The Spirit of Liberty

Exactly one year ago today, we buried my mother. Her tragic passing has been on my mind a lot this week. In the wake of that sudden loss, I've searched for answers, pondered the past, and questioned what we could have done to prevent it. However, all of that ruminating has faded from view as I have sought to honor her memory over the past few days.

I feel disappointed that, in general, our society does not have more poignant ways of preserving the memories and legacies of our loved ones. Quite frankly, we do a terrible job of remembering those who came before us. Their entire life's trajectory just evaporates over time. I want to do better than that. I want to find ways of preserving and memorializing my mother and anyone else I lose over the course of my life. I want to teach my children stories of the people who came before them.

In other cultures, it is quite common to honor the spirit of your ancestors. In some societies, it is totally normal to pray, reflect, or meditate upon the spirit of your ancestors, seeking them for guidance. As skeptical and critical as I can often be regarding all things religious, I can say with honesty that.... I get it. I understand that reflex, to seek your ancestors even when they're long gone.

Where is my mother now? Does her spirit remain with me, or is she just alive in the recesses of my heart & mind? I don't know. Does it matter?  Whether she abides as a spirit, or she just abides in my memory.... she's there. She means something to me. Some people would say she was "larger than life". Instead, I'd say she was always more mythological than motherly -- she was always more fiction than fact.  She was a character, an embodiment of something greater. And I want to honor that; I want to find a way to cherish her with my actions.

So, in an effort to preserve my mother's memory, my little family made a trip to the beach on the day of her passing. When I was a child, my mom would often take me to the beach to gather shells. In honor of that, Eisley and Maebry gathered shells to place around her gravestone, and we spent the day having fun and visiting relatives in the area. In this way, I believe we created a ritual that would honor her in a way that fits her. This is what she would have wanted.

Throughout this week, I've also paused to reflect on what she meant to me.
She taught me to seek beauty.
She taught me to be expressive.
She taught me to be unashamed of who I am.
She taught me to be free. Really, truly free.

My mother is the spirit of liberty in my life. Her body rests in the soil of Onslow County, but her spirit resides upon the waves. Her spirit walks the shoreline, and her spirit walks with me too. I want to celebrate her, and the liberty she imparted upon me. I want to teach my children who she really was, and I want to show them how to cherish the loved ones that leave this world.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

I am not your ally.

A curious thing has happened to Hannah and I over the past several years. On a variety of occasions, people will interact with us in a seemingly normal, sociable way. We exchange small talk and formalities, and then, in the midst of a superficially banal dialogue, a shift occurs.

And out comes the racism. Out comes the sexism. Why does this keep happening?

When we first moved to Salisbury, Hannah visited a local veterinarian, and the vet interacted with Hannah for less than ten minutes before confiding some very awkward, highly racial opinions to her. Somehow, we keep finding ourselves in this situation, with acquaintances and strangers alike. Racists and sexists find themselves emboldened in this age, ready to spout off their nonsense anywhere.

So let me make this clear.
I am not your ally.

We are not allies of the racist, the sexist, the bigots, the homophobes. We are not your confessional booth, and we will not be complicit in your inane war against decency. Do not mistake my skin color or my gender for permission to disseminate your poison. It will not be accepted or permitted in my world.

We are the allies of the downtrodden, the oppressed, the marginalized, the hurt. We vote that way, too. We consider these people groups when we give donations, when we volunteer, and when we cast our ballots for local and national leaders.

I would encourage every reader to search their soul and ask themselves where their allegiances lie. Who have you aligned with, and who have you placated? What concepts have you let reign freely in your life and in your social interactions? The time for change is now, and the time for tepid disagreement is over.

To the racist,
the sexist,
the oppressor,
the aggressor.....
I am not your ally.

A World Without Closets

June is LGBT Pride Month, and this very fact tends to conjure up some interesting reactions in people.  Recently, a major leader within the popular fitness company Crossfit was embroiled in a firestorm after stating that LGBT pride was a grievance against god. It wasn't long ago that I was firmly planted in a world that felt that way, and yet, it all seems so foreign now.

Perhaps the most perplexing piece of this mentality is the rejection of pride itself. Now,  I realize that many faiths condemn homosexuality as a sin, but the reactions against what we celebrate in June don't make sense, and here's why:

Pride is a natural outcome of honesty.

As I've written before, we live in a world rife with closets. People remain closeted about their sexual orientations, their gender preferences, their beliefs, and so much more. The celebration of LGBT pride is a natural by-product of the fact that many people are leaving their closets behind, and they are profoundly glad to see the light of day. Regardless of where you stand on the topic itself, you should be thankful for that... because at least we are having honest interactions.

Imagine a world where everyone became shockingly, unapologetically themselves to their friends, family, and coworkers. Imagine a world where the curtains drop to reveal the things we conceal for the sake of our reputations. It would be a shocking atmosphere, for sure, but more than anything, it would be real. It would be honest.

