GET ME TO A NUNNERY

It has been coming to my attention for some time now that I am meant to be alone for the indefinite future. I do not speak of platonic love, merely romantic. I am well aware that I am infinitely more lucky than the vast majority of the planet as I am surrounded by an abundance of love. However, there is a marked dearth of romantic love in my life, and has been for some time. Perhaps it will be the rest of my life. Perhaps it will be merely moments more. Who knows? I do know that I don’t know. I also know that I am tired of waiting.

This in mind, the fact of the matter is that I have always found idea of the mechanics of a monastic life appealing. Like all true romantics, I have always been secretly enamored with the idea of living in a space where you have resigned to the idea of solitude and removed yourself from the angst of romantic love. It always seemed so ballsy to me to buck the system I have been addicted to my whole life and just find the inner resolve to get on with things. To be honest, I fantasize about being a soccer mom the way most people fantasize about being a rockstar; the quiet mourning of a dream you know will never be, at least not within the parameters you envision.

In light of my time in China (and the world in general), that is what I have decided to do. I will grab the bull by the horns and resolve myself to live my life with no account for making my own family. To be without a family of my own creation is one of my greatest fears and I will live with that fear no longer. I will embrace what I fear about never having a mate or biological children and learn to live beyond it. If it happens upon me, so be it and I will embrace it with open arms but I’m tired of the quiet, nagging voice in my head that wonders when companionship will arrive, wonders if he’s around the next bend and wonders if I really can compromise enough to keep the latest “him” in my life. I have been loved greatly by lovely men and in that, I have no complaints. However, I am shackled by this nagging voice and constantly at odds with a situation I have no control over. My conscious effort to remain open has merely led to heartache whose only two lessons to be learned are; 1. The things I love always have been and seem to always be less-than-healthy and 2. I can survive innumerable immolations. That’s all well and good and probably completely normal but, to what end?

So, I have resolved to scuttle that voice and live beyond it. Frankly, I’m tired of remaining open to the possibility of love. I wish I could say I was outraged by the way most of my pathetic attempts at relationships have ended but they have merely served to make me feel more for my fellow human beings. I wish I could say I loathe love and resent my fellow human beings for it but quite the contrary. The more I get kicked around, the more I love love because I see it for the fragile, near-impossible beauty it is. The more I get kicked around, the more compassion I feel because I keep learning that we lash out most often because we are afraid of losing love. The more deeply I’m wounded, the more clearly I see the suffering of the person wounding me.

That said, I’ve grown tired; bone weary really. I don’t begrudge anyone romantic love. I don’t, however, want it for myself anymore. I hate the duality of wanting to hate someone but the more I need to hate them the more I find myself unable to do so. And I now wish to construct a life for myself that services the ephemeral nature of my personality. A long-term commitment to solitude and the greater good seems peacefully appealing. In short; a nunnery.

The only snag in my little plan is that I don’t believe in god. Granted, I don’t disbelieve in god either. Frankly, I’m neither here nor there on the “god” issue and instead choose to focus on what I do know about with some certainty (relatively speaking); mankind. It is why I stayed with the 9/11 work far longer than was healthy for me. That is why I have done a myriad of things that were, perhaps, not the best for me but definitely have serviced the greater good. My humanitarian bent aside, I’m pretty sure that whole “who knows” attitude towards god rules out a marriage to whatever deity nuns tend to wed.

So, in lieu of the nunnery, I’ve chosen the Foreign Service. I am not built to remain in the education of students for the rest of the life that lies before me. I can see myself returning to academia but the thought of always doing this for the rest of my life has never sat well with me. I’m sure the Ivory Tower is my destiny but I’m not ready to resign myself to that life quite yet. The Ivory Tower always seemed like a job for retirement and, frankly, I’m not even 30 yet. Also, I have no desire to return to the States permanently yet. I’m sure the desire will return upon my need to “slow down” or whatever, but I’m not there now. I love wandering about the planet, seeing what there is to see and interacting with new cultures. The fact that I would be moving once every 2 to 4 years is perfection to me. Also, I love building bridges of communication. I love art and expression and all the good that mankind is capable of. (As a full spectrum species, we are capable of just as much evil however the nightly news seems to have cornered the market on the depressing aspects of our human condition) Fortunately for me, the Foreign Service has combined the Art and Press departments as a singular unit meaning that those of us with a communications background (as my film experience offers) must also manage cultural liaisons (as my academic background offers) while speaking one of the “hot” languages like Mandarin and the ever-standard French.

Which means I will be working on my Mandarin, studying for the FSO exam and generally imbuing my daily life with a bit more focus than I’ve had recently. This decision makes my head a peaceful place to be. Perhaps I’ll even go the Mia Farrow route and start adopting a million children. I think I could be an okay mom, despite my lack of SUV.