2006

2005 will not go down as one of my favorite years. It’s actually scored pretty low on my all-time favorite years list. I’m not even sure it would make the top fifteen, and seeing as how I can only remember twenty or so years with any clarity, I think that says something.

Oh, 2005, you were not a very good year at all. You had such potential back at the start, a year ago… but you went and wasted it with worry and stress and illness and grief. We could have had so much, you and I—but no, it was not to be. I’m only looking back now, wondering, Could I perhaps have played some small role in the ungreatness of the year? Could I perhaps have contributed to the dissatisfaction in some tiny, almost unnoticeable way?

But hey, let’s not play this game of blame. Let us not quibble and quarrel over whose life this is anyway, and up to whom is my happiness. Let’s not focus on the ruddy details of the good times that were had in this past year. Let us, instead, focus on ME, waxing philosophical as I look into the future, as I try to figure out my life and my goals and what I am going to get about doing in order to ensure that this year, this 2006, is better than the last.

I have a list that I made, back in November of 1999. I entitled it, “Things I am going to do before the world ends next month.” I still have the list somewhere, and I must say, it’s a good thing that the world didn’t actually end back then, because I haven’t done most of those things. Granted, certain of them are impossible, for instance, learning how to fly. Not in a plane or any sort of aircraft. Just by myself.

At any rate, I’ve realized again and again that every single list I ever write with my goals in life include certain things. One of them is learning to sculpt marble. One of them is saving the world. Some of them have to do with improving and testing my health and stamina. A lot of them have to do with various aspects of my spirituality. Many of them are simply frequent reminders that in order to live this life, one must live.

This year, I am learning to sculpt marble. I’ve just received my tool set. Now I must compile and create various other objects—a banker, sandbags, a dust mask, gloves, stone—and then I’ll be going. My husband got me the tools for Christmas. My mom got me a book and a gift certificate for stones. It’s somewhat unreal to me that I’ll be doing this soon. I’m afraid.

Stone sculpting is to me, at this point, like Michael Stipe. I’ve been in love with him since I was nine. I’ve been married to him. I’ve written a series of articles on my Search for Michael Stipe, in which I’ve scoured such places as Athens, GA, Westpoint, NY, Spain, the organic section at Kroger, the men’s room in various stores, and my back yard just to be sure. I have a long history of longing where he is concerned. My dreams in which I meet Michael are among the most vivid and interesting of all of my dreams. But the most realistic ones are the ones in which he either blows me off, or I realize that knowing him for real just isn’t as good as longing to know him.

For so long I’ve wanted to sculpt marble, and I always meant to do something about it. But now, it’s slipping out of the realm of my dreams, and easing into my life. I’m going to do it for real. And what if I don’t like it? What if I suck at it so bad that there’s no way I’ll ever be good? What if I just… can’t?

This fear is disarming, but in a similar way, it’s somewhat exciting. I’m going to be doing something that I’m not sure I ever really thought I’d be doing. It’s hard to say now if my dream was ever really more than that. But now it is. Now it is.

Save the world. Hm. This is a particularly item on my list just now. I realized pretty early on with my position at St. Paul that it’s really not a long-term sort of position for me. It’s fun. I like the teens. There’s oftentimes low pressure. It’s busy. It changes a lot. It keeps me on my toes. But there’s also this sort of… dissatisfaction that follows me around there. I don’t really feel like I’m doing anything all that important, so when things really go wrong, I have to wonder why the hell I’m doing this.

I think back to Wing Zone. That was such an easy and fun job—the best in those terms that I’ve had so far. But there was really no sense of satisfaction at the end of the day, and ultimately, that’s why I couldn’t have stayed there longer than I did. I think back to Cedar Grove, and boy was there ever a sense that I was doing something important. But it was a job that could just wear on you. And it did. Quickly. There was so much fighting—struggles with the teens, poor treatment by management, and dude, I surely did not get paid enough for all that.

Holy Cross was really great in that sense for me, because I felt good about what I was doing, and it was hard. For two years I feel I did good there. But I knew it was time to move on. I was not growing in that position. I wasn’t going anywhere, I wasn’t accomplishing anything new, or changing really. And while I miss it sometimes, I don’t long to go back there. I don’t think I made a bad move by moving away. But here, at St. Paul, as Youth Minister, I feel like… I’m not the one meant for this job. Not ultimately, at any rate.

