A Beggar At Home

A few nights ago I had a nightmare. I don’t usually have them, but within the past couple of weeks I’ve had two. Boredom, bad news, and an over-active imagination are a bad combination. Saturday morning, I had a hilarious dream. The dream was that it was all over. We were done with the “plague.” My friend had an even bigger music studio, and as Barnes and Noble has Starbucks in the store, the studio had a Burger King, so I was eating chicken nuggets at the music studio.

My mom has invented what I call Apocalypse Pizza. To make Apocalypse pizza you use Naan bread, olive oil, mozzarella cheese, and whatever other toppings you like. For me, it’s peppers and onions. It’s really easy to make and everyone in my family likes it. The problem? We’ve been eating almost nothing but Apocalypse Pizza for several days, or maybe a week. When I finished doing my Morning Prayer yesterday, and went to the kitchen, she said, “Do you want pizza?” I couldn’t forget my dream, so we went to the Burger King drive through.

Since I ate lunch in the car, we took a little drive to see if anyone was out, what was still open, etc. There’s a small lake close to where I live in Massachusetts. It’s a little weird because it’s in the middle of the town and is surrounded by pavement and business. It’s a very popular place for people to take a walk. It’s so popular that the Mayor asked people to refrain from “walking the lake.” When we went over there yesterday, it was packed.

We are creatures of habit, and as Americans, we don’t like being told what to do. Furthermore, humans are social animals, and “social distancing” and “quarantining” can be downright stressful. We’ve been asked to make sacrifices. No one likes sacrificing because it means discomfort. What’s more is that there are many cases when one has Covid-19 and has no symptoms. In these cases, one might assume they are perfectly healthy, visit a friend, young nephew or niece, grandparent, or whoever who is vulnerable that person ends up getting it, and getting it bad. It is better to assume one has it.

I’m really bored. I can’t do a really significant part of my work because I can’t go to the studio. I sympathize with those who absolutely have to go out to go to work, but to those who see this as an accidental vacation, please; as of yesterday, we have 304,826 confirmed cases of this in the United States. Please don’t walk the lake. Please don’t bring your kids to the playground. Please don’t go to the beach. We’ve been asked to stay at home until the end of April. We will likely be asked to stay at home for longer than that. This “plague” will die out sooner than later if everyone would just stay home.

It does mean making at least some of your own food instead of getting takeout all the time. It means finding more ways to entertain yourself and your kids because you can only watch so much Netflix. It might mean making your own coffee instead of going to Starbucks. I get that it’s inconvenient. I completely get that it’s a little lonely. I’m not asking this of you from the outside. I am asking this of you as somebody who is doing these things, too. I am asking this of you as somebody who can’t see her friend, and can’t fully celebrate the most important holiday of her faith.

Sacrificing and discomfort does suck. Being told what to do sucks. You might not be a man or woman of faith, and you might believe that this life is all there is. I won’t try to persuade you otherwise here. Still, you are being forced to sacrifice; your gym is probably closed, the restaurants you like are probably closed, and you are probably working from home. For me, I can stay home and stay inside because I can offer that as a sacrifice to my God. If you don’t know, or don’t believe that God exists, I’m begging you to make that same sacrifice simply for the good of the rest of the world, or even just to make your life more enjoyable.

Please, consider the beggar.

Thanks.

Trust

I trust everyone. Honestly, I assume that everyone has good, or at least mostly good motives, and really does want the best for the world and for others. That’s not to say I trust everyone 100%. I’m not naive. I know people have evil in them, and I know there are dangerous people in the world. I’m just not afraid of them. From my experience, 999,999 out of 1,000,000 are trustworthy. I believe this for a number of reasons.

I’m young and grew up in a safe suburban town, went to school at a Christian college in the middle of nowhere, and still live in the aforementioned safe suburban town. I’m an optimist. I simply want there to be good in people, and I choose to see the good. I’ve never really encountered any truly dangerous people. I believe that everything happens for a reason, and if I get hurt, I believe that some good will eventually come of it; I’ll learn something from it. I’ve never been disappointed when I give someone the benefit of the doubt, even if I’ve been a little unsure in the beginning.

My contemporaries and I were taught when we were kids not to talk to strangers. We were taught that evil was lurking around every corner. I don’t know when where or why our parents got this notion. To me at least, it seems entirely unreasonable to believe such a thing. You would constantly be living in fear. A friend of mine has told me that it’s better to be a pessimist because you’ll always be right or pleasantly surprised. However, I don’t necessarily view “bad” experiences in a negative light. One must either take responsibility for these experiences, or one must assume that these things were meant to happen and things will eventually get better.

I do believe in destiny to some extent. I don’t think it conflicts with the idea that humans have free will. God has a plan for each of our lives, and we can choose to go along with that plan, or we can choose not to and hope for the best. The trouble is knowing what God’s plan is in a concrete sense, especially in the day-to-day details. It often doesn’t seem to make any sense at all from a human perspective, and the truth is, this can get annoying.

