epitaph

The other night, while I was driving home, I had an epiphany. I had been feeling quite nostalgic earlier in the afternoon, and as the sun was setting "Everybody's Changing," by Keane, came on while my iTunes was on random. I wasn't sure why that song evokes a sense of sorrow in me. It's not a moving song - it's hardly even a good song - yet it always has me singing along, soaring my hand out the window and exhaling deeply. Do you know of any songs like that? I, in fact, have entire playlists dedicated for that occasion.

Anyway, it was evening now, and Keane had again come on randomly. "Everybody's changing and I don't feel the same." During this second, melancholy nostalgia-fest, I thought of my plans for next year. I thought of Rachael. I thought of all of my friends all across the globe. I thought of how everybody really does change, and how I really don't feel the same. It's the strangest thing: I am about to - hopefully - embark on what I've supposedly been waiting for, for the past six years, that being living in a great, vibrant city, starting new and perhaps even the initial stages of Crux. But instead, I don't feel right. What's complicated is that I feel like this is something God could be leading me in, yet it feels distant, cold and frightening. I don't feel the same.

After a few times of "Everybody's Changing" on repeat (does anyone else do that too?), I boiled down the reasons of why I felt like I did. When I think of them, nonetheless type them out, I feel as if they are especially ridiculous and childish. First of all, and possibly most pathetic, I am bummed that my plans initiated what is now the ending of me and Rach. I think I feel that way because it's partially on account of me, but mostly on account of her - what she's feeling, what she needs to do and what God is doing inside of her. Because of this, I am mostly left feeling confused at how the story goes. Secondly, and probably the next in line for pathetic-ness, is my reluctance to leave the fragmented, constellation of a community I have here. I'm actually afraid to begin again. Maybe it's because of what I hear from Kev, Suz, and Aley (not Zill, though), that it is hard, and everything regarding Haven't Been to the Ocean Since. I'm scared. When I was in VC for the first day, I was all alone, having only been away for 24-hours. I was alright until about 9:30PM. The sun still hadn't set yet, and I was by myself in the room. I can't explain it, but I felt this cold, cold sense of isolation. I cried and cried, but I didn't know why I was crying. I am afraid of that.

I thought of my degree program and the fact that I'd be gone for three years. I thought of my mom and dad growing older, their faces changing, and me missing out on three years of their life, and possibly more if I move. I felt selfish, being gone felt pointless, and everything became blurred. Wow, so, this post is becoming a little too transparent. So, briefly, my third and final reason is that I am, for the first time, making a decent income. Leaving would mean I am unemployed and broke again.

These reasons, stacked up on each other, honestly form a pretty convincing offer to put school off for two or three or four years, or to do it here like every other pastor seems to be doing. And who knows, in reality, maybe I will actually have to wait some time to leave. But I here's where My epiphany breaks in.

It appeared before me slowly, as the song had changed from "Everybody's Changing," to "Revelation Big Sur," by Red House Painters. It was a new realization, something that seems so apparent, but some how you never had thought of it before. I felt like it was a perspective one gains after losing something, or someone, that was greatly loved. I felt privileged.

It was the simple idea that if my parents were to suddenly die, that while I would be undoubtedly crushed, I would still hold with me everything that we did, everything that we said, and everything that was. They would be alive in my memories, and as memories, stay close to me, to be brought nearer through song and scent. They would, as memories, travel closer to perfection as time went on. The harsh things traded for great, silent ones, and the wrinkles on their faces for faint apparitions of the tenderest of expressions. It's something that's said at every funeral and during every movie, yet not fully realized until it's personal, necessitating emotional processing. And while all of my problems aren't solved, nor those emotions gone forever, I think I felt it.

Some how it was that realization that released to me untold peace. I could leave and it would be okay. Rach and I could never talk again and it would be okay. My parents could wrinkle and pass, and I too will pass in my time, and everything will eventually be okay. And though everybody is changing, and despite me not feeling the same, at the end of everything, I'll be able to exhale, smiling, with tears falling from my eyes, "everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt."