Leaving Neverland

It's my last day of summer. The very last.

For the past seven years, I have spent the summer months in a somewhat lazy, carefree, responsibility-lite kind of haze. Until the summer after my first year of grad school, I didn't even go to work when school was out. Summers were about watching too much TV, raiding the library, fooling around on guitar, writing fiction, poetry or music, and spending some time with the family that I'd leave 2,000 or so miles behind come late August. Even in my seminary off-season, I found myself with an abundance of free time in spite of my two part-time jobs, church ministry involvement, and an online course. Today is the last day of what I will affectionately remember as summer - I had no responsibilities except those which I volunteered to undertake. I wasn't scheduled for work, my class had ended, and even the ugly "adult" bits of life (like paying bills or washing my car) kept their soul-sucking fingers off me for a day. If I'd wanted, I could have stayed in pajamas, watched movies, and added to my newest foray into authorship all day long and without guilt. Because of that glorious word summer.

In the beginning of May, I lamented that my online class would last throughout the summer months until two weeks before the fall semester began. It was the end of an era of justifiable boredom and circumstantially acceptable malaise - the end of selfish isolation or trivial pursuits of whim and fancy. Indeed, my once sacrosanct "summer" was now doubly invaded by both my job and my schooling. Cue the melodrama.

As it turned out, I was quite glad to have my course last all four months, since it gave me something to do and enabled me to study a topic that interested me (the theology of suffering and disability). I realized very early on in my pursuit of higher education that I get a little moody and frustrated when I'm insufficiently busy. I loved college for many reasons, but one was that I was constantly doing things that either stimulated me intellectually (classes) or utilized my talents and skills (extracurricular involvement). I had down time, but it was in appropriate and acceptable doses. Summers lacked that optimization of ability, interest and time, skewing the equation disproportionately toward the latter. This past summer, with my class, job, international travel, and wedding planning, I maintained a better balance. Even still, I had time to binge entire TV seasons (and sometimes entire shows) on Netflix and become an expert on wedding dress lingo overnight. (No soft white sateen trumpet-style or blush strapless princess gowns for me, thanks!) I became aware that, given obnoxious amounts of free time, I will do practically nothing with it.

Not that there's anything inherently wrong with enjoying the time you have to lounge about. In my case, though, I was given a gift that I ended up keeping to myself.

I had wanted to volunteer at a retirement home down the street. I didn't. I wanted to hang out with my graduating high school seniors, but I didn't - not as much as I could have, at any rate. I suppose hindsight is 20/20, but there's also something to be said about the gentle croon of indolence and the insidious nature of Netflix's autoplay feature. ("Next episode begins in 15...14...13...seconds.") Excessive free time, to me, is a siren that sings introverted lullabies and convinces me that work of any kind is anathema.

This was my last day of summer. I spent it doing work.

Not much, but I was able to help with some administrative stuff for my church. I helped out a friend. I dealt with my vehicle registration and fiddled with my resume. The realization that this was likely the last time I would have a day without a real-person job or school work led to a surprising mix of emotions. I expected to want to spend the day doing typical me-stuff. I was very grateful for the calm, casual day, but in the end, I wanted summer to be over so that I could put this in-between stage of development behind me and begin a real adult life with all the real-person perks and challenges.

People say college isn't the real world, and I agree. Unfortunately, grad school isn't, either. It's Real World Adjacent. There are more responsibilities than in college, but there are also restricted freedoms - be they financial, academic (in a narrowed field of study) or even psycho-emotional. Burdens of real life creep in, adding pressure on top of school duties. Only this time, parents are far less prominent in the picture. There's a protective bubble about college kids that gets popped sometime after university graduation and before grad school matriculation. So for me, I had to watch while many of my friends began careers, got married, and truly achieved independence while my life was still dictated by class schedules, part-time jobs, and other grad school minutiae.

For a while, I was terrified of becoming an adult and having to take daily life like a metaphorical man. I hid in the Neverland that was grad school and hoped that crocodiles of insurance claims, student loan repayments and job searching would leave me alone for a while. But it's been almost three years and I'm a fighter, not a coward. It's time I saluted Peter Pan, left Neverland, and grew up.

Today was my last day of summer. The very last. And I'm honestly glad. Tomorrow, I go to work, I pursue a career, and I start to say goodbye to a childhood that has lasted just a smidge too long.

Because there's nothing bad about work. God gave Adam and Eve work to do even in the Garden, before the fall. Work is good. Work contributes to society and glorifies God. There's a humility in "important" work and a dignity in "honest" work. I suppose my next lesson is to be content with both.

Katya

That Good Night

I wish I didn't have to write this post. I wish we lived in a world completely devoid of despair, where life always, always felt worth living. Or, I wish that superheroes really existed; but instead of leaping tall buildings and becoming invisible, they had a kind of ESP for the emotions of others. Empathy Man, to the rescue.

I wish the hurting could scoop out a teaspoon of their feelings and put it in another man's lemonade, so he could taste the bitterness that the psychologically and emotionally scarred have to swallow each day. I wish people didn't have to talk themselves into getting out of bed, into eating, into believing that they are worth the air they breathe and the space they take up. I wish the difference between mental illness and mental wellness was a simple prayer and, above all, I wish Jesus would come back already and eradicate all this pain.

I dedicate this post to Robin Williams, and every other person who has struggled so long against the darkness that he could no longer recognize the light.

I dedicate this post to the survivors, who have wrestled with hopelessness and stumbled, and now find themselves on the road to recovery, whatever that looks like.

I dedicate this post to the weary soldiers of the night, who battle with every last ounce of strength to find the light they once knew.

