Rediscovery

I remember being out in Berkeley and beginning the task of riding my bike. I say task because I didn't really want to bike to work. I didn't think it was safe with all the cars buzzing around me. And my legs felt like jelly after the slightly-small to small hills I rode up to get to First Pres. I would have thought I was a chain-smoker who never had a day of exercise. But with the encouragement of my host family and some minor revelations from God; I decided I would try to stick with it.

And I did.

I remember the first day I rediscovered how much I loved biking. I had huffed and puffed my way up past the Claremont Hotel, on one of those bright, clear Berkeley mornings (sometime in March, I think), and I was enjoying the ride downhill to what I began to affectionately call "My Toolshed" ('My' spot on Prince--thanks, Josh, for that one.). The wind was blowing through my helmet and against my shirt, and my tires were humming underneath me with a rhythmic click coming from. . .somewhere. I began to notice the turn-of-the-twentieth-century houses, the unexpected palm trees, the scent of orange blossoms, the bustle of College: and the world seemed reborn.

In that moment, I remembered my Huffy bike with the rose-stickered mud-flaps, the tassles hanging off the handle bars, the basket I got a year later. I remembered the thrill of peddling as fast as I could go, swooping down the driveway and around to the street, then back down again. I remembered attempting 'dangerous feats' of skill and gaining self-confidence with each new endeavor. . .and in that moment of rebirth and memory, I felt pure joy.

I love those moments, when the life I live and all that is truly me collide serendipitously, and the sun no longer has to beam in the sky because it beams from the depth of my soul. All is light, all is fair, all is filled.

And such the week has been here in Memphis--a poetry reading, a Scottish faire, a local dance--a rediscovery of the elements of joy.

Eclectic in Search of Identity

[Thanks for tuning back in after this time of silence. . .my internet access was restored this past Saturday.]

Memphis is an interesting town with fantastic character. I live in Midtown which can't quite decide if it is up-and-coming urban renewal, old money, rundown "downtown," or hip and happenin'. It has an appealing ecletic feel, and I've been surprised by its diversity (though nothing like the Bay Area).

My apartment was a God-send--found through an ad in the local paper during a two day 'housing wanted' trip. It's a duplex just within the borders of the Central Gardens Historic District. It has a nice ring, but a mugging took place a block or two down the road shortly after my arrival--eclectic in search of identity. When my mom and I took the tour of the place, on day two of our jaunt, I knew it was meant for me. The bedroom was spacious; the kitchen had a dishwasher, garbage disposal, and ice maker; a wide welcoming room greeted us as we came in the front door; and it was about 8 blocks from the hospital. It also happened to be one of the least expensive places I viewed, and I put my money down immediately. I moved in about 10 days later, and I have been settling in, mostly, ever since.

My job is stretching me already as any social phobia I may have had is exposed. CPE has the feel of in-person cold-calling--no one has asked for me to show up, but I do, and I knock and open the door and am greeted by a whole host of situations (sleeping, eating, bathing, residents-in-training). As I walk to my floor, I feel anxious, a tad queasy, and completely unprepared; but my supervisor assures me that by the end of November I'll feel at least some better. Until then, I get to embrace my incompetence, and I think, "I actually signed up for this???" Something about growth and integration of my whole self--right now it feels like lemon in a paper cut.

As for the rest: friends, church, community--I'm searching. It always takes a while, and given the nature of my job, I wonder just how long it may take this time. After spending each week introducing myself to strangers and talking with them about issues like entering a new stage of life tied to a machine, mortality, letting go, grieving, etc.; I'm going to love my little duplex with the wide welcoming room and the fact that it is only welcoming me. . .

which reminds me. . .

I have new contact info. If you want it, and you haven't received an e-mail from me, write me, and I'll send it along.

As always, let me know how you are!