The Difficult Silence of Ineffability

my heart, my body, my brain

 

The waiting of three months with not-knowing certainty pushed me to new limits of patience and understanding. With its end came sadness, but at least also a sense of finality. In the three weeks that have passed I've been trying to openly embrace my transition into a different phase, but here, it's been difficult. Arriving at this new place meant acknowledging that the few things I held close were more deeply falling away. Truthfully, I can muster heavy welcomes to greet these changes, and despite my wish to be filled with the lightness of being, I'm holding breath with my insecurities. Keeping them next to me without pushing away means finding new resources of courage to battle the loneliness of independence. In the meantime, I've managed to maintain. It results, however, in a penetrating silence.

At once, I turn to write. To explain. If only through signs and gestures.

What one fears must not be stated was admitted in these past few weeks. Numerous times. It's been no secret, however, that the narrow path which leads to a well-outlined yet seldom-realized future has always stirred up fears of compromise and settling in me. Nevertheless, the audience changes everything. Lest one be confused, I'm referencing multiple things, for the pattern is similar and provides a structure for one big picture. Within a matter of days I managed to articulate my biggest worry of becoming something that I never wanted to be--pushed further ahead, yet at the same time away, by the expectations of what it means to do philosophy. Without missing a beat, questions of love, passion, commitment, insight, creativity, and utilizing one's strengths immediately come to the surface. Not surprising, of course, because strengths serve as anchor points. They find holds, take root, and support successes. Like seeds, they are what nourish any amount of life, growth, and change, and once planted, something can emerge. The matter for consideration is where to do one's planting. In whom and under what conditions. At the same time, I wonder if one can wait to realize a different when.

At these moments I can feel overwhelmed, discouraged, and weak. It's not the levels of complexity that I see which feel burdensome, but rather the inability to share with others what is burgeoning within me. Words cannot be robust or quick enough. They would each need something like four dimensions in order to reach across the overlaps and  the scope that constitutes the nexus within me. So I turn elsewhere for inspiration. As I hold my exhale, I read.

Thinking back on all that I have gained in the last year and the efforts that I put in to bear those fruits, the light falls on my relationships. But my sadness is compounded by the fact  that one of my most unique relationships has had to be reshaped, relegated, and in a sense, released. For years I longed for time enough to develop a sufficient amount of understanding, to acquire the required sense for feeling meaning and living theory, and finally, after five months of realizing this profound connection, my own experience has left me speechless. The reality is that I am not capable of overlooking this insufficiency. It seems strange that the words of another who is so different could resonate so intimately, and yet like any love relationship, it takes effort and commitment to meet with someone in this space. That, no doubt, is a rare achievement. Don't let another beat skip. You might mishear what I mean. Nevertheless, I feel something like a sense of...betrayal, for his words have wrapped me in a contradiction that is nearly too difficult to bear. A 'Yes' means I do, and the affirmation reaches to my bones. But simultaneously, such an affirmation leaves me feeling alone. The deeper I go, the harder it is to wear the necessary masks and perform. I do not resent him for sharing his wisdom, and I know that my task it to go on, but for the next year, I am making it all up from a false start. And I anticipate what a struggle it will be to remain on the surface and play as I outline the contours of these errors. 

Amor Fati

There are many things that I don't get very well. I don't understand how or if the mass of the planet and the speed of the earth's rotation compel me to stay stagnant to counter how much I'm already moving, or if the gravity of the sun which keeps our little ball in orbit affects my moods more than the rise and fall of its good mornings and good-byes do. Maybe it's the the tug of our growing and fading moon which hovers around so silently yet stirs up the crashing of waves that pulls my spine upright as I exhale the fog of my mind away. Perhaps it's as simple as the tectonic plates that move at the rate of a fingernail's pace that won't let my heart feel fully grounded. In precisely one year, I've taken a wide revolution around the sun while ten million breaths have come and gone, and after it all, I'm still right where I had begun. I've found myself here again. The air remains crisp, sometimes too thin to bear, but upon this return--  

Rats 'N Cats

This is a new project I am doing with a friend. We are having a ball with it!!!

You can also 'LIKE' us on Facebook now...because we have a fan page.

The Past That Led to the Future From Here

A deceptively simple picture of the next year for me looks something like this: Get favorite local friend to move in, enjoy the summer months with boyfriend before he moves to Boston for dental school, finish out last year of grad school, collect some PhDs, then move after May 2013 to the next phase of my life, wherever that may be.

Simple enough.

But two weeks ago the picture of my future looked totally different. It was rushed, panicked, scary, unknown, with lots of loose ends and multiple possibilities that kept getting thwarted, changed, surfaced, or foreclosed. That's because the past two months of my life have left me consumed with unexpected changes that have invited new imaginings and called for attempts to solidify new future plans. Three weeks into the new year, my relationship was abruptly ended, meaning my plans to move to Boston in the summer to be with him where suddenly blocked. Since I had been planning to move for a while, my roommate set her housing plans for next year and signed a new lease, which wasn't a problem since I was still planning on moving for my own professional and personal reasons. In the meantime, I visited Chicago, fell in love with the city, and pretty much decided that I wanted to move there. Figuring out when I could move was hinging on a grant that I applied for. And other summer plans were still to be figured out--namely, my plan to drive my car back to the west with him in May and take a one-way flight back to PA together was either going to require me to 1) cut my losses and waste his ticket, do the cross-country trip solo, and relinquish my car then and make do for the rest of the summer, or 2) buy another one-way ticket there and figure out the how to get rid of the car before moving to Chicago (or just take it with me). But it was only a week or so after we broke up before he and I started spending time together again, so it might also be possible that 3) we still end up taking the trip together.  After about five weeks he and I eventually got back together, the possibility of me moving to Boston was reintroduced, I had applied for a summer grant, and he would be auditioning for a summer gig in Cape Cod. If we both got what we were shooting for, I would have money (good thing) and be locked into staying in town for the summer, and he would get paid (good thing) but would leave town in May, cutting even more into our time together, time that would be very helpful in terms of us getting solid again in our relationship, especially if I were to move to Boston.

With all of this up in the air, I was already feeling dizzy. Do I move to Chicago for myself, a city that I love, with friends, and a place that I could afford? Or do I move to Boston for a relationship that's better now than ever, but I'm still recovering from a break up, not to mention that Boston is expensive, I'd have to live with stranger-roommates even though I'm at a place in life where I want to have my own place? What if I get the grant? What if I don't and I could leave sooner (but to where)? What if he goes to Cape Cod?  In order to avoid having more than one panic attack, I tried hard to breathe, wait, be patient, and trust myself to make a good decision when I had to. And I turned to Twitter for my venting.

so i drew this picture of rising balloons on a paper towel

As each day would bring new information, new feelings to consider, and new options, I had to allow myself to settle into a feeling of release. Nothing was settled, and try as I might to make plans, something would change. Like when the airlines called me one afternoon to explain that they were no longer servicing flights from Boise to Philadelphia, and they couldn't change my ticket to another airline. The only available option was to give me a full refund on those two one-way tickets. Perfect. I may have been the only one to be relieved by that drastic business failure. And then I was reminded in a very tangible way that one can always depend on the fact that something will happen. Things change.

On one particular day a couple of weeks ago, my boyfriend-again and I managed to swing free tickets to Boston for the weekend of his audition for the a cappella group enabling me to join him for the trip. Maybe he would get it, maybe he would take the Cape Cod gig. Maybe I would fall in love with the city. Maybe I could see myself living there by the end of the summer. Maybe we would end up in Boston after all. Big maybes.

But the day before we left (the same day that I learned that I didn't get the grant I had applied for), I got an email from my advisor giving me an early heads-up about some policy changes in our department that, if (but more likely when) put into practice would drastically affect the possibility of me relocating at all. In short, even if I got assigned to teach online classes, I would have to stay in this small little university town in order to continue getting my health benefits and a paycheck. If I wanted to move then, I would have to find compelling academic reasons for moving that the administration would be willing to approve (and other professional or personal reasons won't seem to carry much weight). So, bon voyage to Boston, a place where I couldn't live even if I really wanted to! Talk about feeling like walls are being thrown up around me.

