nyj64: limbo continues


You might say this blog has been neglected lately. Which it has, as I've been dividing attention and energy between maintaining the blog with the larger readership, revising a book proposal, and holding down my ongoing full-time temp assignment. Which, as I learned Monday, will not become a permanent gig. Looks like come May 7, I'll be celebrating a one-year anniversary of losing permanent employment. One year not quite unemployed, not quite at loose ends, but certainly uninsured. As one friend suggested, I can mark the occasion by having friends buy me beers ... except that ya'll have been doing that the last 12 months already. Right.

One occasion for such acts of liquid charity rolled around tonight. Not long into the evening, I realized I was wiped and a little bored. Next thought: maybe I'll just head home. But the chaser thought, unexpectedly, was straight out of a pastor's sermon: so because I don't see anyone whom meeting might be useful to my career, I'll just head home? There's nothing to gain — that is, to give — by chatting up "lesser" folks?

I stayed then, though my brain still chugged along. While I handed out no business cards tonight, it turned out I didn't need to muster the usual self-promotion (demanding in the energy it takes ... which maybe ought to tell me something). Instead I gave what strength I had to feeding others' conversations. Surprisingly this was less draining than my usual full-watt routine. A timely introduction here, an appropriate sentence there, and this or that person was nudged into conversation. Not much it takes to give two strangers something they can talk about, or find a common thread between them. Sometimes giving takes so little of us it barely even counts as such. So why then must we make it a point to perform these barely sacrificial acts?

Last Wednesday my Bible study fed the homeless. The idea of it was the biggest thing, really. The idea you're facing lots of potential beggars with asymmetric faces and social (dis)graces. Getting off the train while still in the city and walking a few unfamiliar blocks. Oh, and donning a hair net later. But so had all my friends to do. And then that was it. Hardest part done. We fell into cheerful chit-chat while we waited (the men must attend a church service 'fore their meal). Talked about the purpose of dating (which I announced I'd given up). Set out pudding cups and put donuts on some trays ... but how hard is that, really? There is a cheerfulness to shared work and very mild humiliation that gave us more than it cost us.

And the men in charge were strangely reassuring. Compared to the welter of "emo men" and p.c. guys in suits and all the confusion over gender, these men just were men, no time for pointless self-reflection or anxiety. That was perhaps the greatest gift to me — the confidence with which they acted out their masculinity. With them so clear in their roles, it was far easier to respond and do my part.

Which was to dish up the rice on heavy plates. My grabbing hand started to ache a little, but we got them all through the line soon enough. The challenge was to sometimes look up and make eye contact (thank God the hair nets mostly removed all sex appeal!). Some men were belligerent, complaining about the portion size blind to their girth. Amazing how the homeless can be so obese, but several were. And then there were some men I wanted to look at a bit, as if holding someone's gaze might be a gift they rarely felt. Some men came back for seconds and even thirds. One giant of a man (we joked he was Michael with his hair grown in) just quietly took his plate although I knew that couldn't be enough food to fill him up. Later he came back in search of some foil to cover leftovers. I'd just ripped off a big piece of the foil that covered the serving pans for someone else, so I had to hand him the strips from around the edge.

How hard was that, really, to find cardboard juice cups for his leftovers, then help him fashion a cover from that foil? Compared to the drain of fretting whether God really wants me married and gave me ovaries for a reason, compared to the grief of fearing I've yet again come on too strong or talked too long, it was very nearly restful.

It's hard work providing for yourself, you know, doing everything you can to see that your needs get met. Much of the time that striving may not even be required. And if I could let go of those needs, relent from my desperation — forget myself just enough to focus on others' inclusion in a conversation, for instance — I might find I didn't always need that umpteenth latte to face the world (or feel so tired should I forego it). I think I need to investigate such rest ...

posted @ 12:07 AM on Wed - April 20, 2005 remark! Email |  as quoted:
before I said ...  but more recently: 

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