Now, closets exist for a reason. Tragically, many people have to conceal themselves for fear of rejection, or discrimination, or even violence. This is the true abomination. Instead of railing against the rainbow-colored bumper stickers you see, consider the cultural phenomenon that makes pride even matter.

People have pride because we live in a society where just being you can require a tremendous sacrifice and risk. That's the grievance against whatever god may exist. That's the travesty.

So, wherever you stand on the topic of homosexuality (or any other nontraditional lifestyle), you must realize that the dismantling of each and every closet is a good thing. Because when the last closet door opens, we will live in a world where we can be candid without fear of mistreatment or harm.

It's time for us to work towards a world without closets.

A Promise Ring Rebuttal

So let's talk about promise rings.

In case you are not familiar with the phenomenon, promise rings rose to popularity during my upbringing. It became customary for many Christian fathers to give these rings to their daughters as a symbol of chastity and the virtue of celibacy. Sometimes, fathers and daughters would even have ceremonies wherein vows were exchanged, cementing the child's dedication to the noble cause of abstinence. Despite this glorious occasion, many teenage girls stumbled just the same.

Honestly, writing all of that out feels profoundly creepy. It's also worth noting that promise rings only existed among gendered lines -- fathers gave them to daughters, but you did not see mothers nor sons involved in similar exchanges. This smacks of sexism and it's pretty damning to our patriarchal experience writ large, but alas, we'll save that tangent for another post.

In essence, promise rings tethered fathers to the sex lives (or lack thereof) of their daughters. The intent seems innocent or even honorable at face value -- Christian fathers want the best for their children, and purity (whatever that means) is best. Although it seems like a kind gesture, the reality of the promise ring often proved to be very different. In my observation, it proved deeply harmful.

Promise rings, and the typical Christian family's obsession with abstinence, seems like protective parenting, but it may have done more harm than good. In my experience, I have heard countless stories where daughters succumbed to temptation and saw their relationship with their parents wounded in the process. After all, their father had a vested interest in the child's virginity, and losing it was an act of betrayal.

That's not where the injury ends, though. Even women who waited until marriage felt utterly sullied by the totally harmless and seemingly holy act of marital sex. They spent years wearing a ring that reminded them that sex must be avoided at all costs, and when the day came that they were liberated from the ring itself, it still left an imprint on their psyche.

The promise ring is a symbol of ownership over something that cannot be owned. As I recalibrate my own values and beliefs, I question how I can raise my daughters in a different vein than the things I have both witnessed and observed in the past. What does it mean to be a successful secular parent?  I'm still figuring that out, but needless to say, I won't be handing out rings to my children or demanding chastity pledges from them. The mere thought of doing so seems idiotic at best, and profoundly harmful at worst.

As Trevor Noah wrote in his book Born a Crime, "you do not own the thing you love." Parents must never mistake possessive behavior with love. I do not want to demand pledges and oaths of my children -- instead, I want to make pledges to them. It is incumbent upon me as the parent to be the one who forges a path of unconditional acceptance and support in their lives.

One day, when they'd old enough to fathom this conversation, I will give them this vow.

I promise not to own you.
I promise not to hinge my love on how you use your body.
I promise not to stake a claim on your personhood or your sense of autonomy.
I promise not to pit your love for me against your desires or choices.

I'm sure there will be times when this is difficult, but I'm choosing to let go of my old paradigms regarding parenting. I'm letting go of my old, broken definitions of love when it comes to being a father, and I'm searching for a new and beautiful definition in the process.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

The Road Not Taken

The arts play an important role in our shared human experience. Through the power of music, writing, dance, and visual arts, we celebrate our victories and we mourn our losses. We reminisce and we pine for better days. We flesh out our vulnerabilities through the arts. Perhaps even more crucially, we learn to understand ourselves.

As a creative person, I recognize that one role of the artist is to provide insight into emotions themselves. A well-written song can provide clarity to a feeling you don't even fully comprehend. Sometimes, the verses of a poet can be revelatory, unearthing the truth beneath our muddled mental processes.

So, when I have an emotion I cannot articulate, I feel incredibly uneasy. This is supposed to be my territory, my expertise... right?

A few summers ago, I was a youth pastor, firmly set on a path towards lifetime ministry. Now, that path has utterly dissapearred from sight. I can hardly recognize the landscape around me. In light of that, I feel a strange sort of visceral response inside when I pass a church or see a Facebook post about ministry. It's not a matter of missing that life. It's also not simply an impulse to object to the issues in the church. It's something else...

It's the shock of beholding the road not taken.