The Boston trip was good. It involved some really amazing and meaningful opportunities for us to be together. Perhaps it was the policy changes in my department (or the entire situation actually) that afforded a unique kind of distance. I felt that, in a way, the weekend enabled us to witness the great, the good, and the room for improvement in our relationship. By the end of the weekend I was feeling closer to him than I had over the past two months, more confident in us, and more available to the idea of us being together for the long term than ever before. And, ironically, at the same time it became clear to me that I couldn't see myself moving to Boston this summer, even if my department would allow it. It would feel too rushed, too fast, too risky. If I were to force a move anywhere, it would be to Chicago. In the interest of us, it seemed like the best option would be for me to stay at Penn State.

Yet, over the weekend I explained to him how I was feeling like nothing was presenting itself as a viable option. Everything felt far-away, unlikely, or that it would take the will of a god to manufacture and manifest into reality. To take a step in any direction felt like forcing it.

I usually make my decisions with a kind of ease. It's because I really value what the Taoists call "wu-wei," or "effortless action." (Read the Tao of Pooh if you want a decent introduction to Taoism. I love it.) It involves working with the circumstances, yielding to the elements that one encounters, and using the structure of the situation that surrounds you to accomplish your goals. It's not about being completely passive. You don't just float like a leaf or a dead corpse down the river. But it's not about "taking the bull by the horns" and asserting oneself to command a situation either. If you battle a bull or swim up stream, you're going to expel a lot of energy, tire yourself out, struggle, and end up feeling pretty defeated without actually getting that far in the end. More than being completely passive or completely "active" by manipulating and orchestrating a situation, the idea of effortless action is to go with the flow. It's cliche and we've heard it before, but there's wisdom there.

Upon the evening of our return from Boston, the pieces finally started to fall together and I was beginning to see the structures within the situation. My department won't let me leave unless I become a certified miracle-worker. But if I don't try to work a miracle, I would end up teaching students in three more classes, face to face. In other words, I'd be doing what I love for another year and conveniently still have my car, still get paid, still have health insurance, and still save money. Since he couldn't commit to two summers of singing in Cape Cod, he didn't get in the group, which means that he'll still be around until August. In other words, we have more time together, and when he moves to Boston, maybe we'll be strong enough to endure ten months long distance. One of the final loose ends to wrap up would be finding a roommate who isn't a total loser, slacker, or scumbag. And wouldn't you know it, upon my return from the weekend trip, one of my best friends decided that she didn't want to make a drastic move to Chicago just yet either, and the best and easiest option for her would be to stay in State College...so long as she could find a place to stay. So, things can and do work out. Now all I need to do is find a way to make money this summer.

For the past two months I have tried very hard to discipline myself to be patient, stay open, to wait, and put enough trust in myself to know that I will make sure that I am okay. There were more times than I can recall when all I wanted to do was make something happen, start putting plans together, take steps in any direction at all. But as I said before, the anxiety and stress of waiting, and even of being open to him again, was rooted to the intense vulnerability of my position. For that reason, I knew that to make a move in any direction would at the same time mean that I turn my back on other possibilities. I wasn't ready to take the bull by the horns and do that just yet.

I'm not saying that everything happens for a reason in the sense that God had a plan for me all along. Despite often feeling like the World/Universe/God/Fate/Stars/Chance were all working against me or sending me signals in the form of little hindrances and gigantic roadblocks, neither do I think that one has to posit some kind of transcendent intentionality behind the happenings of the past two months. What I can say is that things change. In spite of those changes, and because of other changes, I'm finally feel like things are settling after a very tumultuous two months. I can breathe again, my head is cleared, and I am happy with the picture of the next year that is projected before me. Of course things will still continue to change and I can't predict where I'll be in two or twelve months from now or who will be with me, but at least I like where I am now. I love those who are next to me. And I feel like I can finally take steps on some reasonably solid ground.
 
In order to get here, I've had to discipline myself to this lesson: There is ease in letting go, patiently waiting, and gracefully embracing the spirit of each new day. Doing so apparently leads to moments and places where you can snap pictures like this, which I think somehow capture the essence of what it feels like to go with the flow of life.

