Ignorance IS Bliss

I grew up in a Catholic home. I attended Catholic school from Kindergarten through 12th grade. My father attended a seminary to become a priest throughout high school and into some college. He and my mom met shortly after my dad made the decision to leave the seminary. Growing up Catholic was an integral part of my upbringing. It was the norm to have priests and nuns over for holidays, special occasions and just because. My dad had childhood friends that he met in the seminary who he remained close with throughout his adulthood. He had some friends who were eventually ordained priests. He also had several other friends who, like himself, had left the seminary to marry and have families of their own. The Catholic Church was a religion but moreover it felt to me like a culture. We attended mass every Sunday sitting together as a family in the fourth or fifth row. I attended mass as a student body every first Friday of the month and every Catholic holiday. At times during mass I was a reader, in the choir, and even in liturgical dance (definitely not by choice, silent tantrums ensued each time I was forced to get on the altar in front of the congregation to dance to church music, a tone-deaf introvert’s worst nightmare). I have received five of the seven sacraments, the last of which was matrimony followed six and a half years later by the human sacrament of divorce.

Like most children, I grew up just believing because I was told that I needed to believe without question. I was an anxious kid. I like to say that I came out of the womb anxious. It wasn’t until well into adulthood that I found a peace with a God of my understanding. At the time, I was afraid that God was like “Big Brother” or the “eye in the sky”. I was hyper-aware that I was being watched and that if God didn’t like what he saw, I was sure to go to hell. I remember before taking a shower or changing my clothes, I would summon God to ask if he could simply look away and give me some privacy. No doubt, I was a bit of an odd kid.

Although I felt that the expectation was blind faith, I have always wanted and needed explanations. I remember ruminating about questions that I felt were of utmost importance. Particularly, growing up in the San Fernando Valley in the Los Angeles area of California, I went to school with Catholics but then would go home and spend my days with my Jewish neighbors. I remember vividly the day I finally got up the courage to ask a priest about a question that had kept me up at night…literally kept me up at night. I was probably somewhere around eight years old and I adored my Jewish friend, Jarrett. At the age of about four years old, we had decided that we were going to get married. I had heard in church and religion classes that non-believers would not be able to go to heaven. I could not get over this. It pained me. I asked a priest how it could be that my Jewish friend could end up in Hell just because his “church” and religion didn’t teach about Jesus. The answer I received was that “some people do not choose to be non-believers but instead are ignorant to the love and grace of Jesus”. From what I could understand at the time, the ignorance of knowing Jesus MAY keep someone from going to Hell but the rejection of Jesus would surely send them to straight to hell (hopefully in a pretty little handbasket). Wait, what?? So now my best friend and soon to be husband was probably not going to hell BUT instead he’s just stupid? Is that better?…I wasn’t sure.

Life went on and I continued to believe and identify as Catholic but with a ton of turmoil and questions. I really, really wanted to believe and to be Catholic, but it never quite felt natural. That isn’t to say that I don’t have an overwhelming gratitude for my upbringing. My parents were deeply Catholic and I think I’m a better person for watching them put their faith into their religion and work to instill that into their children. I envy both of my parents for their faith and I know that their belief in God and in the Catholic religion have made them better people. I have many wonderful memories revolving around my Catholic childhood.
My world came crashing down in 2009 when I was 32 years old. My marriage of six and a half years had ended, and divorce ensued. To others, my divorce appeared hasty and impulsive which now looking back is completely understandable. I had mastered the art of pretending. I didn’t know how to be vulnerable and had no idea how to really let people in and allow them to know how I was actually feeling. It was important to me that my life looked good on the outside. I realize that I didn’t do this for others, I did this for myself. If my life looked good on the outside, maybe it will start to feel good on the inside. My ex and I had been together for just over 12 years and we had created an amazing three-and-a-half-year-old son. The two of us had met when I was just 19 years old and he was 21. Our life together had its ups but so much of it was downs. It became difficult for us to open up to each other. I believe that we were trying to protect each other by not exposing one another to our own worries and fears because life was chaotic enough. In the six and a half years that we were married, we had moved six times, there were a few job changes, I went to graduate school, a baby was born, and my ex became ill, which resulted in surgery, recovery and time off of work. On top of that, my ex spent 10 years pursuing his dream of becoming a firefighter. After a decade of applying, interviewing, putting himself through an academy, volunteering with a fire department, taking side jobs, and an almost fatal illness, he was hired on with a Fire Department. We were thrilled. Only two months after his graduation from the academy, we were separated. I often say that we grew up and then we grew a part. Was this what I had expected?…never! I was Catholic, and we didn’t get divorced.

I felt so lost and afraid. The ugly, dark grips of depression crept in through the walls and windows while I slept and strangled me with its branches. I was now divorced with a preschooler. I worked full-time to make ends meet. I felt like a failure. At this time, my thoughts and beliefs about the world, my faith and religion, and my family had been rocked to its core. Although my parents and family tried to be supportive, it was apparent that they did not always understand. I was so desperate for them to understand. My whole world had been based upon being who I thought that God and my parents wanted me to be. There were many nights I would go to sleep hoping that I would not wake up in the morning. I knew that this was the depression talking. I had a son who I love more than anything in this world. He was and is my strength and he helped me to carry on. My son has an incredible sense of humor and love for the people in his life. It was my love for him that kept me going. Fortunately, sometimes it is in these dark places that we find ourselves. I will never forget the beginning of this transformation. I was sitting in my apartment one day when my older sister called. She had been watching Oprah who was interviewing a woman named Elizabeth Lesser about her new book, Broken Open, How Difficult Times Can Help Us Heal. My sister thought of me and thought that the book would speak to what I was going through at the time. She was more correct than she will ever know. That book was a catalyst in saving my life. It took time and patience, but I soon found myself. I’m still a work in progress but I can look at my life today and know that I am stronger, braver, and more loving and accepting of myself and others than I have ever been. Elizabeth Lesser’s book is based on my now favorite quote by Anaïs Nin: “And the time came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” I was so tired of living tight in a bud. I wanted to grow and transform and find my true authentic self, even if it meant opening up, living a genuine life, and being truly alive. I was no longer terrified of the pain that comes with the change.

I look back on my life so far and I have an understanding and appreciation of the paradox that without pain we won’t be able to experience true pleasure. It’s a paradox for sure. The pain that we go through can bring us gratitude and joy if we allow it. I was brought to my knees and learned to stand up and walk again. I know longer consider myself a Catholic. I had to find what works for me and what makes me a better woman, mother, partner, daughter, sister, friend and human. We need to break free of the old beliefs and views that hold us down and keep us from living a life of grace and authenticity. It’s not perfect…it’s not supposed to be. I look back on that conversation with the priest that I had when I was eight years old and I see that wisdom…in the correct context ignorance actually IS bliss. I don’t pretend to have all of the answers. I just choose to have acceptance and faith that everything today is right in the universe. I’m right where I need to be and so are you. As Wavy Gravy the clown likes to say “We are all just bozos on a bus, so we mays well sit back and enjoy the ride”. I’m enjoying the ride. Are you?