Pretend this is a Journal
I have been a fan of Fran Leibowitz since I was in high school and happened upon her book “Metropolitan Stories”. I liked her tone; though it was critical and, to me, classist, it was a form of escape out of an environment that I didn’t feel comfortable in. I loved her wit and firm world view, and honesty even if the logic was insensitive and flawed. So, recently I binged “Pretend it’s a City” on Netflix and rekindled that affection for her. One thing that struck me was that she carved her own life using her voice. Yes, she is wrought with priviledge and out of touch in so many ways, but she is defined and uncompromising. Wasn’t I like that once? If not so bold, didn’t I once have a voice?
So connecting the dots that float around me, I connect this with my annual spiritual crisis that coincidentally falls around Lent. So much is loaded into Lent. I lost my dad the Wednesday before Easter in 1984 so that changed the holiday for me and when I have had flirtations with religions, I find myself backing away at this time, which is the most significant period for them. I back away from the ritual and social networks in them, but my essence, or soul or ether, does retreat in winter and yearn toward spring. I was born on the cusp of Spring, so the metaphor is glaring.
This year is no different in the regular circular arguments: I miss the impressions of my Catholic faith as a kid- the stained glass, the quiet, the music, the comfort, and attending with my family, the incense, and the words. I want to go back and see discouragement- I was not married in the church (or any church), my daughter is a heathen (no communion for me!), I am pro-life and pro-choice which hey cannot amend, I’d be going solo, and in my heart I know I wouldn’t be able to go back to the place and time I am yearning for: before I left the Eden of my childhood. And I have no faith. So there’s a hole in the bucket, dear Liza. This year maybe I can stop flailing and address the issues at hand and move forward. I think it’s all connected- Fran, Lent, and my obscured voice.
So, being someone who likes to sever, I am taking a break from social media (tm) and channeling that compulsive need to gather my identity through other’s reflection and validation (learned behavior fueled by online addiction) into clearing blankets and cobwebs to find myself. Call it Spring cleaning, call it finding the connection to god, call it saving myself, call it futility in the theater of my mind. I don’t care. This is my trip and I am taking advantage of the obvious opportunity of Lent to do this. I’ll write letters to myself, to ghosts, to Fran maybe, but I will attempt to undergo the ancient, natural emergence into Spring. And I hope I can do this because I am worth singling out, dusting off and polishing. I am not a sheep and I am not the glare of screens. I will return to dust one day- could be today even, who knows?- and I think I want to remember who I am and sing with my voice.
Enough Metaphors? Honey, I am just getting started.
-Mcjc
