And Give Us This Day Our Daily Bread

Dear God, some days I wonder what is wrong with me. It seems I've been bitten by the depression bug. You know, that bug which, contrary to expectations, is not, say, mosquito-sized, but more crocodile-sized. And it seizes you about the middle. And threatens to bite you in half. And worst of all, but possibly most expected, it comes without any real discernible reason. Or rather, there ARE reasons, but they are not sufficient to what I desire. Rather, they are petty, human reasons of feeling out of place and lacking purpose.

I far prefer Reason wherein I know that wherever I go I am subject to Heaven and all the earth is merely a place I see with a visitor's visa. With that mindset, I know that any displacement I feel here is merely the image and, more importantly, emphasized reality of my situation, as my true home is not earthly but heavenly. Alas, this is a gnostic approach to the human experience and one to which I am rather prone.

Part of the issue is that I lack purpose and direction here. Which is what I desired in some ways. Or rather, I desired no close date, no restrictions to my future. But in that, I also desire direction, some idea of what I will DO with my future. And at this point, I feel alone and adrift on this great sea wherein all I can do is cling to a tiny bit of drift-wood and I cannot even identify an island to swim to an even temporarily settle upon until the seas become more calm. Part of me longs to be a medievalist, but I have no direction there yet and that future, even with a direction, is uncertain. Part of me contemplates becoming a writer, but I lack the words and lack the direction even more than I lack in medieval studies and that future is equally uncertain. Part of me feels I should just study Speech-Language Pathology as that makes money and such a future would be quite certain. And part of me suspects that I am just dominated and ruled by acedia and that that priest was right that I fear suffering and will do anything to avoid it, and will thus be ruled by acedia until I can learn to accept it and see the good in suffering.

And I feel at a loss. I do not know where to turn. This battle against acedia is probably lifelong as I have been governed by it lifelong. Thus far all I know to do is learn the self-discipline that all of my education thus far has failed to teach me. And so I am reading Latin, just because I know I should be able to and that with determination and self-discipline I will bring myself to the level I should be at. It will hopefully set me on the road, but it still doesn't give me clear direction. And I really wish I knew what to do with my life and where to turn.

Seal my heart and break my pride
I've nowhere to stand and nowhere to hide
Align my heart, my body, my mind
To face what I've done and do my time.¹


1 Mumford & Sons, Dustbowl Dance.

A New Beginning?

We have arrived safely in England--that happy land of magic. And happily, for myself, for the first time since becoming self-aware, I am allowed to explore what that even means.

For a while now, especially whilst living with my family, my wife and I have joked about how my parents are probably relieved that I am neatly locked into a safe, heterosexual marriage. Well, a week or two ago, this was actually confirmed by a friend who overheard my father saying as much to someone at the wedding. I am not entirely sure how to feel about this, really. It was certainly funnier when it was speculated about but not known for sure. More significantly, it means that any designs I have to explore concepts of gender and its expression confirm what are now known fears for my parents, as opposed to merely confirming what we had until now assumed they did not actually fear. I think what I find most dismaying about this is that I want to make them proud of me. And every time I wear a skirt or do something that otherwise challenges others' perceptions of my masculinity, I am aware that I am somehow a disappointment to my parents (whether they know it or not).

And yet, I am also aware of the fact that this is not something I have created for myself: I did not choose to be gender queer, but rather discovered it and saw how it had patterned throughout my life and brought a certain order to my experiences. So it was inevitable that I should face this, and either I could hide it away and deny the wonder of my being or I could accept it and thank the Lord for His good creation.

Neither, I realise, is this the only disappointment to my parents in me: there is also my Catholicism, with which they are still not comfortable (or, at times, outright disgusted, e.g., Eucharist). But I could not avoid the directive of God and His servant, Ratio, any easier than I could continue to deny how this same God had made me. While I could live a Catholic life and let my parents see as much, it puts a strain on our relationship. How much more so with their fears (or possible certainty, although I doubt that) that their son might not be entirely, properly straight?

Now I am in a new place where there is no family; where there is nobody who knows my family; and where I can start anew without fears of it getting back to my family. Perhaps I can now begin to learn to be who I am in a new way without living in fear of hurting others by accepting my very being. And perhaps, just perhaps, when I return to Canada, I will be comfortable and confident in my being through sufficient practice at accepting this person God has made.