My biggest fear

Those who know me know that I have a lot of fears. Pretty much everything scares me. But perhaps my biggest concern of all is a constant need to do the right thing. I fear faltering and being less than perfect. I never want to let anyone down. I try so hard all the time, all the while knowing and fearing that at any moment I could do something to mess it all up.

I think my biggest fear in life is to die like Joe Paterno has. I don't know much about him, but I mourn his death because it seems so terrifying to me. By so many and for so many years, he's been lauded as a kind, father-like figure who valued his team's personal development and well-being over their winning record. He's done so much good in so many ways. And now, at the end of his life, a mistake he made 9 years ago has come back and seems to have wiped out anything positive he might have accomplished. I can't imagine what he has gone through over the past two months, the outcry of public hatred, the dismissal by those who most valued him, and his own misgivings of his own life: had I helped more people than I hurt? What sort of person am I?

I suppose people with more self confidence and self-assurance than I don't need external feedback to let them know the worth of their life. But I look outside myself and always fear that some reproachful glance, some disappointed look with diminished my worth, my value as a person. And with the outpouring of hatred falling on Joe Paterno, it seems to prove it to me: Perfection is the only answer, since, as Joe Pa has shown, one false step can condemn you in the eyes of man forever. 

But thankfully, and I would do well to remember this more frequently, the eyes of man CAN'T condemn me forever. They can hate me now and for the rest of history, but God is the only judge. And that's why I love Christianity. Some feel that the necessity of Jesus's gruesome death is gory and unnecessarily violent. But for someone as obsessed with perfection and painfully aware of the million ways I fall short everyday (and hope that no one notices) I am grateful for the assurance that no one is perfect. That doesn't mean we should stop striving for it. Joe should have done more to protect the child and the children that would come after him. It's not acceptable that he didn't, just like it's not acceptable for me to do anything less than my best to love and support those around me at all times. But it happens. To everyone. And with Jesus as our sacrificial lamb, our sins and oversights don't wipe away all the good we have done. Not to God. And not to me.

God bless you, Joe Paterno. Thank you for all the good you brought to this world.

Things I learned from my aunt

- one person with the desire to do good can make a huge impact (tax collector, treasurer, church)

- It's possible to care so much that you radiate love to all those around you (me)

- simple acts of kindness are not simple at all, but amazingly powerful (how all her kind acts reverberated through her community, coming to my graduation)

- one person can touch a community through thoughtful words and actions (bus party! valentine's treats!)

- manners are a way to show others you care more about them then you do yourself. (hostessing)

I'm making a bad decision as I type this. I'm approaching maximum stress level at work, am fearful of a breakdown, chose to come home this weekend instead of stay mentally stable and get more prepared for the week, and now I'm staying up ridiculously late. It's such a bad decision, and I can only hope that God will bail me out and let me evade horrible consequences.

But it's my last night in my childhood room, and I felt that deserved commemorating. I'm really sad. As I said, I shouldn't have come home, but I couldn't image not sleeping in my room one last time, and not saying goodbye to the house that has been so good to me over the past 24 years. I'm lying in my bed, listening to the crickets that sing to me every summer, and slowly crying as I remember all the memories in my room. The big green desk I used to have and love. The time I got angry and moved all my furniture around to punish my parents. Writing in my diary on my bed or in the corner. My blue flowered curtains and my Muppet poster. All the times I've cried here. A memory from the first week of 9th grade, as I cried in despair at my inability to ride a bus or act like a normal teenager. That happened here, and it's a part of what makes me who I am today. With so much that changes and so many details to process, it was nice having this room to tie all these disparate pieces of my childhood and my being together. Now I feel so... nomadic.

I know from experience that I will adjust to the new home quickly. As soon as I stop thinking about it, things just fall into place. But tonight, I want to feel sad. I want hurt as a tribute to the memories here, a testimony to the growth and experiences that have taken place in this half acre. And so I lie in my bed, crying, trying to figure out a piece of the house that I can take with me, and a way to leave my mark on this place for the generations to come.

I'm moving.

It's funny, I just left for New York for two weeks. While I was there, I thought about how ready I am to move on. And then I came back here. And got sad again. And tonight made it worse.

It's been a rough two years here. I've been lonely. Not had a lot of friends. But I thought I was close to the ones I had. I don't really think so anymore. 

If you recall from way back fall 2009, I had a huge crush on J. Huge. And didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to interpret him. Didn't know how to accept his friendship without demanding more. Without wanting more. Because it seemed wrong to be his friend if I was wanting more than he could give.

And then we moved in together. platonically, of course. And it was hard. And I was scared before it started, that I would lose my closest friend. And when I got here, I saw that was my only choice. I couldn't rely on him the same way any more. Not living with him. Not with his girlfriend coming over all the time and the two of them being horribly lovely and gross. I couldn't. So she became my new best friend. And he and I, didn't talk. Not really.

And I was okay with it. It actually didn't really bother me at all. Well, except when they were together, but I avoided that. As the year went on, I got better at being his friend. Never like before. But better. And when I came back yesterday, and he was there, with his shirt unbuttoned, I remembered from before.

Tonight was my last night here. We had plans with A to go out to dinner to celebrate my new job. But her sister was in town, so she joined us. And I don't think she liked me. And so, at my last night here, when I was hoping to celebrate with my friends who I hadn't seen in a while and I wouldn't see for longer, I was an outsider. I might as well have not been there. I felt so alone. So out of my element. Like I didn't belong and should be gone already.

And then she wants J's opinion on a boy. Who has a girlfriend, but is sending her mixed signals. And oh, how I wanted to speak up. The memories that came back. The Kenyon debacle, from which my friendship has never recovered. My long talks with Marie last year. And she's there asking them, have you ever had any single friends of the opposite gender? And I'm sitting there, waiting for the topic to shift to me. Wondering if I can keep it a secret. If I want to. 

But neither of them thought about me at all. I was a non-entity. Someone incapable of being a threat, of being seen in that light. And I thought, what am I doing wrong? Why is it that I can't get anyone to see me? How did I get to be so invisible? How can I stop being so invisible? Every once in a while, maybe once a year, if that, someone will ask me about my love life. And I'll think "THANK GOD! Maybe I don't have unlovable tattooed on my forehead. Someone actually recognizes that I am real and normal and just praying that someone is silly enough to love me someday, to actually see me instead of looking past.

Anyway, the night was spoiled. I couldn't distract myself from my hopelessness. I couldn't make myself fit in. And I kept thinking, "this is not how my last night should be like. This is not how I want to leave these friends. not how I want them to remember me and not how I want to remember ri."

But there are no do-overs. This my last night. And in the friendships I hoped were so strong, I just feel like a failure. 

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Aside from all that, I've failed many people. I have not been the friend that I should have been. I've not kept in touch, not been friendly, not kept my promises. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I'm not a better person. A better friend. I don't know if I can change. I don't know if it's worth changing at this point, or if I should just start fresh, with brand new friends who I haven't failed yet. 

But I am sorry.