The Philosophy of Moving (On)

I was finally able to get all of my current belongings into what will soon be my room over the next year. And for two nights I've slept in my own bed. It still feels strange living in Ambridge. It doesn't feel like home-- not yet, anyway. The town is a new entity compared to the other places I've been. The overall population barely breaks 7000, and it's easy to tell when traversing the barren streets of closed shops and run down bars. The school I will be going to, Trinity School for Ministry has a student body of around 100, and the incoming class will be of about 30. It seems that I'll be getting to know my classmates quite well over the next three years.

It is a peaceful place, though. It's quiet, and I like that. I look forward to living through one of these northern winters to really see what it's like. For this, I will need to find a nice coat and boots. For that, I will be needing money. I have been on the hunt for a job in the Ambridge area. Unfortunately, there don't seem to be too many opportunities around town. I applied to a local CVS as a pharmacy tech, and a bank that tends to employ many seminarians from the school. I may end up needing to buy a car to work in the greater Pittsburgh area, though. There are many places hiring, but they are all about twenty minutes away by car. I'll probably try going out there in this next week to see if I can find a place that will hire me, as well as a cheap car to make the commute.

Every now and then I get a little nostalgic. I do miss my old homes in Tallahassee and Tampa. My family and friends are far enough away that a weekend trip would take months of preparation. But, it does have a cathartic feel to it. I have reached a place where the only way to move is forward. I can't turn back now. It's freeing, in a sense. I've made my decision, and I'm sticking with it. I need to learn to be content with not knowing where my life is ultimately headed, and remain confident in the decisions I have made up until now without trying to preemptively prepare for what's coming next.

It seems that there is a necessary conflict of emotion that comes with moving somewhere new. Moreover, this conflict is increased by the addition of the new life changes of moving forward that undoubtedly come along with it. There is enchantment at what might come and what might be learned. The excitement of new beginnings and discoveries which drives our hearts toward new loves. But beneath all this, there is the unsettling sense of fear that what will come might not be what you had expected. The worry that you will find where you are is not where you belong. The only way to cope with these emotions is to maintain the hope which brought you there. Without hope, we cannot look forward, but must close our eyes to possibility. It is hope which drives us and hope which changes the seemingly ill fated. Hope drives action and makes it worthwhile. I must hope to find my place here and where I belong in the midst of it.

Right now, I have passed the stage of wonderment. I am decently settled in my new house and have met many new faces, some of whom may end up becoming close friends. And this is the turning point. I need to keep my eyes pointed forward and not worry of the things I cannot know.

This next step in life is full of uncertainty. But, I shall move on by hope. Hope that my life will be changed by my experiences and that I will discern my rightful calling. I will no longer dream of the future that could be, but live toward the future that will.

Pray for me, friends. My heart aches from the weariness of dreaming. I am ready to achieve my reality.

The Philosophy of Packing

It only took a day to sort through everything I owned and decide on what to bring with me on the move. As I looked through the plastic moving bins, taking out and putting in knick-knacks and gizmos aplenty, I got to thinking. There were so many things there that I could do without. That is not to say I would readily throw them all to the wayside on a whim. They still had value to me, some for their practical usefulness and others for their tie to sentimental memories. But nothing I had was something that I had any dire need for. Slowly, I could see their value waning, and my want for them slipping away.

Sometimes I think back on my trip to Uganda, and feel a slight shame in my gut. It's hard to escape the reality of your own selfishness once the realization has been made. Traveling through the small hill towns of Kagando and Kasese, you see children running along with strings tied to empty water bottles for entertainment. And there was a joy there. They had no sense of entitlement about them. When they got a small gift they didn't ask for more, but accepted it with the utmost appreciation. The wonder etched across their faces that anything could be given to them so freely proved their sincerity.

Now, I look down in my suitcases which hold in them things I know I may never use again. Some things I may even feel are in need of upgrading. And I wonder where that appreciation has gone. How do I see these things through those Ugandan childrens' eyes? I don't feel lucky to have so much, instead I feel burdened by how much more I need; disappointed in the amount I don't have. Why does it take having nothing to really appreciate having something?

Hopefully, I will be able to find that contentment with what I have, and willingness to give without inward struggle. Slowly, I am working toward that goal to rejoice over whatever I am given and not grow covetous about what I don't have. There are many dangers involved with becoming too attached to belongings. All rooted in the fear of losing.

When we lack, we realize that we are subject to the will of what is around us. Without shelter, we cannot be protected from the weather. Without food, we cannot have the strength to live. But rather than rely on others and trust in provision, we attempt to take control of those needs on our own so as to escape from fear, but it is that very fear which drives us. Soon, it is no longer about survival, but about success and self-reliance. We don't want to be taken control of or to be indebted to another-- especially if we know that we cannot pay back that debt. Suddenly, our desire becomes a matter of who we are rather than what we need. Without the independence that comes for personal ownership, the idea seeps into minds that our very identity is at stake. Our identity then rests on those things around us which we can claim ownership of. Those things which we can say point back to us.

"Look at this car, it shows that I am well-off.

"Look at this home garden, it means I like tending the earth and being healthy.

Look at this thing, it says something about me."

But, we should not need to rely on what we own to speak on who we are. If we are bound to transitory things, then our identities are just the same. We should be able to be free of that ownership, that we don't view our possessions as something we have rights over, but instead as things we have been given. We should then be willing to give to others in the same manner in which those things have been given to us. To do this, we must break free from the individualist ethos that has plagued us and learn to rely on one another. This involves the ability to show weakness when in need and to have compassion when approached. We try too hard to appear strong and able, even when dying inside. This only feeds the problem and breeds a stronger sense of self-reliance that pushes away the help of others.

Working toward the mindset that calls on generosity and simplicity, we can attain freedom from the stress of "keeping up with the Joneses" and peace about what we have. Then we can find our true identity, one founded on something that is not fleeting, nor will ever fade away. We are created in the very image of God and his glory shines through us all. He does not desire our identity to be found in ownership, but in submissiveness; that we would turn to him and allow our true selves to be shown by his light.