Life is hard.
For as long as I can remember, that phrase has been my
parents’ go-to response every time my sisters or I complained about a chore or
cried about a grade or tried to get out of an event.
“I can’t do physics, it’s too hard!”
“Yeah, well, life is hard, kid. Get over it.”
At the time, I didn’t appreciate the sentiment and its
ability to dismiss whatever I was feeling in favor of working through the
problem to find the solution. And to be honest, I still don’t really like it.
Life is hard. I don’t think, as kids, we can appreciate the
weight of this fact that our parents and elders toss around so haphazardly.
Physics is hard, sure. Running 3.1 miles in the August heat is difficult, yes.
And I maintain that folding a fitted sheet is a task that can only be
accomplished through sheer black magic. But none of those things are essential –
despite my mom’s frustration, I could go on living my entire life and never
fold a fitted sheet.
I cannot, however, go on living and not…well…live. And yet, at its very core, this thing called existence can feel damn near impossible
sometimes. The present demands to be seen and felt and dealt with constantly,
and yet I find myself drawn to a preoccupation with an intense ache for the
past, as though wanting it enough can bring back easier times and free me from
the trials of the present.
I was active in Campus Ministry at a Catholic university for
5 years, so I’ve heard the phrase “we are all beautifully broken” more times
than I can count. But it wasn’t until I had graduated and tried to move into “real
life” that I truly appreciated what that means. Post-grad life has shown me
summarily that whatever else I am, I am most definitely broken. I have been
cast out into the world, ejected from the structures and families that helped
me feel safe for the majority of my life, and the ground has shifted under my
feet. I have wallowed, I have cried, I have screamed into the void, I have
taken up and dropped more hobbies than I can count in the 4 short months that
have passed since my graduation, but none of these things have served to patch
me back together.
Life is hard. Life in college was hard, and life before
college was hard, and so far life after college has been the most difficult
time yet. But I am writing this post to remind myself that I have always made
it through.
When I look back on the fear I felt as I stood, trembling,
in the bathroom contemplating ditching out on the college job interview
that I couldn’t yet know would change my life, I don’t regret doing the
difficult thing and walking in to the room, instead of running away from it. When
I remember how difficult it was for freshman me to step out of my dorm room
and go out to a social event with people I didn’t know, I don’t for a second
wish that I had stayed inside in my pajamas binge-watching The Office and
eating trail mix. At the time, those things felt impossible. And yet I did
them. I trusted that good would come from the pain, and I chose to suck it up,
kid. And the result was a chain reaction of things more beautiful than I ever
could have imagined.
Life right now just feels hard. And I am not by any stretch
claiming to have a remedy for that. The aching is still present every day, and
maybe it always will be. Five years ago, I thought life was always going to be
bland and scary and terrible and I had accepted that fate for myself when
suddenly life came around and showed me the beauty that can be. Maybe I’ve lost
a lot of that perspective since then, and I've forgotten to look for the beauty in the brokenness. But I will still continue to choose to do
the things that feel impossible, because although this life is hard, it is
ridiculously, unceasingly, wonderfully made and beautifully broken, and I
choose to stay and see every second of it.
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