I’ve spent the last few days, since I published that rant, dreaming and fantasizing about moving to a different placement and all the wonders and joys that will come of being at a place in which I fit better. But that’s all dreams and fantasies. I know when it comes down to it that I have stuff I need to do here. And I just need to focus on those stuffs and get them done. And eventually, I might move to another position. But I’m not done here yet.

I’m a fantasy writer. I have a vivid imagination. I can see things because I want to see them. Right now, I can see a tall green man sitting on my bicycle and waving at me. And there have been times in my life where my dreams could seep into my reality and sometimes it would feel like they were taking over and I never quite knew what to do with them. You can’t kill your dreams, after all. Because then what do you have left?

But you do have to do something with them. You have to take your list and set about it. You have to realize that your fantasies of another job really do say something about your dissatisfaction at your current one. And you have to make a choice—do your job or move on.

I’m gonna do my job this year. And I may move on later this year, but right now, I’m staying put. And I’m not gonna dream about moving on until it’s time to move on, and then I’ll put that dream straight into action. I’m gonna save the world this year by saving myself. By saving this year. By making the choice and living and doing what I can where I am. I’m gonna DO, dammit.

As far as improving and testing my health and stamina, I’m gonna run the AIDS Marathon this year. I’ll be hitting you all up for money when the time comes. You know, of course, that I’ve spent the last two and a half years educating teens and young adults about HIV and other STD prevention. It’s very important to me. And I’ve run a marathon before. Not very well, but I finished it and I didn’t die. So this year I’m gonna run a marathon and raise money for the AIDS foundation of Chicago, and if I get to go and run the marathon in Ireland because of it, so much the better. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland. And if I run the AIDS Marathon in Ireland in less than four hours, then bully for me. That’s my goal. That’s three goals in life all tied up into one event—raise money to help stop the spread of HIV, run a marathon, and go to Ireland. It’s like a sign from God, complete with my name in neon green letters.

Which happens too. That whole ‘sign from God’ thing. It’s time. It’s time to move forward with my spirituality from where I’ve been this past year. One of my boys told me recently that he’s not really an atheist, despite what he says. He’s not agnostic either. He believes in God, but he’s mad at him. Because God let his brother die. Because God lets this neighborhood be as it is. Because God lets all this violence and squalor exist. Because God lets my boys live in it, or try to at any rate.

I might have mentioned, I didn’t really get along so well with 2005. And my spirituality has suffered because of it. I’ve grown cynical. Angry. Disillusioned. I’ve grown afraid to express my true beliefs, because I’m afraid of being judged. Because I’m afraid of being wrong. Because I’m afraid of being stomped on if I open myself up.

So here’s a short story. The other day, yes, the day after my I-hate-my-job-I’m-a-complete-fuck-up rant, I took thirteen of the kids ice skating. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to be there with them. I didn’t want to ice skate (because I don’t know how). There were a lot of reasons. But I went because sometimes you just have to go, no matter what the reasons not to. I laid down the law with my teens and we drove to the park and we rented our skates and I stepped onto the ice and I was reaffirmed that this was, in fact, a very bad idea.

I clung to the wall, with a small group of the teens. A few of them went rushing off because they skate pretty well. A few began making their way around the perimeter, clinging to the wall. A few had not yet stepped skate onto the ice. I stood there with my small group for a minute or so, and then thought, Dude, this is stupid.

I turned to one kid, Nicolas, and said, “Nick, let’s go.”

He expressed his opinion that that was perhaps not a great idea since we might fall, although he phrased it in a slightly more eloquent fashion.

So I said, “Let’s make a pact then. We’ll both go. And if you fall down, I’ll fall down too. And if I fall down, you fall down too. That way, neither of us will be alone on the ice.”

He thought this was a good idea, and pushed himself off from the wall. Within fifteen seconds, he fell flat on his back. A few people were laughing at him. I yelled, “Nick!”

As soon as he turned, I fell too. And he laughed.

And then—I wasn’t afraid of falling anymore. Because I already had. So I got up and began to skate. And I fell down a few more times that day. And I busted my nose up, and it still hurts. But it was all okay.

So that’s why I need to not be afraid of stepping back into my spirituality. Because I am going to fall. And I am going to be judged. And I am going to get hurt. And I am going to be wrong. And I am going to get stomped.

And then I am going to keep going. Because life doesn’t end when it hurts. Life doesn’t end with a bad year, or with a job that dissatisfies you. Life continues, and you must live it.

Because there’s really only one alternative, figurative or otherwise, and I’m not ready for that one just yet.