole, rather than broken. And someone who is healing rather than someone who is damaged.
…Like a swimmer no longer struggling to keep from drowning, I become aware of how much the salty seas sting. The temptation to choose happiness (as touted by talk shows, books, magazine and blog articles) is compelling, as are the many distractions of technology and entertainment. Yet there is something about sitting with the sadness, with the disquieting sensation of the imminent crying that is sure to happen if I don’t actively work to avert it…
“Wholeness does not mean perfection: it means embracing brokenness as an integral part of life. Knowing this gives me hope that human wholeness — mine, yours, ours — need not be a utopian dream, if we can use devastation as a seedbed for new life.” – Parker Palmer, A Hidden Wholeness: The Journey Toward an Undivided Life
To be whole is not to be unbroken, is not to be perfect, is not to be well balanced. It does not mean that all my goals have been reached, my desires fulfilled, my expectations met. It does not mean that I have found God, lost my demons, eat vegan/local/paleo/organic. It does not mean that I have my shit together, meditate daily, move for at least 30 minutes 3 times a week…