The Right Path, The More Graceful Way

I'm a planner. And a doer. These characteristics take root in some of my strengths, which include self-sufficiency, competency, independence, reliability, punctuality, accountability, assertiveness, confidence and and high expectations for myself and others to act with honesty and integrity. I've always been the very responsible sort who's taken care of things rather than let the metaphorical balls in my life drop. I take care of my finances, my health, plan for my future, am dedicated to my work at present, and value the cultivation of growth in myself and my relationships. People have called me an "old soul," "wise beyond my years," or simply, "very mature for my age."  Of course, in all my years of growing up so far I've definitely made some poor decisions and plenty of mistakes, but I've brought myself to a place where I have learned how to take care of myself in mature and responsible ways. In many ways, I think that these traits are generally good things. And I gather that many people agree.

But here's the kicker, and the honest truth. Sometimes all of my high expectations for competency, independence, and reliability can lead to pretty extreme frustrations, disappointments, and difficulties with others. One thing that I have worked to become more mindful of for years is how when others don't meet my expectations, irritation and critique can come into the picture with surprising force. I don't like the person I become when I lose my patience, generosity, and compassionate understanding. And this is by no means pleasant for other people (bless them, poor souls, for no one likes to feel like they let someone down, and I'm particularly communicative with my thoughts and feelings--good and bad--and I can have a sharp tongue). Fortunately, I know that this unfavorable tendency of mine, like most of our ugly sides, is deeply rooted to some kind of fear.  It's because of this connection to a basic fear--whatever that might be--that our evaluations of supposedly "good" and "bad" things begin to look somewhat different.

For instance, a lot of the effort that I have put into making sure that I am able to take care of myself and meet my own basic needs so that I don't have to depend on others to do it for me is rooted to a fear of depending on people and the vulnerability associated with that. People can and do and sometimes will let you down. Recognition of this fact can find it's way into more obviously detrimental manifestations, though, like a fundamental difficulty with trusting people. I know that we all have our "stuff," and typically for real and valid reasons--it didn't just come out of nowhere, and we develop certain tendencies because they served a purpose at one point in time or another. A tension arises, though, if the time comes when you no longer need the protective walls or defensive mechanisms that seemed so crucial before but you can't seem to shake them. Sometimes we allow the protective walls to become more like the foundation and the roofs that we live in. And then when we try to leave the house of "me" that we built, it feels very, very scary. Almost impossible.

The good news for me is that I don't think I live in that kind of house. In fact, more than ever before, I feel open, trusting, and healthy with respect to how much I can give to another person in terms of myself and my vulnerability. Of course, this has directly translated into a much greater degree of patience and grace with others and their actions. By being able to feel safe and secure in the ways that I need to, which is not mutually exclusive from feeling vulnerable, mind you, I've grown into a better person who very much appreciates that mistakes happen. We all make them. And most of the time, these mistakes need not be interpreted as hurtful. In other words, people make mistakes, and sometimes, people really fuck up, but that doesn't always have to  feel so threatening. Thus, its less the case that people should have to flawlessly pass the "Prove that I can really trust you test" if that test is construed in a way that demands perfection from people. It definitely helps ease the worry if those who might hurt us through their mistakes are self-aware and humble enough to acknowledge their faults, but ultimately, the ability to trust and feel secure must, and really does, come from ourselves.

With all of that said, I want to acknowledge that I am writing now from a particularly insecure place. I'm facing some upcoming decisions that will shape my immediate future, and they have the potential to lead miles down Life Path A or Life Path B, the two of which look--at least from this vantage point--to be drastically different. There are valuable things on either path, but one is a path where I assume the "mature for my age" me and take care of myself, protect against vulnerabilities, and make myself feel more secure. The other grants the important work that "healthier me" has done and involves cherishing the experience that I have had of putting my faith and trust in others, knowing that the supreme value that we tend to place on stark independence is a farce (because we are always already dependent on others), and owning up to the fact that it's not a mark of strength to run away from vulnerability. Either path requires confidence in myself, conviction, and the courage to face whatever fears will walk a given path with me, for while they both carry their good stuff, both paths also present their own (and sometimes fear inducing) unknowns.

