Oregon vs. Washington

This is the title I have given a battle I've found among my daydreams.
Surfaced a few months ago, it has recently developed and visited my thoughts more frequently.

Part of me wants to settle down in a remote house, hidden among glorious mountains and trees, completely content with my sweet and manly husband (whom, by the way, I have not met yet). I would enjoy being totally consumed with providing a strong and gentle enviornment for our children - a gorgeous and comfortable home, abundant with yummy nourishments and sweets, smothered in welcoming and nostalgic smells gracing every room. As much as possible, we would live at a leisurely pace...soccer games here and maybe ballet performances there. Life is about us, comfort, fun, and a quality homestlye education. Enjoying each other and a life of relative ease...

...This is what I call Oregon.


Washington, D.C., on the other hand...

...is a full and ambitious life dedicated to making a difference in the world. Less sleep, less baking...more reading, more studying. I would enjoy being driven to take action, to make the most of every day as it pertains to impacting/improving the world on the largest scale possible. Long and longer hours at work, continual mind-stretching and idea-shattering, difficult conversation and decision after difficult conversation and decision. Potential scrutiny and persecution from family, friends, the public, and media perhaps. This life would be filled with a different kind of joy. The kind that is accompanied by aching muscles, tired eyes and a satisfying sense of accomplishment.

Which life shall I choose in the end? I believe I'm created for, and prefer, the latter.
I do.
(Well, at least most of the time. Oh, Jesus, help my unbelief please.)

Hmmm, here's a thought. Maybe Oregon versus Washington is a decision that must be made every day. If that is the case, these days I'm moving more towards Joe Bellinger (figuratively speaking).

Eclipse

Nice  Glad To Meet You

That was...hmph. Beautiful? Interesting? Shocking? Glorious? Unforgettable? Helping a stranger was not the reason for the uniqueness of last night’s experience. Rather, what it allowed me to see, smell, hear. Feel.

I rode for miles after dropping her off, in silence. Too much awe in the air for music. I mean, wow, did that just happen?

“I don’t mean to intrude or eavesdrop, but can I drive you home? I’m sober and ready to get out of here anyway.” Leaving my lone seat in the corner of this loud bar was an easy and natural thing for me. No matter that I was approaching a sobbing stranger possessing the potential to give me the “Rude and crazy, much?” look.

“You are an angel, Janell. You really are. I believe it. I believe that.” She made me agree before I would watch her close the door of my SUV and walk toward the small house she shares with her boyfriend.

The past forty-five minutes had been filled with cry after cry of desperation. On the way to my car she stopped dead in her tracks, sobbing too hard to continue putting one foot in front of the other. I waited patiently at her side, shivering. As we began the drive toward her house in Kirkwood, she told me her desire for a home. Her desire for friends or family that would provide an escape from the distant boyfriend who had just left on the side of the road. 

“If he cared about me at all, he wouldn’t have left me like that. Right? And why hasn’t he called? He doesn’t care about me at all! He doesn’t care if I am safe, or on my way home. He doesn’t care about me at all.”

Wiping her face in the red sweater from my back seat, she freely shared her deepest and darkest secrets - a shocking moment of infidelity, a deserted marriage, leaving her alone with a loud and piercing regret. In as much detail as a drunk woman can manage, she described  to me the aching and agony suffocating her. 

When was the last time I saw someone like her? On the outside, nothing short of gorgeous. All put together, enviable to many on numerous levels. On the inside, oh so broken. Bleeding, hurting, in despair, aching and lonely. So broken, so broken. Who knows? This may be the case of every other person I have encountered today. But, I wouldn’t know.  The people I know best and love most may be just like Jen, and thanks to a common disdain of vulnerability and soul-bearing honesty, I am unaware.

When was the last time Jen was honest with herself, or another soul, like that? In all its pain and ick...it was beauty.  Because it was real. She was real. Yes, she was drunk. But overflowing with absolute candor. I imagine she has most likely been living in a dream, where her life is okay, although not perfect. A dream in which she masks her pain, forgets her deep desires, and pseudo-fills her ever-present emptiness. She needs much more than a dream. She needs love. hope. redemption. truth. yes, love. She needs reality.

I want to be whole. healthy. alive. full and overflowing. With a heart beating to help others. to love, guide, assist, counsel. Meeting this beautiful woman stirred a strong desire in me to offer real, deep, meaningful help to hurting hearts. If she hadn’t been slurring and snotting, I would have been delighted to pour out my own in hopes that maybe through my simple words of comfort and truth, and my love, a lasting difference would be made.