In it and of it
I don't want to transcend this life
Hello, my lovelies. I am cozied up this weekend as the cold finally and truly descends here, which feels just right. I hope you are also warm and well-tended where you are.
Yesterday, despite the cold, I went for a long ramble in one of my favorite woods in the hopes of stirring up some grand inspiration to share with you in the wake of the Thanksgiving holiday. There was no great insight to be found there, it turned out, though there was this lovely, burbling brook, which I snaked back and forth over and found delightful.
What I found myself pondering as I shambled up and down along the trail, though, was this old, Christian adage that has stuck with me from my childhood: “to be in the world but not of the world.” Growing up in a faith community that differed so completely in its central teachings from the world around me, I found that saying validating. The world was consumed with consumer capitalism, but we chose simplicity. That was good. The world chose militarism and war, but we were committed to pacifism and peace. That was good. The world was built on hierarchies of human value, but we believed everyone carried God within them. And that was good, too.
I still think there’s a way to carry this idea of being in but not of the world in my heart that provides useful, critical distance. Just a hair’s breadth of space to remember, All of this? It’s not who you are.
But I also think there’s something in that idea of being outside of the world that is perilous. Why? Because it’s not actually possible to exist completely outside of the culture in which we live, any more than we can keep from breathing the air around us. If we attach our identities to being somehow separate, better, perhaps more moral even, than the world in which we find ourselves it’s very hard to honestly grapple with how we aren’t better at all.
This sort of identity attachment is how you get men who are so convinced they are “one of the good guys” that they can’t take responsibility for their contribution to, and investment in, patriarchal systems. It’s also how you get White folks who find the idea of being labeled racist so threatening they will change the school curriculums of entire states just so no White child will ever have to confront the history of White supremacy.
That we are of this world is unavoidable, unless we live alone on a mountaintop somewhere. What point is there in feeling shame about being affected by it? Starting from the assumption that we are part of it all, and then simply asking what we want to do about it seems like a much more humane place to start.
The other potential peril of being separate from the world as both an identity and an end goal is the disembodiment, the implication that it’s good to be at a remove from the mucky, messy, realness of your life. I don’t believe that. When I step fully and consciously deep into the reality of my daily existence, the flesh and blood life I’ve built over time, is when I feel the most grounded and whole. Not when I think of my life as just a temporary, unfortunate waystation on the journey to some perfect tomorrow.
I don’t want a life that feels like it needs to be transcended. Nor do I want to live in a world I need to escape from to feel love, joy, or satisfaction. But my life and the world don’t change to more closely resemble the life and world I want if I hold them at arm’s length. Instead, I have to take them in my arms and claim them as my own.
If there’s pain when I pull the world close, sharp edges that cut or tear at me, what can I do about that? Is there some remedy I can offer with my own two hands? Do I need to gather a community around me to help hold the inevitable suffering that seems to come with all of us trying to figure out how to live together?
Many of us are feeling the need to pull in in the face of the world as it is right now, but I don’t think that has to mean pulling away. I think it can mean accepting what one person can actually hold, and then doing what we need to do to build relationships that help us bear the weight.
Right now, what that looks like in my life is continuing a daily love practice, reaching out via text and Messenger to my nearest and dearest each morning to tell them I love them. It is such a simple thing, really, but it completely changes the feeling of my days.
The morning of Thanksgiving I also volunteered on campus at the university where I work. Every year we host a meal open to the thousands of international students, scholars, and faculty that are part of our community. What does Thanksgiving mean to them? Not much, probably. But with the campus shut down, and in the wake of this election, affirming that we claim them as an integral part of who we are feels important.
In the afternoon, I went to dinner with my son’s in-laws. I brought a very delicious (if I do say so myself) cranberry curd tart with cinnamon whipped cream. We feasted, played games, and laughed, strengthening the ties of our extended family, which holds my trans son and his trans partners so faithfully.
Then yesterday I rambled in the woods, feeling myself stretch and loosen. What a blessing this land is that I live upon, and what a gift this body is which I can use to enjoy it. Afterward, I went to a matinee of Wicked with my daughter and her boyfriend. How much did I love this movie? So much. And sitting around the table with them afterward, eating soup together on a cold night and sharing our reflections was just pure joy.
Please, god, let me never live in a world without musicals and soup and family. Also, pie.
It’s good to remember that the bulk of our integrity practice is simply tending to our daily lives— showing up for our community and loving on our people. But that’s how we build up our strength for whatever comes, these daily, seemingly low stakes moments.
How are you practicing, my friends?
I’m a very bad capitalist, I’ll admit. I don’t really know how to do anything but show up here every week and be myself. Nor do I have a particular strategy for growing my list or building out what I offer. This isn’t a badge of honor or anything. It’s just true.
Currently, what that means is a paid subscription buys nothing other than my endless gratitude for helping me support my family. Also, maybe it offers some sign to the powers that be that art and artists matter? That’s what I hope it means when I pay for subscriptions, anyway.
Still, we’re all just mostly getting by around here, so consider this a mutual holiday gift.
XO,
Asha
Love this. Love you. And love to yours.