The first post of 2012 has come later than I would have liked - a combination of having a lot of different things I’ve been wanting to post about and an inability to work on that writing has made it so that, until tonight, I’ve had to put it to the side. There’s just been so much to do lately: between school, finding work, taking care of my temporarily disabled father, unfortunate events and even just regular day-to-day chores, there hasn’t been much time for me to work on personal projects, including (much to my chagrin) this blog.
Even more distressing to me, the inability to schedule down-time means that Warden and I haven’t been able to indulge in much romance, a fact that rang particularly true just a few nights ago on the date marking our second year together.
“This isn’t how I wanted to spend our anniversary,” he told me towards the end of a long day, sitting in the car at parking lot to our school. His tone communicated annoyance with himself and life in general. We weren’t able to celebrate that night: the beginning of the day before had been a lot of running around and driving back and forth to take care of errands that couldn’t wait, ending with both of us too tired to stay up together for very long. The morning-of had started early to attend the funeral of one of the most influential teachers (and people in general) of my life, and ended with hanging out with friends - time that seems precious given the looming dissolution of our close-knit group as everyone makes plans for the future, for work, for moving and for transferring schools. Even so, we would have gone out to dinner on our own - but Warden was feeling nauseous, which only lent to his frustration. Both of us were in much better moods by the time we went to bed that night, but the whole day was a bitter-sweet reminder of the importance of just having time for the things you want to do.
During the funeral, I did my best to hold back my tears, but failed as people came up to recall their memories of the departed, bringing to thought so many of my own experiences with him. I had dressed for the occasion the way I felt that he would have wanted to see me there - neat and professional. While tears ran down my face, I realized in that line of thought that he would have appreciated my grief - but he wouldn’t have wanted me, in the face of everything I have to do, to waste my time mourning. He would have pushed me to get my work done, to do it the very best I could, and to remember to take it easy when I can.
I like to imagine that he would have been glad to hear that I’ve found someone I’m happy with, and that I’ve become more dedicated to my work. High School was not the best time for me: between moments of almost manic excitement to be out of the house and away from stress at home, I was often a bundle of nerves over school work, in the middle of deep depressions, unable to appreciate the moments I was living through while being either stuck on the past or living in a state of anxiety over the future. I’ve prided myself on moving past that state of thought, but with everything that’s been going on lately, I find myself perilously close to it again.
So much of my time lately has been spent thinking about what I have to do next: “Okay, after I call mom, I need to do the laundry - then I need to finish my homework for one class, and do the reading for the other. What am I cooking dad for dinner the next time I’m over there?” And so on.
It’s important to remember, I think, that moments of peace aren’t always found sitting still with your eyes closed and your legs folded: they are also found in living mindfully, doing your work completely focused on the task at hand, and appreciating life as it happens. The deceased was, to my knowledge, a Christian - but I think the focus and dedication he displayed in every project he tackled, every lesson he taught, and the completely sincere way he addressed every student that came to him was evidence he had his own understanding of Zen and living mindfully.
“Rest in Peace” is possibly one of the most common western sentiments expressed towards the dead. It reminds me of benediction: “Go in peace,” spoken over the congregation as they prepare to leave the church. In my grief, I’m starting to understand anew that this isn’t something to be done only at the blessing of another, handed down from some form of divinity.
While I am deeply sad that I never got around to visiting him before he passed, I am inexpressibly grateful for the lessons he taught me about life, as well as the work ethic he did his best to instill in me. I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to give in to my stress. He would have wanted me to take a step back, figure out what needs to be done, then do it.
At times, circumstances can make it difficult to remember - but in the end, ‘Peace’ is a state of mind. I’ll do my best to remember that. My ‘to do’ list is a long one, but above everything I know I must remember these things: work in peace, love in peace, live in peace.
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