definition

seems all of my life i have defined myself by others. i am a pleaser. i want people to accept me, love me, so i do what they want of me. and i follow my own way in the dark. behind doors carefully closed, but not locked. i have to admit, after years of denial, that i "accepted Christ" only because i knew Rom wanted me to. and i followed my cousins in a way because it was expected of me. i rejected what i was expected to reject, accepted what i knew i must accept. it was home, my place of definition, my bounded terrain. even through college, i acted in ways that gained acceptance. i went to praise and worship, bible studies, church (for a while) because i knew it was expected of the person i wanted to be. but then, even when i was going to the clubs, getting drunk, whatever else, i was still playacting. it's a hard realization that half of my life has been a facade. i've lied to myself and others - but not intentionally. i repressed myself so well that i didn't know. i know i am drawn to spirituality - that is an absolute part of me. but i have no easily distinguishable path. i know that i'm not interested in mormonism anymore. part of me knows that i converted for dave, anyway, because i wanted him to have the temple wedding. i wanted to make him happy. and part of me craved the familiarity after a year of wandering. i'm just not there anymore, and dave is scared/frustrated. i don't want to go to church anymore, i don't want to sit in classes anymore, i don't want to sit in the foyer and pretend anymore. that's why i've spent so much time outside during church.


i think dave is upset at me because of this. i think he knows. i think he's also struggling with his own sense of restlessness. he says he's beginning to see church on sunday as one more thing to do, even though he knows he "shouldn't feel like that." really? we shouldn't? if we do, then something is wrong. it's not speaking to us anymore. for me, it's just one more voice telling me how to live my life. for dave, it's one more obligation.

one of the chapters in the theory book i'm reading talks about home, and the ways/reasons we feel "at home" in some places, and not in others. it has to do with familiarity, community, definition. i realized this morning that i have "left home" in a sense because i am beginning to define for myself rather than let others define for me. i started when i was in college station, with the objectivist stint. maybe even before then, when i realized i didn't really want to go to church. i endured the terror of possibilities like being damned for eternity for my agnosticism, for considering other paths. while yes it hurt, it was like home sickness. i didn't have any predetermined definitions anymore bounding me within the safe zone. the results weren't pretty, my direction was all wrong, and i ran back to the safety of home. back to christianity, back to my family, back to belonging. but, back to the sense of pretense. back to considering in the dark. when i started the graduate courses, and realized for the first time (at least in a long time) that my bounded and defined world wasn't absolute, that i had a voice, a mind and a duty to myself to use them, then i began to gain strength. i think i had assumed that my duty is to silence myself, to silence the conflicting voices and to keep faking. but it's gotten to the point that i don't want to silence them, i want to sing with them. i'm working on erasing the definitions and redrawing myself. ripping the pattern apart and starting over.

dave hasn't left home yet. he says he grew up without a really clear sense of the gospel, not really living it, but it was there, all the time. it was the definitions and boundaries of his life. he might have left the physical home on his mission, but he never left the definitions, the boundaries that he grew up with. he still defines his life by them. he doesn't understand how i can *not* base all my premises on the gospel. i've experienced too much to make that narrow assumption. he says to start with the atonement. no. to start with the atonement means to start with myself innately flawed and in need of sacrifice. automatically wrong from the start. to start with the atonement means to start with the premise that christianity is innately right. i have to start by excluding all other options. i can see the missionary in him coming out. guide and direct. once a missionary, always a missionary. don't go astray, go apostate, lose hold of the iron rod. don't lose your place in the celestial kingdom. worse yet - don't lose your family. everyone else will be there - you'll be all alone. it's about keeping what makes you feel secure and familiar. the smell of certain things, familiar sights, the knowledge that you will fit right back into a groove. no matter where you go, it's always the same. fear and guilt. fear of the unknown, of judgment, of being wrong. guilt because everyone is worried about you.

no i don't want to me in this place anymore.

balance is falling out and rediscovering center. in nearly everything. like emotions. i completely let my emotions drive my mouth and i said something very harsh to a kid that is dealing with a lot of upsetting issues. all hail the omniscient delayne. i'm such a bitch at times.

this has been a sucky week. the only thing that has made it worth-while has been the emails from aaron and our conversations about paganism, and the walk i took in the park on wednesday.

i'm only 31. what wisdom do i have? i still feel like a kid. who the hell am i to be a leader? a teacher?

found

so, a friend who i haven't seen in over a decade has popped back into my life via facebook. hard life, divorce and a 6-year-old son. i'm not sure how i feel about this - we didn't part on very good terms. i wanted her out of my life because she reminded me of the parts of my life that chained me down. like prometheus. but then, i'm not the same person i was in college.

i suppose this is the full circle that we wind. we stretch to the furthest reach out in all directions, but end up right back where we started, in the end, only battered and wiser. that might be the point. to return with hindsight. am i any wiser?

so, nearly all my high school friends have found me again.

orbits

facebook makes spying easy. so i spied on my ex-boyfriend of nearly four years just to see how he's doing. married i knew he was. apparently a father, too. doing well, and happy. pictures of their honeymoon (?) in Vegas. a new house. pictures of a life. and i look through these pictures with something like distant serenity. happy for him (them). and not in the least jealous. in spite of the material things that i could have had with him, i know that i would have drowned. i was drowning while i was with him. drowning in normalcy, in conformity, in tradition. my life might have slipped into a coma of routine stereotype. no, the myriad possible pleasures would have done nothing to buffer the wild hunger for change and autonomy in me. i think i would have lost myself or divorced him. dave couldn't have come at a better time - right at the moment that john and i were starting to move back into our orbits of familiarity.

what would his family have thought about me being wiccan?

would i have had the strength to rip myself free of those orbits in the first place?

i was fine...

until i learned one of my students was murdered...

howl

wolves sometimes howl simply for the joy of howling. head up, eyes closed, full throated into the air. because sometimes, the need is too great to ignore. the joy of the song too bright and overwhelming.

this may be my next great endeavor. to learn to howl for the joy of it. to live for the joy of it. to be myself for the joy of it.

only, right now, i don't know who i am.

maybe that's why i can't howl yet. the howl is the affirmation of the wolf's "wolfness." how can i howl my self if i don't know fully who that self is?

maybe i'm just so accustomed to locking my howls inside. being what everyone else wants me to be. the daughter, the wife, the employee, the teacher, the mentor, the periphery.

perhaps i have to howl myself into existence.

where am i? moving, it seems, through the labyrinth toward the center. through the passages that wind and twist through myriad ideas. moving, i think, away from the comfort again toward something less familiar. less familiar, perhaps but closer to me in spirit.

and an act that seems like nothing, but holds such significance. like putting them away, storing them in the closet says with some finality that i have moved away for good. not that i ever really felt a mormon. i've never felt like anything. just myself - attempting to find some parameters but not finding anywhere where i could feel comfortable.