Landing in
New York, crawling into a cab, giving direction to an apartment never visited,
to live with people never met. Keys in hand, freshly pulled from a mailed
envelope beforehand, I stood at the door of my new home. Opening the door,
walking upstairs, pushing open the door to an empty bedroom, placing two bags
on the floor, the last twilight beams giving official welcome. I placed myself
in the middle of that empty room, I sat, I listened, I hoped. I hoped that I hadn’t
made the largest mistake of my life, I hoped for transformation, for joy
through suffering, for abundant bittersweet life. “I need you, I need you, I
need you,” I prayed, to the subtle responding sensation of “I am with you, I am
with you, I am with you.”
Walking
through the jungle of streets aimlessly this evening, I notice change within my
being. The frequency of human pain I’ve encountered, the talented intellectual
people I’ve met, the subjection to experiences that will leave me different. Many of us came here alone, in search of
like-minded things; forging a new family, my new family, allowing deep love and
support from those who surround me. I’ve shared myself, my stories, my reality,
boldly with a response of unconditional acceptance.
Nothing
about this new life has been easy. I’ve had many a hard day within my new line
of work; I’ve had many a hard self-realization of flaws and negative qualities.
But I’ve also found in those moments of deep disappointment, a greater ability
to love, to empathize, to advocate, and to heal.
This, more than anything else, is what I've come to know: that I am healing.
That we all are healing.
