Proven
So yeah - it's been a long time. But I feel I needed to get this and put this somewhere on the internet.
Here goes.
Proven
I remember when I used to be good at calculus.
I loved it.
Everything would fit together, and the puzzle would unfold until you got down to exact digits written on the page with a confident stroke.
There it was: the answer. And all around it, you “showed” your work.
Everything was clear, exact - everything was proven.
It's been a long time since I did calculus. I know have a harder time figuring out my taxes. Instead I'm stuck about to embark into a career I'm not sure will be waiting for me in the mix of all that I am. And I find myself scared.
I am scared because I cannot be proven.
There's no science about the logic of the human heart. There's not no chemistry that can unfold what I have been called as a minister to do. There isn't enough paychecks or savings or grades to show that I am exactly as I should be.
Yet all the expectations are there. I'm still living in the formulas others have made for me, as they work on me, setting up their equal signs and dividing marks to build me up, bring me down, and define my limits. I'm still walking around in the parameters of society and family like the points of data in a graph, finding my notions of myself confined over years of exacted practice and determination.
And worse is that I have been trained to be my own mathematician. I have been taught to do the formulas over and over again until I get it right, to hide the “oops under the cover”, as my mother would call mistakes when I did fractions wrong in middle school. I have within myself the sum of every set of laws and formulas that are meant to add up to the perfect incarnation of myself.
And now I am left in the ruin of equations that were never equal, bound in a science meant for someone else. I am left turning over into mystery the person I am becoming, and I have no way of controlling what data comes next, no hope of understanding all that I really am, and no way of predicting what I'm supposed to be.
In this break down, I know that it in a way proves all I had hoping all along. That there is grace in broken numbers, resistance and adversity in the face of breaking laws.
But in the wonder of becoming all that I can and may be, in seeing the messy twisted grace of my imperfections, there is no way of proving it.
There is no pudding. There is no grading sheet or metrics that will show the world that I have made it. There is no perfect description of my sanity that will make everyone confident. There is nothing I can do to prove myself.
To the constant questions of how I got where I am, there will never be proof that I love her and that this not a phase. To the question that will go on years from now, there will be no way of proving to others that I was too young or too immature to enter into a different kind of relationship. There will never be a way of proving that I am adult enough, as I struggle to live paycheck to paycheck, trying to keep my credit debt to a minimum. There will never be enough reassurance to tell the world that I am not too anxious or too paranoid, that that was a moment in time that won't repeat, and that I won't be left alone struggling with questions of who I am and proving myself to others again.
Instead what I am left with is every uncertainty, and trying to have the faith to live past it.
I remember at a bar someone asked, again, why I say sorry so many times. They asked if I had trouble trying to prove myself to others. I shrugged it off, and yet in that moment I knew that every time I tripped over someone's formula, over some conceived notions of expectation, some limits and rules of how I should operate in the world, I would always be saying sorry. Because I don't fit, I'm not right, and I can't please everyone no matter how much I want to.
What I am sad about, is that I have this craving and need to be proven. I want to be clear and exact. I want to control my own destiny. I want to show the world how I feel I am starting to make it, at least in some sense. How I want to show that this mess of a person, is beautiful and powerful simply because I am this incarnated human who has a stubborn faith in the humanity of others.
And I fear that I have shown I do not have faith, because I am not at peace in letting things not be proven. Save for those small moments of transformation that echo me into prayer and remind me of the wonders of this life.
So what do I do to my inner mathematician. She's not so good at doing math anymore, and the expectations I had for myself seem out of proportion to the life I am living. I wish for her to be at peace with uncertainty, to be willing to take those leaps of faith, that maybe it is in looking back that the science can be shown.
Here goes.
Proven
I remember when I used to be good at calculus.
I loved it.
Everything would fit together, and the puzzle would unfold until you got down to exact digits written on the page with a confident stroke.
There it was: the answer. And all around it, you “showed” your work.
Everything was clear, exact - everything was proven.
It's been a long time since I did calculus. I know have a harder time figuring out my taxes. Instead I'm stuck about to embark into a career I'm not sure will be waiting for me in the mix of all that I am. And I find myself scared.
I am scared because I cannot be proven.
There's no science about the logic of the human heart. There's not no chemistry that can unfold what I have been called as a minister to do. There isn't enough paychecks or savings or grades to show that I am exactly as I should be.
Yet all the expectations are there. I'm still living in the formulas others have made for me, as they work on me, setting up their equal signs and dividing marks to build me up, bring me down, and define my limits. I'm still walking around in the parameters of society and family like the points of data in a graph, finding my notions of myself confined over years of exacted practice and determination.
And worse is that I have been trained to be my own mathematician. I have been taught to do the formulas over and over again until I get it right, to hide the “oops under the cover”, as my mother would call mistakes when I did fractions wrong in middle school. I have within myself the sum of every set of laws and formulas that are meant to add up to the perfect incarnation of myself.
And now I am left in the ruin of equations that were never equal, bound in a science meant for someone else. I am left turning over into mystery the person I am becoming, and I have no way of controlling what data comes next, no hope of understanding all that I really am, and no way of predicting what I'm supposed to be.
In this break down, I know that it in a way proves all I had hoping all along. That there is grace in broken numbers, resistance and adversity in the face of breaking laws.
But in the wonder of becoming all that I can and may be, in seeing the messy twisted grace of my imperfections, there is no way of proving it.
There is no pudding. There is no grading sheet or metrics that will show the world that I have made it. There is no perfect description of my sanity that will make everyone confident. There is nothing I can do to prove myself.
To the constant questions of how I got where I am, there will never be proof that I love her and that this not a phase. To the question that will go on years from now, there will be no way of proving to others that I was too young or too immature to enter into a different kind of relationship. There will never be a way of proving that I am adult enough, as I struggle to live paycheck to paycheck, trying to keep my credit debt to a minimum. There will never be enough reassurance to tell the world that I am not too anxious or too paranoid, that that was a moment in time that won't repeat, and that I won't be left alone struggling with questions of who I am and proving myself to others again.
Instead what I am left with is every uncertainty, and trying to have the faith to live past it.
I remember at a bar someone asked, again, why I say sorry so many times. They asked if I had trouble trying to prove myself to others. I shrugged it off, and yet in that moment I knew that every time I tripped over someone's formula, over some conceived notions of expectation, some limits and rules of how I should operate in the world, I would always be saying sorry. Because I don't fit, I'm not right, and I can't please everyone no matter how much I want to.
What I am sad about, is that I have this craving and need to be proven. I want to be clear and exact. I want to control my own destiny. I want to show the world how I feel I am starting to make it, at least in some sense. How I want to show that this mess of a person, is beautiful and powerful simply because I am this incarnated human who has a stubborn faith in the humanity of others.
And I fear that I have shown I do not have faith, because I am not at peace in letting things not be proven. Save for those small moments of transformation that echo me into prayer and remind me of the wonders of this life.
So what do I do to my inner mathematician. She's not so good at doing math anymore, and the expectations I had for myself seem out of proportion to the life I am living. I wish for her to be at peace with uncertainty, to be willing to take those leaps of faith, that maybe it is in looking back that the science can be shown.