So. what did I learn about trust this year?
The answer is, I am not sure. And, I am OK with that.
I thought that writing about my word of the year during Advent would bring some clarity--a pithy, elevator speech I could provide about what trust is, and how it has worked in my life. I thought, at the very least, that I would have some idea of how I will carry forward an honoring of that word into the new year as I slowly open to the word that will come next.
But instead, like all of the words I've held over the years, this word is elusive. Who to trust, how to trust, when to trust, how to heal from betrayals that resulted in trust broken--there are no easy answers. I knew that when I started writing and I know that even more deeply now.
There are a few things, though, that have become clear to me.
I trust in rituals old and new. I trust that they will open me and others who share them in mysterious and beautiful ways. Rituals take us beyond right and wrong, beyond doctrine, beyond what we should and shouldn't do. If we live them in the right way--not out of obligation or bitterness or a controlling need for them to work out in exactly the same way they have in the past--then they enrich our lives by giving us space to connect with Love and Awe.
I trust in old stories, and new stories, and that only I can write my own. I trust that each moment is a sacred telling and retelling, that we can choose to live with a heart open to awe and grief and joy or a heart closed. I trust that everyone can choose open, again and again.
I trust in community. Even though every community to which I have belonged has, in some small or large way, betrayed me, I believe in the work that must be done to create and maintain connections, to connect across difference. I trust that it is possible to do so, even when it seems impossible, and that we must live our lives with the ideal community in mind and heart while also attending to the small details that might build toward that ideal: kindness, honestly, accountability, boundaries, hope. I trust that communities can grow and change and dissolve and that, through it all, we can be blessed, and bless. We can know when it is time to hold on, let go, rebuild, begin again.
I trust that most wounds never fully heal. I trust that, nevertheless, we can survive even the worst trauma, can live lives of integrity even when our wounds are deep. We can choose to keep the scars, the broken places, hidden, or we can expose them slowly to the healing elements that surround us every day--fresh air, full moons, a ring of Advent candles lit on Christmas Eve--whatever brings us awe and connection. And I trust that awe can carry us through even if we feel the old pain in our bones.
I trust in Love--that it is possible to give it, to receive it, to feel it holding us always, if we are open. I believe that this Love is bigger than what we feel for other beings, bigger than anything we can know and understand. I believe that as long as we let it be without trying to control it, we will know it in the deepest places of our bodies, hearts, and minds.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
I thought that writing about my word of the year during Advent would bring some clarity--a pithy, elevator speech I could provide about what trust is, and how it has worked in my life. I thought, at the very least, that I would have some idea of how I will carry forward an honoring of that word into the new year as I slowly open to the word that will come next.
But instead, like all of the words I've held over the years, this word is elusive. Who to trust, how to trust, when to trust, how to heal from betrayals that resulted in trust broken--there are no easy answers. I knew that when I started writing and I know that even more deeply now.
There are a few things, though, that have become clear to me.
I trust in rituals old and new. I trust that they will open me and others who share them in mysterious and beautiful ways. Rituals take us beyond right and wrong, beyond doctrine, beyond what we should and shouldn't do. If we live them in the right way--not out of obligation or bitterness or a controlling need for them to work out in exactly the same way they have in the past--then they enrich our lives by giving us space to connect with Love and Awe.
I trust in old stories, and new stories, and that only I can write my own. I trust that each moment is a sacred telling and retelling, that we can choose to live with a heart open to awe and grief and joy or a heart closed. I trust that everyone can choose open, again and again.
I trust in community. Even though every community to which I have belonged has, in some small or large way, betrayed me, I believe in the work that must be done to create and maintain connections, to connect across difference. I trust that it is possible to do so, even when it seems impossible, and that we must live our lives with the ideal community in mind and heart while also attending to the small details that might build toward that ideal: kindness, honestly, accountability, boundaries, hope. I trust that communities can grow and change and dissolve and that, through it all, we can be blessed, and bless. We can know when it is time to hold on, let go, rebuild, begin again.
I trust that most wounds never fully heal. I trust that, nevertheless, we can survive even the worst trauma, can live lives of integrity even when our wounds are deep. We can choose to keep the scars, the broken places, hidden, or we can expose them slowly to the healing elements that surround us every day--fresh air, full moons, a ring of Advent candles lit on Christmas Eve--whatever brings us awe and connection. And I trust that awe can carry us through even if we feel the old pain in our bones.
I trust in Love--that it is possible to give it, to receive it, to feel it holding us always, if we are open. I believe that this Love is bigger than what we feel for other beings, bigger than anything we can know and understand. I believe that as long as we let it be without trying to control it, we will know it in the deepest places of our bodies, hearts, and minds.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
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