The Dithering of a District Diva

“This was my moment to look for the kind of healing and peace that can only come from solitude.”

Sleep is evading me at the moment, as it often does when there is something in my heart that must be loosed, else I burst. Even with one more day remaining until the week restarts, this has already been a weekend full of intense emoting. It honestly began a week ago, but a gracious, dear friend unknowingly abetted me in sweeping my introspection under the rug. But, the dust of my emotions refused to be so easily concealed, and spilled out of me this evening at the most inopportune of times: in public.

Graciously, it happened in church tonight while my godmother and I listened to a young violinist give the most wonderfully soul-stirring concert I had ever experienced. I imagine my godmother and any other witnesses excused my silent tears as the physical manifestation of a heart moved by music. But they would only be half-right.

******

Friday evening I discussed books and sipped wine with individually amazing and smart women. I had felt rejuvenated by their energy and excited about the first book we would read and discuss together: Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love. Excitement quickly faded as we ended our night at the theater watching the film, Precious, which, in contrast, left me both emotionally gutted and physically drained. (Expect a review, soon).

I went home, alone, almost panicked about what my life was and what it could be, in relation to the film I had just seen. I did not want to be alone in my apartment, no matter how fabulous it was in daylight. I felt the instant need to call my gracious, dear friend again, as I had the week before, and have him just hold me, reassure me, and make me feel safe and unafraid again. I resisted the urge, ignored my own despair, and eventually managed to fall asleep, if only for a few hours.

At 7:30 this morning, I was on the Amtrak down to my godmother’s ever-peaceful retreat in Newport News. While on the train, I began to read Eat, Pray, Love and suddenly, I could not hide from my own reality anymore. This Gilbert woman had already walked out my steps and was thrusting my thoughts and my fears and my mistakes in my face in a way that demanded my acknowledgement. Only 30 pages into the book, I was so overcome I had to stop reading immediately. I anxiously glanced around the train. Could she see me? How did she know?

She spoke of a nasty end to a long-term relationship immediately followed by the devestating demise of a short-lived yet all-consuming love. She recalled losing herself in this desperate love so much that her once-confident radiance melted into the obsessed, addicted reflection of a stranger. For me, those first pages spelled truth time. I could either: (1) use her chillingly similar story as an opportunity to redrown my soul in the memory of my not-so-distant past, or (2) take the chance to learn from her mistakes, face my demons head-on, and finally put them back to rest.

I would love to say I chose the latter. But, in a strange compromise, I simultaneously wrestled with both in secret for the remainder of the day. Yet late into the evening, my mind–formerly so quiet during Handel, Bach, and Kabalevsky–visibly betrayed me during Ave Maria. I cried. And I couldn’t figure why.

In retrospect, a part of me cried for the love I lost and the mistakes I could never undo. But mostly, I cried for the peace and strength I had gained as a result of my incredible growth spurt over the past year. To me, those were well-spent tears on my cheeks.

******

When my godmother and I returned from the concert, I revisited a sentence I had underlined in the book earlier in the day: “This was my moment to look for the kind of healing and peace that can only come from solitude.” The very definition my present.

I have never felt more empowered, more intune with God, or more whole as I feel right this moment. For the first time in my life, I live in my self-funded studio apartment, work for an organization I love, and do what I am passionate about doing every single day. But what’s strange is that these facts are what frighten me because I am, at last, focused solely on tapping into my inherent fabulosity that I so easily shelve and discard when there is another soul in my life whose needs and desires I can mercifully prioritize.

It is uncomfortable to examine yourself because when you do, you realize that untapped potential that God has stored up in you and suddenly its your responsibility–and your burden–to fulfill your own purpose. That can be a core-shaking, although ultimately worthwhile, journey. Especially when you are going it alone, just you and God.

Being held by a friend, knowing that I am not physically alone at that moment, can be both kindness and punishment. While comforting in that moment, it can never bring the necessary kind of healing and peace. It merely delays the inevitable pain and uncomfortableness that comes from facing yourself head-on–something often best achieved alone.

My favorite scripture has always been, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Discovering all that I am is no exception. Taking this time to be alone with God in joyful solitude is so necessary for my future ability to put on my big-girl panties, handle my own affairs, and never again love another more than my own purpose. And being the Omniscient He is, God gave me really long arms with which to hold myself, should I get weak again. I’m so glad He knows me.

Now, I can sleep.

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