A Deep Breath (#20)

You'll have to read the post in order
to understand their significance.

I am a day late with this post. Yesterday, my daughter's dance team hosted a competition for the first time ever. Overall, it was a success. However, leading up to it, I had many doubts, most of which stemmed from my personal struggles with social interactions, and past experiences with planned events. A week of intense anxiety, ten straight hours of standing, a way too many interactions with strangers, left me exhausted. So, no blogging for me. Instead, I ate a lot of Chinese food (not exactly a good idea on a near empty stomach), and experienced about an hour of an interesting documentary (someday soon I will discuss it), before retiring to bed (I slept well for the most part, except for a strange dream that caused me to wake up briefly in the middle of the night).  

After spending the day doing laundry (a usual Sunday chore), making the weekly trek to my favorite grocery store (a twenty-minute drive both ways), and prepping snacks and meals for the family (an two-hour task itself), I am ready to sit down a write. Yet, my mind and heart are not fully committed. The former wants to analyze all the mistakes I made these past few days, and uncertainties that plagued me this past week. The latter thinks no harm, no foul, and that the slate has been wiped clean, ready for me start anew.

And my gut is reminding me of several punches it has received, some self-inflicted. 

For the moment, I will briefly mention two. The first one came from the direction of a documentary. It was about three adults and a child who constructed over twenty years of life in a remote part of northern Alaska. Actually, the film centered on the deconstruction of those memories. If my own recent foray into a wild life event had not left me drained, I would have finished watching. I have found it that intriguing. That story, and an interesting coincidence. Just last week, I started another documentary about a massive yearly migration that takes place through the Brooks Range in Alaska, the very place where this family discovered a huge part of their life. 

It is another coincidence that brings me to the second punch to my stomach. In the beginning of January, I began reading one of two books from a Jesuit priest. The first focuses on the Council of Trent, while the second on Vatican II. Both are important historical events in the history of the Catholic Church. I have been drawn to this topic since last November, a process worthy of its own posts.  The subject matter and writing style of the two books has me reading at least thirty minutes to an hour a day for the past few weeks. That means a lot to me. 

Well, a few days ago, I decided to purge a pile of books from my daughter's room. The plan was to donate them to the local library. Something inspired me to pack them all into a single bag and walk them to the library. One mile away. Fifteen minutes later, with aching muscles and short breath, I found myself at the rolling cart for book donations. It was red. And empty. Except for two books. Both were thin, old, and worn, piled to one side. I placed my large pile of thick, like-new modern books, most of them teen romance, on the other side of the cart. The asymmetry caught my eye, and I decided to examine the two other books.

Their titles were Called to Communion: Understanding the Church Today and the Spirit of the Liturgy. Both by the same man. Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, who would eventually become Pope Benedict XVI. And both about the same topic. The Catholic Church and how Vatican II changed it. 

There, alone, in that long hallway of the library, standing beside the red painted metal cart, upon which sat two uneven piles of book, I laughed aloud. Then I took a picture, for my blog. I sighed, shook my head, and left.

Despite a now empty bag, I walked home bearing a heavier burden.

Fucking coincidences.