I don't yet know which way to go on this one. But one thing that I have been doing for the past few weeks is trying to resist my urge to plan, to do, to make moves. I really, really want to make a decision and go with it at times. It would be clean and easy. For now though, I'm trying to hold on even more firmly to that patience that I have worked so hard to cultivate. While there  may be better or worse choices to be made, there are no right or wrong ones. Neither is there a need for urgency yet, and with each day, things continue to change. So for now, I'm taking solace in the words that I usually say to others when they feel confused, lost, and unsure about what to do: "Something will happen. It always does." And when it does, whatever it is, things will be okay.

To sum up, it might be appropriate to think of these decisions in terms of this image:

And it might be that some decisions will lead to situations that feel like this image:

But I want to approach this transitional moment more like how it looks in this image:

I could have been speaking to myself over a year ago on this one....

"When Time and Space Don't Matter, Meet Me at The Bean": An Exegesis

On the feels-longer-than-nine-hour drive back to Pennsylvania from Chicago, Bryn asked, "So what are you going to name the album for all of these pictures?" I didn't know, and after a moment or two of pondering album titles, I stopped thinking about it. "They usually just come to me on whim when I'm uploading the pictures. I'll wait and see, I guess."

As usual, this title presented itself to me rather spontaneously. But I didn't feel very content with it at first. I liked the title well enough but it struck me as long, corny, and vague. When I thought about it some more, though, I realized that it was actually sort of complex for a title, and that was what mattered most about it. "When Time and Space Don't Matter, Meet me at The Bean" captures a lot about the trip for me--comments, memories, future possibilities, and current feelings. That's what makes it complex, and because of this, I really like it now.

Here's one surface reading of things: A friend accompanied me on the drive to a multiple-day philosophy conference in Chicago. Once we got there, we stayed with some of my friends. While we were there, we visited the Bean. A lot.

 

All of that is true. You could just stop there.

Part of the more surface reading also includes these bits of commentary from the car: In Ohio we realized that time and space were doing weird things. In addition to our biological clocks being thrown off from each of us getting up earlier in the middle of morning than we had anticipated, and the fact that the car, GPS device, and cd player clocks were all reporting different times and various expected durations of travel, we noted that by then we had been in the car for nearly five hours, yet in our anticipation, it felt like maybe one had passed. We were far from PA, moving through states on a Wednesday morning, leaving behind our normal routines and typical worries, wondering "how did we get this far already?" It's weird to just be able to jump in a car, hit the road, and go. You end up somewhere so totally far away from where you usually physically and psychologically live your day to day. It reminds you that such changes are not only possible but quite do-able. Despite my attempt to recall how I addressed McTaggart's Time Paradox in my metaphysics class during my senior year, it didn't get too philosophical. That much was saved for when I presented at the Central Division meeting of the American Philosophical Association.

In the car, though, I simply said, "Welcome to Ohio, Bryn! Where time and space do weird things."

Here's another important element of the trip that relates to the title: The day that I presented my paper at the philosophy conference was the very same day that a friend of mine from high school turned 26, and a birthday celebration is a perfect reason to travel from Pennsylvania and reconnect. Even though facebook allows me to be in pretty regular contact with some people from Eagle, Idaho, there are very, very few among those historical peers whom I actually see on a yearly basis when we go home for the holidays. Lee was in my class and he is one of them. He went to Cal Poly for college, moved to Chicago to do improv, and put Bryn and me up for the four nights of our visit. Luke, his older brother, is another one of those friends from high school. He went to Gonzaga in Washington (the state) and has been living in LA for a few years now. The youngest of these brothers, Matt, graduated high school one year after Lee and me and went to college at UC-Boulder. Even though I was just north of him by a little over an hour at Colorado State for three years, we actually didn't see each other much after high school. Lucky break, then, that he also now lives in Chicago. Our Idaho roots brought us from the east and the west to the windy city, where we also reconnected with the other Luke from our high school theater group. Go figure, he moved to Chicago a while back, too. (All three of these brothers were mentioned before in this blog post. They are all still doing very well for themselves.) (It turns out that a couple of other people from theater also live in Chicago. While a key member of our group of friends from theater is currently in Scotland, we missed her and she was there with us in spirit. Furthermore, on the morning that I left, Lee got a message from our other senior class valedictorian informing Lee that he just moved to the city. I didn't see him, even though it would have been totally awesome.)

