Box by box, word by word

The cardboard boxes tower around me like mini skyscrapers. They are a maze of tunnels in which I travel these days, not finding what I need even though they are all marked. Bedroom. Bathroom. Kitchen. Where did I put that book that I so desperately need, this minute? Oh, did I really pack the bottle opener?

I can’t seem to find where anything is.

I’ll do without whatever “it” is until I get to my new home, I tell myself. For now, I’m living like a vagrant in my apartment, sparse and slim, using only what needs to be used.

A sudden desire descends on me to imitate Gandhi, carrying only my sandals and prayer beads.

When I tire of searching for something, I return to writing my novel. Even there, I can’t seem to find the right phrase or word, the next chapter. What does my protagonist want or need next? My brain spins off the edge of my search for everything these days.

I’m lost. 

*****

Most of us search our entire lives. For the right spouse, the right job, the right place to live. We search for inner peace, joy, where to take our next vacation. In my 30s I was like that, too.

I had this hunger to find the deeper parts of me, those that were spiritual and long lasting. The cliche in the 60s was we were all trying “to find ourselves.”

I’m still not sure what or who we found. We were bucking against weighty waves of change — feminism, Civil Rights, the Vietnam War. Finding our identities, our true selves, in the midst of that upheaval was a challenge.

Some of us found gurus, spirituality, the New Age movement, EST. Some of us floundered, losing ourselves in relationships, drugs, sex and rock and roll. Some of us landed in “lives of quiet desperation” working at jobs to survive and accepting mediocrity.

My search went to spirituality and productivity, polar opposites.

I searched for a deeper sense of oneness with God, while at the same time, pushing myself to excel in my writing, my career. Every writing award validated my self-worth. Yes, I told myself. Now I know who I am. This writing, this work, proves I am worthy.

The late Henri Nouwen, spiritual writer, said:

“Productivity can never give the deep sense of belonging we crave. The more we produce, the more we realize that successes and results cannot give us the experience of ‘at homeness.’ In fact, our productivity reveals to us that we are driven by fear.”

All my life, I was searching for home. Tangible brick and mortar. And within myself.

*******

So tomorrow I own a new home. By the end of the year, I hope to have written a novel. I pray it’s worthy of readership, of publication. Writing and the search for an agent and publication — all are not for sissies. Every day you drum up pluck and daring and some days you pull it out of your pores.

As I write, I ask the Divine to help me find the story, one from the heart. And perhaps, my book is yet another search, an archaeological dig into those deeper parts of my psyche that still need expression and healing.

Seek and ye shall find, Jesus said. And what I’m finding is this. Taking risks is still as scary as hell. Jumping off a cliff in your old age not knowing if there’s a safety net can keep you awake at nights.

But what is the alternative? A life of safety, withering on the vine? Not for me. So I’m moving to a new home. Writing my novel.

*****

As I’ve written in a past blog, life is not either/or, but both/and. I’ve come to learn we can be both seeker and finder. One of my favorite authors, Sue Monk Kidd, says this:

“We can be a seeker and finder at the same time. We have to acknowledge sometime this moment is enough. This place is enough. I am enough. It’s OK. If I never seek another thing, it’s enough. It grounds us in our own being, grounds us in home.”

I want to be grounded in my own being, in the moment, in home. Sometimes I’m there. Many days I’m not. That’s OK. That’s the human journey.

The boxes around me remind me that life is transient. I may not find that book I need right now or that bottle opener. Perhaps when I need them most, I’ll find them.

Perhaps someday I’ll find my true self.

My journey to finding that home within is ongoing. Moment by moment. Box by box. Word by word.