Temporary

I want to talk about permanence. Or rather, I want to talk about the opposite of permanence. I want to talk about being temporary. Temporariness.

(Really, I want to talk about the difference between not wanting something and being told you can't have it but those are feelings for another day.) 

I was in choir rehearsal yesterday evening and elections are coming around for the organizational positions- the president, the social chairs, the person who handles the sheet music- and we all gave a big round of applause for the outgoing officers and when the director talked about how much work these people did and thanked them for all the tasks they do behind the scenes so that the rest of us could just show up, I thought, "That's usually me." I am usually the person who shows up early and leaves late and Gets Things Done. 

But I'm not right now. 

I thought this through in September. I knew I was only going to be here for a year, an intense year of study which had the potential to be too much for me, and I never want to take on any role unless I can really devote myself to it. I knew I'd spend the whole year feeling like I was running out of time and I didn't want to add any stress on top of that feeling. So I didn't plan on doing much or joining many things. I mean, I didn't even join this choir until January (though I'm so glad I did- if you're reading this, thanks for inviting me, Heather!). I figured the cogs in the clock of life would turn just fine without me. 

And they do. There's wonderful freedom in a lack of necessity. But there's a different truth here as well, which is that temporary doesn't mean a lack of usefulness. A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts. We are all temporary manifestations of particles that will one day fade back into particulate silence, but how beautiful these moments within the dissolve! I do not think that there is a genuine reason to avoid involvement because you know you're leaving. There's a Hey Marseilles song about temporary love, full of wonderful melancholy, but the thing is, the love still exists, even if it's just for now.

I'm sure I have limited myself with my assumptions about what I can do when I know I'm just going to leave. There's been a moment every year since I turned twelve when I've realized that my life won't be like this forever. One day I'll be in high school and things will be different. One day I'll be in college. One day I'll graduate. One day I'll have to find a more permanent job. One day I'll move on to my true calling. One day I'll start the next project. This is all temporary. I'm biding my time here on the sidelines until the real thing comes along.

It's a privilege, to view your temporariness with security. 

On Friday night, I participated in the Bethany Sleep Out (and Bethany's still taking donations- I'll put a link at the bottom of the page if you'd like to help out). We were in the pavilion in front of City Chambers and from that vantage point, I can now confirm for you that St. Giles Cathedral rings out every hour on the hour all night long and that Scots are just as loud as you'd think they'd be out on a Friday night. 

We were genuinely lucky with the weather- it stayed above freezing and it didn't rain and though I was cold, it wasn't the coldest I'd ever been. I had layers and blankets and enough cardboard to feel enclosed, safe, and a kind of warm. 

We had access to the toilets in City Chambers and hot food and drinks all night long. I didn't sleep much, but I hadn't really expected to. I knew I'd be going home to my bed and it's not like I've never pulled an all-nighter before. And again, I felt very, very safe. There were staff members up all night keeping an eye on things and we were in a large group and secluded away from the rest of the Mile. 

But what if I wasn't? 

What if I didn't have my layers or my blankets or all of my things? What if I didn't have someone watching out for me while I slept? What if I went all night hungry and thirsty? What do you do when all the stores are closed and there's not a toilet or a sink? What if I didn't have a bed to go back to, somewhere to catch up on the sleep I missed that night? What if there was no permanent place for me to be?

My idea of a temporary situation is one that's only going to last the year and I long for the day when I will be able to count my time with a place or a person in decades. I cannot imagine the temporariness of a life without a home, the way your situation changes day to day, hour to hour, how there is nothing permanent about your life other than how unsafe it is. I have always had a space to call my own and that is such a crucial anchor for me. The emotional trauma of being without that personal sanctuary would leave me steeped and immobilized, a victim to all the physical difficulties of life without a home or a house. 

I never want to experience that. 

There are so many ways in which I want to suck the marrow out of my safe though temporary life, so much living I want to do. I need a cure for my hesitancy and maybe this new awareness will do the trick. But the fix isn't as easy as some casual pondering for others and I believe we should help with that. If I can, I'd like to encourage you to look into supporting your local soup kitchen, food pantry, or homeless shelter, to help the vulnerable in your communities, and if you're in Scotland, I cannot encourage supporting Bethany Christian Trust. You can donate to my sleep out page here or read more about the organization here.