So I wasn't going to say anything about 9/11. I was sad all week, slightly off. But then I read what Alicia wrote, and it just struck me as being so true, so exactly how I felt. So I wrote a long comment on her blog, then decided not to clutter up her blog with all my thoughts, and that maybe I should post it here. It's personal and a bit political. It does not involve knitting, so feel free to move along. Please do not comment if you don't agree with me, I'm being vulnerable here.
On 9/11 I was a sophmore in college, living with roomates (the ones I visited last weekend) that I adored, one year into a relationship with boy who would become my husband. I found out at my on-campus job, but it didn't register that this was big or scary until we went to chapel that day and the auditorium was filled with crying, scared college students. It was surreal. We all went home together, me, the roomies, Hub. We watched that ridiculous video being played on the news over and over. We were afraid, but somehow, in our little Lee Bubble, not. We were ok, our friends were ok. We were in the middle of nowhere in southern TN. We had each other, our "urban family" and our families back home were safe. We went on with our self-centered, fun, college lives. I've mourned the lives lost that day, and even more, I've mourned the lives lost to war. One of the roomies' husband, a sweet, silly boy who lived across the street for a year of school, was called up (from the Reserves). For the year he was overseas (the first year of their marriage) I read the names of the killed and wounded every day. I prayed for his safety. I became angrier about the war, the administration, the fact that so many fighting were so young.
The thing that really bugs me, in a self-absorbed way, is this: I grew up in a screwy family. My goal for the last 5 years I lived at home was simply to leave. I was going to make a life for myself that was fun, responsible, directed and safe. And I succeeded, especially in that comfy home, with four loving/lovely roomies and a darling boyfriend, in a sleepy southern town. I felt safe and loved and at home.
Since leaving the bosom of college life, however, I fear I've faltered. I feel my childhood desire for a normal life push me in directions I didn't intend to go. I want a normal job, an organized house, hot dinner on the table (something my mother did exceptionally well, even as a single mom with a full-time job and full-time school schedule). My reaction to adulthood and finally being able to make my own home is sometimes shrill, overprotective, obsessively perfecting and overwhelmingly stressfull. I just want SO much for my home to feel safe and comforting, for my life to be soft and full and creative, that I'm confused and at loss when I Can't. Make. It. Right.
When the outside world encroaches on our safety, when my own patriotism (daughter of 2 marines here) is at conflict with my country's definition of patriotism, it's just another stinging reminder. I can't fix it. But I want to. I need to. If I can't fix It (It=war, genocide, environmental damage, feelings of inadequacy in those I love, marital disputes, wrecked car, overdue bills, sad mothers)...then...then Holy Shit! What the fuck am I going to do about creating the life I needed as a child? How the fuck does it all work out? How the fuck do I avoid creating a place of confusion, anger and aloneness in my own home?
And I realise, as I type this, that I
A. have a ridiculous sense of self-importance and power (did I really say I wanted to fix genocide?)
B. am the world's biggest pessimist
C. am in need of some counseling, and perhaps, medication
I know, in a very cerbral way, that this is how life is. Period. I need to go on living my life, and attempting to make good decisions and I need to have a normal job so I can continue to pay the bills. But. I still want to fix it. I want to protect you. I want us to be free spirits that have time to paint and write and knit. I need to feel like my home is one of safety, happiness and comfort.
In which Tara gets personal, and a bit out-of-joint
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3 comments:
Because you are interested and concerned you will make a difference. That's all each of us can do really. We can be kind, good, virtuous in our own lives, and make the best decisions we can.
I was about to say that I'm glad I was in college during the late sixties early seventies, and then I remembered - Vietnam.
It's because of you, the idealists, the ones who question and who care, that there is hope for us and for our Planet.
Finally getting in here to read this. I am moved by what you've said, recognize myself in it, and, like you, wonder what to do. Very poignantly put. Thank you.
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