In a recent post I wrote about how I want to belong only to God, and I’ve been exploring the possibility of becoming a Sister or a nun (apparently they’re different). I’ve also been trying to find someone to play music and write with. I’ve mostly been looking on Craig’s list, and haven’t been able to find anyone. I was supposed to meet someone at Starbucks today, but my parents wouldn’t let me. They didn’t trust him for several reasons, but I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I live with my parents because of my disability, and it would be too much of a hassle to figure out how to live on my own. The fact of the matter is, however, that if I did live on my own, I would have met my potential musical copilot this afternoon.

When I was a kid I liked my quiet neighborhood. I could play in the street with my friends and a short walk around the neighborhood was long enough for me. I desperately want to move to a city. I want to be able to go places without having to get a ride. I want to be able to just wander off with an actual destination in mind when I’m bored and need a change of scenery. I want to be able to actually go somewhere for work. Right now I spend my entire day in my bedroom. I work in here. I write in here. I play music in here. I pray in here. I sleep in here.

A few nights ago I was doing research about religious life and for some reason it was making me anxious. Part of me wants to do this because I want to formally dedicate myself to God (i.e. I want to take some kind of vow), but at the same time, I’m starting to feel like that isn’t the life for me. I’m almost certain by now that God wants me to remain single, and I’m really okay with that. However, now I find myself asking “Why?” If he doesn’t want me to be a “religious” person, what the heck does he want me to do?

I’m still working on finishing the New Testament, and it’s like he’s drilling into my head: “Tell people about me!” I desperately want to, but I just can’t find the right words. People don’t want to hear the same old message. People don’t want to hear for the hundredth time that Jesus saved them from their sins and I don’t want to tell them that. I want to tell them about how I never feel alone. I want to tell them what it feels like to really be peaceful. I want to tell them how it feels to not worry or to not be scared. I just can’t figure out how to put the feeling into words.

I was briefly mad at God this afternoon. I was mad because he made me the way I am and landed me in this town. Being angry about it isn’t helpful, though. It doesn’t change anything. Because I live in this town I belong to the church I do, and I love my church. I love the people there, I love the priests there, I love teaching and volunteering there, and I love all the quirks that come with it. My church is definitely quirky. If I didn’t live in this insufferable town I wouldn’t have the friends I do. We wouldn’t have perfected our epic commiseration skills, and we wouldn’t be the people we are today. If I wasn’t born with MD, I most likely would not be nearly as empathetic as I am. If I didn’t live in this town I would have never discovered the culinary masterpiece that is Colombo’s Pizza. Actually, I probably wouldn’t be a confirmed Catholic. It was my music teacher who unknowingly convinced me to go through with it, and I wouldn’t have met him if I didn’t live in this town.

As I said, I trust people, but it’s way more important to trust God. I might just have to accept the prospect of never having a musical copilot. I don’t intend to make music a career, anyway. There’s no point in being mad at my parents either. I just started doing research to start a business with my dad. I think we will work well together. I’m learning a lot about the business world, and I’m finding it surprisingly enjoyable. I’ve hit a roadblock in my novel, and I need to do some reading to help me with that. Strangely enough, I’m finding that I’m busy lately even when it feels like I’m getting nothing done.

The future actually seems much more certain than it did last summer. In May I will have been out of school for a year. I still don’t entirely know what I’m doing or where I’m going, but I have a much better idea. I can comfortably say that I’m an artist, and hopefully I’ll be able to say that I’m a successful entrepreneur in the next few years. Time is a weird thing. It feels like it’s dragging on slowly until you look at it in retrospect. It’s taken me almost a year to get to where I am now, in terms of what I want to do. Realistically, that’s not a long time.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!

Share Your Pizza

On Friday night I had to go into Boston for work and then I met my parents for dinner at a pizza place. After dinner I had a little over half a pizza left since I was bad and had a pumpkin spice latte at work (I have an easy job). On the way back to the car we walked right past a homeless guy who was sitting on the sidewalk, and after we got in the car I thought, “Crap! I could have given him the rest of my pizza!” It wouldn’t have been a long walk, and I could have gone back and given it to him, but I didn’t. I felt bad about it the whole way home, and I prayed that God would send someone nicer than me to share their pizza with that guy.

When I was a junior in high school (I’m a junior in college now) I attended a summer program at Berklee College of Music. There were a lot of homeless guys hanging around there, and at the time I was a broke high school student, but I heard a lot of people were buying them water bottles or sandwiches or what have you. I grew up being told that a lot of people were homeless because the probably deserved it; they were probably drug addicts or criminals, so I shouldn’t give them any money. I don’t believe that anyone doesn’t deserve help anymore. Everyone deserves help because no matter who they are or what they’ve done, they are God’s children and my brothers and sisters. Maybe it’s better not to give some of them money, but it can’t hurt anyone to share some pizza.

My point is; don’t pass these people by. Too many people do, including myself, and nothing can change if they don’t get help. They need someone to care about them. We don’t have to single-handedly save the world, but we can lend a hand every now and then. Maybe you will be the nicer person that I prayed for. Please share your pizza next time you pass someone who looks like they need it.

Because in my world guinea pigs can fly!