On The Loss of Humanism

1.
I've learned to assume the worst about people. That way, you set yourself up for the disappointment and you assume that the pain will hurt less. You are wrong. In fact, what actually hurts is the fact that you've lost the ability to love --love like a carefree child, with innocence and vulnerability. That's what makes you human. You've, therefore, lost your humanism.

2.
I knew love, once... or at least I think I knew love--a twisted, unrequited love that reminded me of my humanism, of that organ in my chest that refuses to harden, and despite my desire to shrivel up and die, keeps pumping fluids to the part of my brain that forces me to feel things against my will.

I finally made it through the tunnel. People say that you'll look back on your dark moments and laugh, but I won't laugh. Every time I cried, the pain was real. There's nothing funny about the pain that I felt when my "boyfriend" moved away when I was 6, or when I got stood up for the homecoming dance when I was 13, or when so-and-so broke my heart at 23, and another so-and-so at 25. Sure, you come through the tunnel and you rejoice for having survived the breathless moments; yet, you undoubtedly know that on this human journey, you'll have to pass through many more tunnels, and in that passing through, you'll be forced into feeling those horrible feelings all over again...or new horrible feelings.

4.
I'd like to raise my hand to opt out of being human. Is that possible? Surely, some other species must have it easier, right? House cats seem to enjoy their lives quite well. I think I'll be a house cat next time. Or a mountain.

Comments

"Where Do You See Yourself in 5 Years?"

Today (December 1st, 2020), Facebook reminded me that 5 years ago, I wrapped up a 5-week run of Ain't Misbehavin' at Portland Center Stage in Oregon, and flew back to New York City to re-enter my life there. I had just applied to seminary a few days before Thanksgiving and was excited about the possibility of leaning into this strong calling I felt to deepen my theological knowledge. I was still under the illusion that I'd be able to maintain some sort of performance career, so I kept my manager, Greg, and he'd continue sending me out on auditions. I was becoming very picky about what I'd say "yes" to-- Would I go on that national tour of Hamilton that he wanted to send me on or would I go to seminary? Would I leave to do a 9-month stint in After Midnight on an international cruise ship or would I go to seminary? That was the question over and over again. I decided that I'd still do local stuff in NYC or short stints in other cities. Even as I ente...

Why I Quit Church...

On Sunday I quit church... for the day, at least. It was the most beautiful and painfully passionate act of self-care I've ever done. Hi. My name is Mia, and I live with an anxiety disorder. It's 4:30 on Sunday morning. My first alarm intrudes on the three hours of sleep I've managed to acquire. I begrudgingly assess the state of my vocal cords and decide whether or not they are well enough for me to sleep another thirty minutes. I hit snooze. Minutes later, my second alarm assaults my rem cycle. I pimp-slap my iPhone and decide whether or not I'm going to steam (a process in which I stand over a pot of boiling water for fifteen minutes to lubricate my cords). I, instead, opt for the less time consuming process of making tea, buying me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. at 5:15, my third and final alarm goes off. I roll out of bed and into the shower. As I lather, I do minor vocal warm-ups and meditate. It's 6:05. I'm clothed, tea is made, hair is done,...

A Call to Slowdown

On March 30, 2017, I wrote a caption under a picture I posted of me preaching my very first public sermon in James Chapel at Union Theological Seminary in the City of New York. The sermon was entitled, “I Have an Issue of Blood.” To my surprise, at the end of my moment of sermonic exploration – what was originally supposed to be a spoken word piece but quickly grew into something beyond my wildest imagination – I got a standing ovation. It was… odd . I thought to myself, “Why are these people standing and clapping for me? I’m not a preacher.” Folks came up to me after to convey their appreciation for the message. Someone in the congregation shared a picture they took of me. I posted it on Instagram and Facebook the next day with the caption: “I sometimes feel like there's a person running ahead of me—the person that God is calling me to be—and I'm running behind her trying to catch up as she runs faster and faster. And I don't know where's she's going but I know i...

God and Wine

Search This Blog