A cat has absolute emotional honesty: human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.
I have been going through somewhat of a valley spiritually-speaking over the past few months. We have only been to church twice since Honey’s accident, and we are currently trying to decide which direction to take on that front. Being part of a congregation over the past few years has been an overwhelmingly positive experience, but I also enjoy lazy Sunday mornings at home. Even more so since some of our closest friends are no longer attending services.
One thing I’ve learned over the past several weeks is that many of the fellow worshipers I thought were true friends, actually aren’t. No cards, phone calls, emails, text messages, Facebook pokes… nothing. I realize friendship is a two-way street, but a simple “We miss you!” can go a long way toward easing feelings of isolation and loneliness.
Religion has never been an easy thing for me. It often feels like a handicap that must be struggled through in the hopes of attaining some eternal reward. I don’t like the monotony of religious tradition or the arrogance of doctrine. So much of it seems elementary – a jagged little pill I must swallow every week. I’m much more content to figure it out for myself, rather than allowing someone else to tell me which path the journey should take.
I read too much, question too much, and believe too little. I keep hoping a light bulb/aha moment will wash all of my hesitation and fear away, but the older I get, the less likely it seems that such a thing will occur.
For me, God has become a concept; a way to explain how everything my senses reveal came into being. I refuse to deny His/Her existence simply because it might not make logical sense to believe. Nothing really makes sense if you think about it long enough (space, for instance). Religion certainly falls into that category.
I take nothing lightly; in fact, I agonize over these things. It just seems like I keep coming back to the same conclusions time after time, which means that I have to eventually be honest with myself about what I believe – or don’t believe. Unfortunately, those moments of realization usually include a mixture of anxiety and sadness.
This post isn’t really going anywhere, but I just needed to get these thoughts on screen so that they might be a little easier for me to organize. I’ll try to write something a little more coherent next time. ;)
Honey came to visit me at work this afternoon, a little while before a couple of women peddling Aflac insurance arrived. One of the ladies, a tall blonde, kept looking at me with an air of familiarity. After answering a barrage of questions in an attempt to determine where our lives might have previously intersected – like where I graduated from and worked previously – she inquired if I am married.
Taken aback, I paused for a second before saying, “Partnered.” She seemed a little confused, so I reached over and patted Honey on the knee as I said, “This is my partner.” Considering I shocked myself with that statement, I can’t begin to imagine what she must have thought.
I despise being asked about my marital status. Calling it a “sore subject” would be severely underestimating how I feel about it. I am just as committed to my relationship as any other married person, and I refuse to label myself as single or unmarried just because the government doesn’t recognize my union. Yet, technically, I cannot claim to be married. Until we receive some form of legal recognition of our relationship, we are in limbo and completely disregarded by most of society.
We never figured out why we looked so familiar to one another, but further conversation revealed her to be socially conservative. I hope my honesty gave her some food for thought, but that’s probably being a little overly optimistic.