 Much more than ten years have passed within our various friendships, but this was the very first time that we all met up in a different place. A different city. Even if we didn't actually all go to The Bean together. 

There were a couple of one-on-one meet ups with people who have unique space/time significance for me: I had brunch on Friday morning with someone whom I hadn't actually met before face-to-face. We have been friends on facebook for a number of years now thanks to similar personal and philosophical interests. She is from and lives in Chicago, and while our paths have been aligned for some time, they never quite crossed (she was a participant in PIKSI, a summer philosophy institute at Penn State in 2006. I did PIKSI in 2007). I had dinner with another friend from Halifax, Nova Scotia. We met at Penn State as graduate assistants for PIKSI in 2009. Since that one week that we had together, we've made it a point to try and meet up for an annual coffee or dinner date whenever we find ourselves at the same conference. Apart from our time at Penn State then, this means that I've only had the pleasure of her company for something like ten hours or less, which took place in DC, Montreal, and now Chicago. In a strange way, we've only ever met in time and space. Nevertheless, she is one of my dearest friends for whom I care very, very much.

In addition to my high school friends, one has to remember that newer friends were part of the whole ordeal, too: Bryn and I met just barely over a year ago through a mentorship program at PSU. Now that she's been my mentee and my student, she's also one of my best friends, and it was awesome that she was part of the weekend that I will now lovingly describe as "when friend worlds collided." She met my old friends. We met Lee's improv friends. They were all so cool, so fun, and so chill that we all started acting like fast friends. Brothers, roommates, college buddies, improv teammates, and lots of other relationships from various different places and times meshed together for four days. And that collision was awesome. Seamless even to the point when one of Lee's friends was sitting shirtless at a table in a bar with us (it was for good reason) and he exclaimed, "Man, I just met you guys a couple of days ago and I just feel so comfortable around you that I don't even feel weird sitting shirtless at a table in a bar with you." He was right. It was like that a lot of the time with pretty much everyone. I met Lee's college roommate on this trip, but after seeing a video of him years and years ago I told him that I already felt like I knew him. Bryn and I danced all funky like with one guy who also ended up being our bartender on another night. We all took shots together. And that's pretty much how it went for the weekend.  I suppose it boils down to this: The collision of friend worlds can be great when you have great friends in your worlds.


So here's the summary of a more sophisticated reading of the title, "When Time and Space Don't Matter, Meet Me at The Bean": One of my favorite things about this trip was that all of these relationships, connections, intersections, and run-ins have their unique locations in time and space, and they all converged over the five days that it took to drive from PA, walk for miles around Chicago, go to three improv shows, a funk dance party, a philosophy conference, share lots of meals and beers, see The Bean multiple times, and drive back. Some of those connections have been long running, filled with years of memories or only a few moments from all of those years. Some were familiar for a while before they were realized, while others felt familiar immediately once they happened, like a really pleasant surprise. Being someone who values connections and  the ability to laugh, dance, share, and play with others above pretty much all else, I can easily say that this trip was nothing short of terrific. It felt comfortable. cozy. easy. fun. For being in a new place, it felt like the complete opposite of that alienated feeling that so often sets in when you go to different cities. In many ways, it felt warm and fuzzy and welcoming and familiar and lovely, like home.

