How we begin something matters a lot. Taking a conscious and conscientious moment to enter a new community, situation, or period of time, creates gratitude and an awareness of my fears and expectations. This morning, my 43rd birthday, I chose curiosity and courage as the values for my coming year by attending my first Quaker meeting.
While I was there, I became aware of a third value I’d like to center and foster in this 44th year of my life: gentleness.
Why a Quaker meeting? We’ll get there.
Between my last birthday and now, I had some of the darkest days of my life. And—I’m sorry—I’m not really going to say anything more about them because they were private. I’m ok! My family is ok! But there were some moments when I was afraid we were not, and I’m scarred and still tired. Superlative situations create space inside us if we let them, and I think I let the darkest days cast more light on my interior, open my heart, and expand my vision for just how big and how vulnerable my hope and faith can be.
In this last year, my oldest son survived his senior year, met his future at NYU, and graduated high school. I wrote another novel, published multiple pieces for The Coachella Review, and wrote about twenty-five new essays—several of which are on submission now alongside two of my short stories—and I competed in another GrandSlam for The Moth at Town Hall Seattle for an 800 person crowd. I assistant directed two children’s theater productions with Dandylyon Drama. And biggest for me of all: I graduated from the University of California Riverside’s Palm Desert Low-Residency MFA program with a Masters degree in Creative Writing.
I was selected by my peers to be the student speaker for our graduation, and I enjoyed every moment of developing, writing, practicing, and joyfully giving that speech. I’m proud of it and proud of every dark day, joyful moment, and repetitive, consistent practice I’ve done to become a woman who could give it. Brendan and my kids were all there to hear it too, and I healed a little more behind the microphone.
At UCRPDLRMFA we get to pick walk-up music for our turn receiving our diplomas. I picked Tacocat’s “I Love Seattle.” I haven’t been able to confidently say that about this town since somewhere around 2004. But I do love it again. I even had my hair dyed back to my natural brown because I don’t need to see blonde in the mirror that helps me pretend I live somewhere else.
I thought I hated Seattle because life has felt uncomfortable here. The darkness in Winter was the most obvious culprit, so I blamed it (and my past traumatic Nutcracker experiences) for many, many years. But, actually: the darkness was hardly the half of it.
In my first residency for the MFA, I sat in a poetry workshop called “Poetry of Place,” drawn to attend because of my murky relationship with my place—one from which I saw no escape route. As we drew our personal maps, noting places of significance in our cities, I couldn’t keep it together. I got boo-hoo level upset. And I made a plan to go to every place on my map, sit with it, and write about it. I began the project as a survival strategy, but when I finished, it had shown me that it was a book and a survival process.
The draft received very positive feedback from my professors, editors, and literary agents, and I’m excited to continue shaping and polishing it for submission sometime in the next year or so.
But the biggest thing that writing did was help me be brave enough and safe enough to do the biggest thing I ever did in my whole life—bigger and harder than marriage, having babies, being ambitious, ANYTHING. I decided to leave the church denomination I’d been in for my whole life and begin exploring other faith communities in Seattle and other ways of understanding God and my life as a Christian.
It felt like being a plant under a cloche that needed to uproot itself and find a new vessel. There were a lot of times when I was sure it would destroy me. There are parts of me that have suffered from the change and parts that are thriving. But it did not kill me. It has been nine months since I sent the letter to my church leadership, and I’m just now beginning to relax into it more.
In my speech for graduation, I shared some words from my therapist that helped me tremendously: “Jessica, when you take steps to be your most authentic self, the people you are supposed to have will see you and find you.” I thought she’d say something like, “The people you are supposed to have are the people you work to keep.” It has changed how I notice people and how I accept that I might not be the right cup of tea for everyone—nor do I need to be. This has been extremely freeing, as I can give time, effort, thought, love and intentions from a place of genuineness instead of pressure, expectation, or obligation.
And—I’ll be real—it’s been a weird shift that has often left me wondering if I’m a selfish garbage person. BUT! I don’t believe anyone is a garbage person or should talk about herself like she is or might be… so, round and round I go.
