[February 13, 2015] Feeling-Forces Crumble the Walls of my City

Whew. Hi. It’s February. It’s February and I live in Kenya now. It’s February and I live in Kenya and I think I’ve been making excuses not to really feel my feelings. And I’ve been making excuses not to feel my feelings and all at once this morning, my feelings said, “No way, Jose. Let us in. Enough is enough.” And they crumbled the walls of my defenses, of my excuses, of my everything-is-just-moving-so-quicklys, my I’m-not-ignoring-my-feelings-I’m-just-focused-on-other-things, my stubborn unwillingness to be with my heart. My feelings, and my heart, they said, “Ruthie. We’re not going anywhere, so you might as well talk to us, invite us in, and give us some tea.”

Oh, you. Feelings.

I didn’t intend to remind us all of this bit of Rumi’s wisdom which Sophie shared in a gorgeous post last year, but now I must:

THE GUEST HOUSE

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

Ok, Rumi. I’ll let them in! (As if I had any choice in the matter.)

Today is the day in February that marks, for me, the beginning of February. It makes sense, then, I suppose, that it’s the day my walls gave way to the feeling-forces that had been chipping away since the month formally began. I told Einat that this year’s February Project felt like everyone was a little empty, but I think what I meant was that I was feeling empty. I was grateful to Zoe for starting us off, because I didn’t have it in me. I was grateful to the Ruthies of previous years, whose emails I could copy and paste to get this started, since I didn’t have the words to type anew. I was grateful when Aleeza asked to trade days, since five days in I didn’t feel like I had anything to share. I told Einat I was feeling empty, but that isn’t true at all.

I feel full, full, full. I moved to Nairobi and, though I steer clear of the term “dream job” after what I thought was one six months ago turned out to be anything but, I really couldn’t be happier with the “work” I spend my days doing. I have a beautiful home, a growing community, a mind-boggling ability to stay connected with loved ones far away through FaceTime and other internet wonders, and the sun is shining and there are flowers everywhere and I get to live in Nairobi and when I stop to think about it I realize I’m living the life I’d want to be living if someone whose opinion I valued (or someone I wanted to think I was interesting and cool, if we’re being totally honest) were looking in. I feel fortunate and grateful and too, too lucky. I’m happy.

And in the middle of that happiness, there is pain. There is the pain of someone who was careless with my heart. There is the pain of being nauseatingly far from the community full of pillar-friends I built during all the years leading up to now. There is the pain of the job I thought was my dream that wasn’t, there is the pain of wishing I could have this life and also another one at the same time, and there is this pain, this pain of the February-ness of Februaries past and the February-ness of things that felt like February but happened during other months. There is the pain of all the unfair, unexplainable things that have happened to magnificent, noble, beautifully flawed humans I love and respect and need and admire.

That pain lives inside my happiness. It lives inside my joy, my bad days, my hilarious jokes (guys, I’m hilarious), my belly laughs, my wonder at the world around me, my love for my family, my deep appreciation for the friend-family I’ve built. It lives inside my making my bed, my new hairstyle, my adventures, my ongoing struggle to quit biting my nails. This pain lives inside every moment of every day of my life.

I’m reading Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed, and I’ve already talked to a number of you about the epic influence that her words have on my life, day after day. I want to share one passage of hers that has bubbled up in my mind over and over since I read it:

Warning: I find this to be super inspiring, but this inspiration comes in the context of a story that might be difficult to read.

For Context: In this passage, Sugar is responding to someone who wants to be better at supporting his partner, who lost her mother.

“Not long before my mother died, a friend told me a story about a woman she knew, a resident at the group home for those with brain injuries where my friend worked. Several years before, the woman had been attacked as she walked home from a party. Her head hit the sidewalk so hard in the course of the assault that she’d never be the same again. She was incapable of living alone, incapable of so very much, and yet she remembered just enough of her former life as a painter and teacher that she was miserable in the group home and she desperately longed to return to her own house. She refused to accept the explanations given to her as to why she couldn’t. She had come to fervently believe that in order to be released she had only to recite the correct combination of numbers to her captors, her caretakers.
 “93480219072, she’d say as they fed her and bathed her and helped her get ready for bed. 6552091783. 4106847508. 05298562347. And on and on in a merciless spiral. But no matter what she said, she would never crack the code. There was no code. There was only the new fact of her life, changed irrevocably.” 

This resonated with me so, so much. There is no code.  Our lives change, and we can wish and dream and want and remember, but the truth is that now, things are different.

Another thing I didn’t plan to share, but must. A Norman Mailer quote from a book I’ve never read. Out of context, I feel quite connected to this line:

“There was that law of life, so cruel and so just which demanded that one must grow or else pay more for remaining the same.”

(Apparently this is from a book called The Deer Park. Perhaps Anna knows something about this.)

So. This is a winding trail of words and sharing it with you has been healing for me. Thank you for being the ears to hear the words I have to share. And in case this hasn’t brightened your day, some fun and funny things:

1. This magnificently therapeutic and addictive list of things fitting perfectly into other things.

2. These kids who just know what they want. 

3. This episode of Between Two Ferns in which Barack Obama does not address a concerning spider bite on Zach Galifianakis’ hand.

4. This phenomenal cover which, according to gawker, will make your ears orgasm. I’m not saying gawker is wrong. Also, does anyone else think that might be Allison Williams singing backup?

Listen, I love you all. Thank you, I love you, you are magnificent, and thank you.

With love and admiration,

Ruthie