 

And here's one more thing that I really love about this trip: There are lots and lots of pictures. That may not seem like a big deal. If anything, coming home with 450 pictures from 2 whole days of driving and only 3 days of actually being in the city might make it seem like we just senselessly felt the urge to capture every inane moment. But beyond the fact that each day, from the 9am start to very late end, was filled with nonstop moments that were definitely photo-capture-worthy (many of which were not even captured, such as the most amazing omelette of my life on the morning when we left), the point that is really cool and new for me is that there was a "we" that felt the urge to take all of those pictures. I love photos. I have photo albums filled with the photos that I love. So of course, I take pictures on every one of my trips. But on this trip, I wasn't the only one using my camera. Never before, in all of my years of taking pictures, has someone asked to take my camera from me for more than a quick second. Yet here there were periods of time during the parties, the walks, the adventures, and the visitations at The Bean when I didn't have my camera. Someone else was taking pictures. The brilliant effect of this is that the photos from the trip come from multiple perspectives. I spent six hours today going through those hundreds of pictures. While I ended up deleting more than half, of the 200 that I kept, many of them were taken by others. It is awesome to see how other people handle the act of collecting time and space in individual frames. And it's very cool to recognize that as my friends on facebook flip through the album, they often won't know who was behind the camera.

For me, there's something very poignant about being in front of the camera on this trip. I often take photos of myself in different locations, usually on timers or through reflections in mirrors, windows, and puddles. But on this trip, and in a new way than before, I have pictures of me there. Seeing myself in my own photos feels different, like seeing how I'm seen, but somehow different from simply being in other people's pictures. I want to say that it feels like a gift--that my friends were there, taking pictures not for themselves on their own camera, but for me on my camera. In a number of ways it feels like an act of sharing; by taking my camera they helped take in the surroundings and all of its happenings. It also feels like a lovely experience of letting go; giving up my camera, being vulnerable enough to be in front of it, and welcoming whatever image someone else takes. I can't dictate the framing, the timing, the spirit of the picture when someone else takes it. Instead, I just really appreciate the moments and images that my friends collected. The point is that the pictures themselves represent a lot of the meaning in the title for me. In a way that feels almost too indulgent, they are little, individual moments in time and space that have taken place and been given back to me, by and with friends.

To Let.

I'm grateful for being dumped.

Not because I was terribly miserable in my relationship. And not because I was dating a complete jerk. Neither of those statements are true. In fact, I have never experienced so much fun in a relationship, such stability, and such a great amount of my own ability to trust, support, and love another person. We were often very silly. In terms of drama, it was minimal. We didn't fight. When there was tension, we acknowledged it, not as something scary that would be big enough to break us but as the very typical and expected kind of tension that can arise when two people have to consider each others' feelings and needs. And we were pretty good about communicating and checking in even on little things when they would occur. I always really appreciated how neither of us would get defensive when we would bring up concerns, worries, or minor hurts. In short, it was the best relationship I've been in so far for lots of reasons. It was in many respects the healthiest. And honestly, it may have been one of the only relationships where I actually put myself into it. Which is perhaps the very reason why I'm grateful for being dumped.

I'm grateful because I was wholly invested in it. In other words, I wasn't thinking of ending it.

But don't let my gratitude fool you into thinking that I haven't been going through a painful process. As a natural romantic, I'm anything but a heartless robot. And just because I can say that I am actually grateful a few days after the fact doesn't mean that I was deluding myself all along into thinking that I had feelings that weren't really there. Of course, I was confused, hurt, and sad and it was precisely because of my investment that the sudden end to the relationship was bewildering, hurtful, and extremely saddening. If anything, when a break up is unexpected, such feelings are to be expected, for when you are met with a decision and not a discussion from the one you love about how your relationship cannot continue, there is very little that you can do. You lose a sense of control, of participation, of choice. Someone chooses for you what you would not have chosen for yourself. I was, and I think understandably so, shocked, disappointed, and angry all at once.

But I wasn't feeling all of those emotions out of a stupid fear of being alone forever. And since I'm one to respect such a decision when it is made, hurtful as it may be, I'm not one to cling and beg and plea or try to convince anyone to stay with me. I knew that my world wasn't going to end right then. I knew that I had put everything I had into being the best partner I could have been, so I also knew that I couldn't take it personally. This means that I trusted even when that old cliche saying,"It's not you, it's me" was said. More than anything, it was the shock that hurt the most. I was angry that I wasn't part of the process, which I read as not being treated with a fair amount of respect. And my sadness was rooted to the simple fact that I had no other choice but to yield, to let. To let--something and someone whom I love--go while I was the one being left.