Clunkily, I have eased into a more relaxed, less terrified way of existing. And I’m doing this weird thing where I’ve left the church without dropping a match on my way out, or ghosting the whole place, or talking shit about it, or also leaving my marriage or my children. I know I’m not alone in doing it this way, but it’s not one we get to see too often in this age of (necessary and welcome but often sad) deconstruction.
My faith can be summed up as this: I want for the story of Love bigger than all pain and injustice to be true, and I choose to pursue God in the Christian tradition, studying Scripture and the life and teachings of Jesus. I also hold my hands open to what I do not understand, willing to change my mind and welcome wisdom from many avenues, knowing that ALL things and wisdom belong to God and that God works through the weak, wounded, mysterious, and marginalized places and people in creation… not just the triumphant, beautiful, powerful, or predominantly white ones.
I’ve been drawn to the Quaker tradition mostly because of Parker J. Palmer’s books. (And I’m not saying I’m Quaker now—I just went to my first meeting this morning!) One thing I’m most attracted to is the de-centralization of power and authority in the structure and worship. I’m also interested in learning from their much more developed practice of listening for God and learning to discern God’s presence and guidance.
I have been saying I want to go to a Quaker Meeting for like three years now. But I’ve been afraid. Afraid 1) of finding out that they are just as messed up as every other group of Christians trying to do something together in the name of God, 2) of crying and sobbing and feeling over-exposed to a group of strangers, and 3) of stepping further away from the theological stream in which I’ve spent my life (and cooked my brain).
About the sobbing: change is scary. New places are scary. And I’m beginning to learn just how much I’ve attached achievement and faith to each other throughout my life. Leaving my place of worship has felt bewildering at many times and like failure (HUGE UNFORGIVABLE FAILURE ON MY PART) at others. I’m at high risk of losing it on strangers.
We’ll see how it goes!
I’ve visited other places too. But I’m writing about the Quakers here because that’s what I did today, and the overwhelming sense I had while with them is that I must offer myself some gentleness this year. Be not hurried and panicked, Jess. It’s ok.
One woman shared during the worship that a while ago a man prayed that God would cause the people who needed them to find them. And she felt encouraged by the “guests” in the room. That caught my attention.
Another woman shared that the prayer that kept running through her head today was for people to accept the Spirit’s nudges to be in the right place at the right time. Attention caught again. A birthday girl who sort of had to force myself to show up there this morning, wanting to choose curiosity and courage over fear.
“Be not hurried and panicked, Jess. It’s ok.”
With writing—freed as I am from the rigors of academia!—and faith—freed as I am from the rigors of church membership!—I’m leaning into practices that keep me moving with intention in the directions I want to go. I write everyday. I read everyday. I pray. I walk or stretch. I ask God questions. I read and listen to other people who are asking God questions and seeking to hear the answers.
Today is enough.
Not every moment takes us to the mountain top. Not every moment is full of winnowing suffering or bolstering progress. But writing won’t happen without a pencil in my hand or a laptop under my fingers. Reading won’t happen without a book or my earbuds. And we won’t find the people who we are supposed to have and who are supposed to have us without our eyes, ears, and hearts open.
I am SO tempted to resolve and snap shut this “season” that I’m in. I can’t tell you how good about myself it would make me feel to find a new place of worship and immediately feel like “a success.” But, yikes. That’s not the point. I think the point is trusting God for my daily bread, looking for the work that’s mine to do, and saying yes to opportunities to show love—always aware that every “yes” creates some “no” in another place, finite as I am.
I love my birthday! I can’t wait to see what the year will bring. There’s gonna be big stuff again, I’m sure of it. We are in a very eventful season of life in our family, and I’m working hard to build a new career.
But, I’m so grateful to have gentleness in mind today. The last few years have required deep digging for the energy required to make changes. It’s been like remodeling a house, but I’ve been remodeling my life to get clear about who I am and then match my outside behaviors and time-expenditures to my inside values. One more analogy: it’s been like fighting rapids in a kayak to get to the stream I’m supposed to be in.
Tonight we are going to make risotto and tempura with a bunch of cool mushroom varieties I bought at the farmer’s market and watch movies as a family, and I couldn’t be more excited. I feel incredibly blessed to have my husband and children. They remain my greatest motivations and joys, year after year.