Now and then... Again

When I was in Nicaragua, I wrote an entry about how each individual's personhood is a summation of a multitude of moments, the sum total of unique experiences.... (see Now and Then in the archives from July). I feel like people easily loose their own sense of history- the sense of where they have been, what they have seen and how they have felt. Adulthood feels distant from childhood. Being focused on the present makes it easy to loose the awareness of other places. I've been thinking about this a lot. Perhaps because I am going through the developmental pains of becoming an adult- not just an adult- a professional, a doctor. Perhaps because the present demands of my life are so encompassing that I shake my head in disbelief when I think of long walks on dusty roads spent in unhurried conversation. I am constantly trying to stay in touch with the smattering of life experiences I have - hoping that at some point they will add up to wisdom.

Today I read something that more articulately expressed the idea that keeps swimming around in my head:

I am part of every place I have been: the path to the brook; the New York streets and my "short cut" through the Metropolitan museum. All the places I have ever walked, talked, slept, have changed and formed me.
I am part of all the people I have known. There was a black morning when a friend and I, both walking through separate hells, acknowledged that we would not survive were it not for our friends who, simply by being our friends, harrowed hell for us.
I am still every age I have been. Because I was once a child, I am always a child. Because I was once a search adolescent, given to moods and ecstasies, these are still part of me, and always will be. Because I was once a rebellious student, there is and always will be in me the student crying out for reform.
This does not mean that I ought to be trapped or enclosed in any of these ages, the perpetual student, the delayed adolescent, the childish aunt, but that they are in me to be drawn on; to forget is a form of suicide; my past is part of what makes the present and must not be denied or rejected or forgotten.
- Madeline L'Engle - A Circle of Quiet - page 200

A rebuttal to the empirically validated....

It's no coincidence that just at this point in our insight into our mysteriousness as human beings struggling towards compassion, we are also moving into an awkward interest in the language of myth and fairy tale. The language of logical argument, of proofs, is the language of the limited self we know and can manipulate. But the language of parable and poetry, of storytelling, moves from imprisoned language of the provable into the freed language of what I must, for lack of another word, continue to call faith. For me this involves not trust in "the gods" but in God. But if the word God has understandably become offensive to many, then the language of poetry and story involves faith in the unknown potential in the human being, faith in courage and honor and nobility, faith in love, our love of each other, and our dependence on each other. And it involves for me a constantly renewed awareness of the fact that if I am a human being who writes, and who sends my stories out into the world for people to read, then I must have courage to make a commitment to the unknown and unknowable (in the sense of intellectual proof), the world of love and particularity which gives light to the darkness.
-Madeleine L'Engle - A Cirlce of Quiet - page 194

5 years

Rob and I have been married for five years today.

We were engaged to be married during my last year at Davis. I didn't know anyone else who was engaged or even thinking about marriage. Among the highly educated in my generation, 21 is a ridiculous age to marry- you are still in Jr high for an age cohort that doesn't have children until 35. Although it was an oddity at the beginning, I get the feeling that our marriage is enviable to many of our friends. In our best moments we manage to balance being totally connected with allowing space to celebrate our uniqueness. In some ways I think we've "fallen into" more maturity than we've earned through experience or intelligence (gracious a Dios). Not to paint too rosy a picture... growing into adulthood together has certainly caused tension as we've struggled to carve out a life that has room for lots of personality, two careers and a whole host of different interests.

I am so grateful to have had the last five years with Rob. I am glad we met when we were young. I am glad we were brave enough to choose to commit to each other. I am glad that we fit easily beside each other in life. I'm glad that the time logged or the number of years married doesn't really matter to us because the particular markers are overshadowed by the timelessness of a lifelong love- I can't really remember life before Rob and don't anticipate much life after him- therefore it feels strange to step into a timeline for one day.

All this analysis- I am overjoyed to dress up and go out to a quiet dinner!