I dedicate this post to the family and friends who tirelessly try to understand, sympathize, empathize and support people who can't see why they are so loved.

No matter what the ill-informed, the ironically well-meaning, the callous, the stupefied, the angry or the uncaring say - you, friends, are victims of a fallen world. You are victims of fallen brain chemistry, fallen human relationships, fallen personality characteristics, a fallen cultural environment, and sometimes even fallen angels. The swirling darkness that envelops you or your loved ones is not your fault. There is compassion and love and, yes, even hope to be found. And no matter what the black cloud tells you to think, you are not and do not deserve to be alone.

The struggle against depression is real, and there are choices you can make to keep it at bay or allow it to overwhelm you. I know the impotence and the helplessness in the midst of the darkness, but as with all things, they can and do pass. There are countless before you who have found the courage and faith to walk through the tunnel and rediscover the light, so while you cannot trust yourself to believe it exists, maybe you can trust those who once have stood where you stand. If they have found reason to chase the light, perhaps - just perhaps - you can, too.

So for those who ask questions like Hamlet of old, I have just one request:

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

That night you seek won't bring you peace. That night you seek can't fix disease. That night you seek is not the same as finding refuge from the pain. The night is not a better way than facing yet another day. There's nothing good found in that night, so rage and battle for the light.

Love,
Katya

Welcome to the Collective

As a student of language and grammar, I have always found collective nouns to be particularly fun. Everyone knows about a litter of kittens and a pack of wolves, but fewer are familiar with a cackle of hyenas, a dignity of dragons, and a choir of serial killers. (Seriously, whoever came up with that one deserves a high-five. How fantastically macabre!) I found it curious, though, that words themselves do not yet have a definitive collective term. 

It's almost a philosophical question, if you think about it: what one idea accurately summarizes the units of language? What is language for? What do words do? Someone suggested " a Babel of words" - nicely Biblical, sure, but words existed long before man thought he could supplant God. According to the Creation account in Genesis, the entirety of the universe owes its existence to words. Thus, if we're looking for a term that describes more than language's history, we need to go beyond a reference to Genesis chapter 11. 

It brings us back to the question of what words represent. Words give humans the power to communicate ideas. Words can be used to hurt, but also to heal - to destroy, but also to create. Words are by their very nature abstract and transcendent. They can be small, but they can be grand. 

The Process

I spent a good deal of time pondering what I might suggest to fellow logophiles as an appropriate collective noun for words, but everything I tried lacked something. "Epiphany" lacked simplicity, "compendium" lacked beauty, and "communication" sounded clinical. I wanted a term that would imply elements of profundity, majesty and simple elegance; I wanted something that was encouraging and optimistic. I also wanted something that was common, because words are, too. It was only when I again considered the Creation story that I found my term: grace.

I'm Christian, so I view everything through the lens of the Creation account. It might surprise you to consider that my beliefs on the origin of the world inform how I view human beings, and even language itself, but it's really a natural progression. I believe that God willingly spoke the world into being, and that he created humans specially "in his image." I believe that "image" doesn't merely mean "physical appearance," but rather includes an important aspect of the divine that we humans uniquely share: dominion. Genesis 1:26 says that humans were to rule the earth and fill it. In effect, God made Adam and Eve little gods over the Earth; they were on top of the food chain, they named the creatures (signifying ownership and dominance), and they tended the Garden. God chose to give ruling authority to humanity, though he didn't have to. (I mean, it's not like he couldn't ensure the plants got enough water - he created water.) So, because humans are special to God, they should be special to me. Because God valued life enough to create it, I should value it enough to protect it, encourage it, and rejoice in it. 

So...how does language come into play, here? Again, it comes back to Creation. God created everything because he wanted to do it, not because he was lonely or bored. If I believe the Bible when it says God is perfectly self-sufficient, then I have to conclude that he is perfectly satisfied in himself. Humans need companionship, but God is triune and has all the companionship he needs. Humans need entertainment, but only because life sometimes fails to satisfy. God, however, is infinitely creative (see Creation), so it's reasonable to think he can keep himself occuppied with just his thoughts and the company of the Trinity. Therefore, God didn't need to create the world at all. He chose to do it. The word we use to describe receiving a good thing that was undeserved is grace. God spoke the universe into existence and breathed life into man solely because of his grace. 

Words created the world. Words are a product of grace. Words (and the Word, c.f. John chapter 1) are the instrument of grace. Hence, a grace of words.

The Product

Believe it or not, there's more. I chose grace as a collective noun because I was visited by a rare wave of optimism. I'm generally a pessimist and a cynic (though an idealistic one; run that through your filters and see if it makes sense), but I felt that a collective term should represent not only what words are, but also what they should be. Again, I went to the Bible. 

When the Bible talks about words and communication, it overwhelmingly states the need to speak with grace, kindness, wisdom, honesty, love, and exhortation. These things encourage others as well as honor God. If we, as image-bearers, represent God on Earth, then how we act and what we say should be in line with who he is - otherwise, we aren't giving an accurate representation. If God's words are gracious and kind and loving and true, so should ours be. 

A grace of words. That's what I'm hoping this blog will be. 

I can't offer you a list of topics I'll cover, because I'm honestly writing whatever comes onto my heart or sticks in my brain. It's very likely I'll mention grad school, wedding planning, Supernatural, and Doctor Who at some point, only because those accurately sum up my life, at the moment. As you can tell, however, I have a penchant for the philosophical, the theological and the nerdy, so those three will give my posts a veneer of cohesion. And anyway, this blog is really for people who want to read the random ramblings of a random twentysomething. If that's you, welcome to the collective.

Until next time,

Katya