Sunday, November 23, 2008

Early Morning Panic

I woke up panicked. Remembering only bits and pieces of what I have been about, I could not recall who I was, where I was, what I was doing, who the people were sound asleep to the side of me, or why I was there. No, with sun beginning to illuminate the dusky hotel room, I was conscience only of a sneaking suspicion that whatever I was doing...I was running late. All with intense understanding that regardless of my location it was imperative I find a bathroom.

I found the bathroom and spent what seemed like several minutes trying to come up with a name – any name that sounded familiar. Something to assign to my roommates and specifically the one with whom I was sharing a bed. There was something oddly uncomfortable about returning to the safe haven of sleep under the covers along side someone I couldn’t remember. And I had to do it soon...after all, I was running late. As I stood staring with my head cocked at the two double beds, it dawned on me. Youth Ministry Convention...Nashville...hotel. Morning. Late? Not a chance. I could go back to sleep for another 45 minutes at least. Sleep!...Roommates? Michelle and Steph lay breathing softly in the bed to the end. And Kenzie, the girl whose name I’ve known for three years, was following a similar pattern in my own. And my, my name was Anika. There was no reason to panic, I would be just fine.


And yet the panic is all too familiar. How many times have I stopped in the last semester, let alone the last few weeks and went “Wait! Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing? Why am I here? Who is in my bed?? (not literally of course...but with whom am I sharing my ‘intimate’ space?)” I’m conscience, really, of only two things: this underlying feeling that I am running out of time and the intense overwhelming desire for release. But unlike the dusty light beginning to peak into my hotel room, there is little illuminating my oppressive questions. I find few answers to the riddles of my sanity...and perhaps they only grant to bring more questions.

Who am I? What do I mean? What do I stand for, exist for, fight for, live for? What makes me tick, what makes me function, what makes me unique, what makes me special, what defines me? Who is Anika – who is she becoming?

Where am I? Why here? Where is life taking me? Heck, where have I been? How come I can no more pin point a spot on the map of my existence than I can give you the name of the town and status of my being? How come I feel so lost?

What am I doing? What should I be doing? How is it I am about so much...and so little? How is it I have no purpose for my doings and doings for my purposes? To what end does any of this matter? If ever I can articulate the things that I do...

Why am I here? Do I have a purpose at all? Am I here for the doings which I can’t understand? And where is here? What am I supposed to be about? What does my life mean? What does it mean for me and what does it mean for those around me? Why do I exist?

And how come I am so terrified of the people who seem to be sleeping in my bed? Or more like this morning, I can’t identify the person at all...which terrifies me the most. Why can’t I find the people with whom to share my intimate space? How is it I can so intensely desire someone to be there...close enough to touch because heaven knows I need it...and yet still keep them at arms length because I have no tolerance for abandonment – no ability to process the fear of sharing me with the unknown?


Mixed in between is the thought that perhaps it’s already too late to have my questions answered and yet they’re building up inside. Building up and spilling over and if I don’t release soon I’m going to explode. And I wonder if I woke up in this familiar panic so that I don’t. As near as I can tell, my early morning adventure occurred because I was still sound asleep when my body was screaming to pee...either I get up or wet the bed – something that would have affected my bed-buddy as well. I had to go to the bathroom, but it wasn’t time to be awake, it wasn’t time to understand. But it was that or explode. I’m not ready to be awake. I’m not ready to face the causes of my day the things I can’t understand...but it was either come to grips with reality or leak and gush out...something that will surely spread to anyone I can convince to come near. No wonder I’m so lost when it comes to the intimate areas of my life...

Oh God, help me with the things I don’t understand...

Monday, November 3, 2008

Anklets and Tan Lines

My anklet broke off today.
I’ve been wearing it since...well since at least the beginning of the summer, if not before. So a solid six months for sure.
And today, today is just sort of fell of.
Broke at the tiny little knot and fell. It’s been used and abused. Snagged and jarred. Pulled at and jostled. But it never budged. We made it through my week in the mountains of Montana, two weeks of camp, New Student Orientation week, and countless other tussling adventures.
Never did it show any sign of weakness.
But today it fell. There were no battle screams of glory. No pulling and ripping off. No scattered beads. No damaged strand.
Just removal. Off came my sock and with it, my anklet.
It left behind a crooked tan line and the odd empty feeling. The one that shows up whenever something goes missing.
When you stop wearing that ring.
When you forgot to put on your watch.
When you switch from glasses to contacts.
When the passions you sold your soul to, fall away.
When the friendship that was going to last forever, dies.
When the gentle whisper you’ve come to know as God’s seems silent.
All the things that become so staple to your life...leave a gap when they’re suddenly gone.
All the things that weathered so many storms...seem indestructible...seem to whither away, fall off without warning.
And it leaves an awkward mark – the proof that something was once there.
Like a crooked tan line and that odd empty feeling...