We all have diverging paths in our history. We all have paths we chose not to pursue. It seems, though, that there is a particular and oppressive emotion that  wells up when you actually gaze upon the roads you left behind. We see this romanticized on a relational front when you hear songs talk about "the one that got away". We face the notion of what could have been, and our insides seize up like old machinery. How do we understand this feeling and what do we do with it?

I'm beginning to think that the key to overcoming this feeling is a matter of accepting life as you've lived it. You have a unique trajectory that has led you to this place. Perhaps some of the steps you took were ignorant, and perhaps some of the choices you made were not entirely of your own volition. Regardless, we must all wrestle with the reality of where we've been and how we got here.

I also think a key to processing this feeling is knowing how to mourn your losses. We accept that we can mourn people -- a friend, a family member, a former classmate. But dreams die too. Plans disintegrate. Visions vanish. It is not only acceptable, but crucially necessary to learn how to grieve the losses in your life, in whatever forms they may take.

So, as I recognize that feeling inside of me -- the unease of the road not taken -- I will choose to accept the paths I traveled, as difficult as that may be. I will mourn my losses for what they are. I will live each day seeking to understand, process, and accept my life as I try to bend my trajectory into a new and enlightened direction.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

A Multitude of Closets

I want a better world for my children.

We often reflexively connect the idea of "people in the closet" with LGBT individuals, but I've come to broaden my understanding of this social phenomenon recently. You see, we live in a world where individuals that deviate from the norm often feel compelled to shroud their true selves for fear of being persecuted, or worse.

I've come to recognize a multitude of closets.

There are people in your life that hide their true selves from you. They conceal their religious beliefs, they suppress their sexuality, they're embarrassed of their substance struggles or psychiatric issues because of a deep abiding fear of social consequences. Closets abound, everywhere you turn... you just have to identify them with empathy and understanding.  You have to be looking for them.

Beyond the intrinsic worth of empathy, we need to lay hold of a better future wherein people can be honest. Deeply, thoroughly, painfully honest. We are currently operating in a social climate that is, above all else, intellectually dishonest. People have to lie to survive.

I was listening to President Obama speak on a podcast recently. He was waxing poetic about his own legacy, stating that he'd rather remember his time in office as a moment where diverse ideas were included instead of fixating on the minutiae of daily politics. He concluded that, if this legacy of inclusion could be cherished, the fine details of how we eventually overcome climate change or how we provide insurance for millions of Americans won't matter. It's the social philosophy that prevails. We have to champion inclusion as a society.

I identify one poignant truth in all of this: you are either part of the problem or part of the solution. You are either inviting people out of their closets or pushing them further into the darkness. You are either advocating for the marginalized and oppressed, or you are opposing them. Choose a side.

My children deserve a future where diverse ideas are included, because they could very well find themselves on the wrong side of that thin line that demarcates "normalcy". No matter your beliefs regarding the holiness and the divine, all people must recognize the fundamental need for human liberty. It's time to set the captives free.

Free from shame.
Free from condemnation.
Free from the closets we built for them.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one. 

Finding Joy in the Ephemeral

"Beauty is its own excuse for being."

That's what my teacher Mr. Dove taught me in my creative writing class back in high school.  Here I am, more than a decade later, and the quote remains true as I ponder the fullness of what it means. At face value, I get it -- beauty needs no pretense, no excuse, no functionality. Beauty speaks for itself. I want to synthesize that mentality, though, and bury it deep down in my psyche.

All things are ephemeral.  Your relationships, your most valued possessions, your body itself -- all of it will one day fade into obscurity. The universe itself will one day cease to function. Every person who has looked mortality in the eye has had to wrestle with their own finite nature. Nonetheless, beauty exists in these temporal structures. Expiration is not damnation.

Just because something is temporary, doesn't mean it's not valuable.

Lives begin and lives end. One of my goals during this season of introspection has been to find joy in the ephemeral. It requires a degree of courage to accept loss without painting the past with a negative and remorseful brush. You can bid farewell to the past without burning it to ashes. You can accept the path behind you.

Everything you hold dear will once cease. I think about this in simple terms to remind myself of its simple truth. Think of one of your favorite belongings for a moment. I, for one, am very attached to my guitar. I find joy in it -- it helps me to relax and find peace in a hectic world. One day, it will no longer function properly. One day, its existence will reach a conclusion.

The conclusion does not nullify the beauty of the narrative that precedes it.

The same could be said with friendships, job experiences, and so much more. I want to learn how to find joy in the ephemeral, because life requires us to say many tearful farewells along the way. I want to reflect with gladness as I mouth each goodbye. As loved ones pass away and time takes its toll, join me in the search for joy in the ephemeral.

Thank you for reading On Letting Go, a blog about dealing with the wounds of the past. If you're looking for a little background on what inspired this blog, check out the introduction.  Click here for information on how you can find real and qualified mental health services for yourself or a loved one.