When I experienced my first wave of gratitude, it was because I quickly saw how my investment in the relationship meant that I would have remained in a situation even if I was the only one in it. Clearly, this is not an ideal scenario. But after years of growing and learning to be a better me, I wasn't in a place to decide against the continuation of everything that we had, not with my hard-fought, newly-found, and highly-cherished levels of patience. I could have continued on for who knows how long. I was willing to move to different cities, to offer support for many more years through debt and the acquisition of more degrees. So, despite often feeling like I was waiting for him to be in the relationship to the same extent that I was, it came down to the simple matter that he would have to gauge his own levels of commitment. If I was fully in but he wasn't, he would be the only one to truly know. And he did. On a whole other level, then, and this one is a bit more complicated, I'm also very grateful that he didn't continue on any longer out of a fear of losing me. No matter how it all went down, at least he also got to a point of being willing to let me go. There's truth in that other old saying, too, I guess, that if you really love someone, you have to be willing to let them go. I know that he loves me, and his ability to make a decision that actually keeps my trust in him intact shows an undeniable amount of respect. So for my sake, in terms of what I was not thinking to do myself and what he eventually decided to make happen for us, I'm very grateful for being dumped.

In all of this, I have been reminded of conversations with my students from last spring in my Asian Philosophies class. I used lots of real-life examples to illustrate how to break the cycle of dukkha (dis-ease, unhappiness, anxiety, fear, and suffering). As one would expect, in an attempt to relate to young college students, heartbreak in relationships was a common theme: "Imagine if you found out that your boyfriend or girlfriend was cheating on you. And then you broke up. How would you feel? What would you do?" As one would also expect, students said that they would be anything from really hurt to really pissed. Images were conjured up of infidelity in a bar scene where punches were soon thrown. Some students who thought themselves to be more enlightened said, "You should just hold it in then and not make a big deal out of it, otherwise you make things worse." Other responses went something like,"To punch someone in the face would only be contributing to more pain. If someone cheated on you, they probably weren't good enough for you anyway." And there we encountered the most subtle slip, one that goes from non-attachment and seeing the intricacies of the situation clearly to simple rationalization. Students wanted to explain it away by asserting things like, "Yeah, you can't really be hurt because it's their loss anyway" and "You shouldn't be upset because you have to know that there are better people out there who would treat you right." However, the skeptics said, "There's no way I couldn't be hurt by that! How are you not supposed to feel hurt when someone hurts you?!?" (To be clear, infidelity was not the cause of our break up. This was only one of our examples from class.)

I have caught myself in these superficially affirming modes of rationalization: "I deserve to be appreciated," "I wouldn't have been happy in the long run," "It's better off this way...." All of those may be true, but I feel weird settling into such statements as if they are magical explanations to make oneself feel better. And I certainly am not the faithfully future-oriented sort who says, "Everything happens for a reason, you just don't know it yet" so that's not going to cut it either. For me, non-attachment and the ability to let is certainly not a passivity founded on blind faith. If anything, it can only grow from a ground of seeing things deeply and clearly. And non-attachment is not the same thing as detachment or apathy. We still feel things, and should feel our feelings without bottling them up or denying them. This helps make clear why the "skeptical" students were not getting things when they assumed that one wouldn't ever feel hurt. We can still, and will, experience painful things, but if we do not cling to the sources of our pain (or even our pleasure for that matter), then that pain can be experienced apart from any kind of suffering.  And finally, non-attachment is very different from rationalization. This is perhaps the hardest one to get, but for me, to let refers to the willingness to see, to encounter, to embrace all of our experiences, even the most painful ones, with a sense of understanding that allows for love, gratitude, and compassion to take the reigns. Rather than bitterness and resentment which foster greater negativity, and rather than rationalization which is more than anything a sign of denial, aversion, an attempt to turn away from and explain the pain away, non-attachment allows us to appreciate everything for what it is.

I'm not a sociopath who is grateful for being dumped because I don't feel any human emotions at all. Neither am I a masochist who is grateful for her pain and desires more of it. Right now, I feel a whole lot. But those feelings are no longer dominated by sadness, anger, or even confusion. I'm filled with love and gratitude for him, for my very supportive friends, and for myself.

And I'm happy.