Someone told me recently that they thought my life has been tragic, and in a way it has. There was only one thing I wanted to do in my life, and that was live in England and sing (or be involved in directing) choral evensong at the highest level. Even now, the latter is rare for an adult woman, although the situation is slowly changing. I've spoken enough about this, but I guess I will only add that it was particularly infuriating as a Smith graduate of the late 20th century to feel so utterly powerless to have the "career" I would have wanted. I choose the word "infuriating" deliberately -- yes, at this late date I have tried to have a detached, wisdom-infused take on this situation, but the fact is that my life has had this undercurrent of fury. I have so much intellectual power, so much musical talent, and so much spiritual (if not exactly "religious") alignment with the kind of setting I would have been in, that it has literally been a form of death to be chronically separated from what enlivens and fills me with love and joy, and to be prevented from effectively sharing that love and joy. Not to have figured out some kind of solution to spend more regular time in England hearing evensong in person is also infuriating. My tiny job "gigs" clearly aren't going to do it, but neither would an unrelated full-time job or career with almost no time off. It's a mystery I don't seem to be able to solve.
The key thing is, what do you do with your fury? In my case in the past, I mostly tried to distract myself, do other things with my life. I tried to convince myself that I wouldn't have made it anyhow. I've been depressed at times. Although I don't believe I would ever have acted on it, I have often not wanted to go on. The gap between what I know I could have accomplished and what I was able to accomplish is too huge. When you are a woman with no children, "you" are your children. That my child hasn't thrived, and I can't figure out how to make her thrive, is endlessly frustrating.
But is it because I am a woman? I have no desire to take this out on other people. My anger is my anger. It is my spiritual "gift" to work through it, hope in the new day, and see what may come next. There is a bigger historical current at work here of increasing opportunities for women, and ultimately it is not "about" getting back at individuals or groups, protesting them or hurting them or fighting back. I watch all the people converting their fury into hatred and violence, and I guess I just don't get it. I look, in a sense, at all of history's wars and conflicts, and I just don't get it. In the end, violence just begets more violence, and anger more anger. The fall of 2016 will go down in history as illustrating that!
Even I don't fully trust the smiling New Age gurus who act like they've transcended anger. I don't think it's possible if we are on the human plane. But covering it over and distracting ourselves or making ourselves sick or hurting ourselves isn't the answer either. There must be a middle path, something in the realm of calmly assessing that we hurt, that we are angry or sad, and trying to get to the bottom of it -- while holding on to the lifeline of Divine Love -- seems like the only path forward. Something in the area of taking responsibility for our life (I've come to believe that I actively chose this life path -- which I'll talk about another time) seems like the only path forward. In my case this week, a fictional English family in a ramshackle house near the ocean filled my heart. There was England and love and permanence and beauty in the picture. Perhaps ten years from now I'll see how all of this (plus choral evensong) finally came together -- but it will not happen if I lash out.
I see a little of myself in those angry people after all, but I know that I will always try to make the choice not to hurt others in the process of healing and moving forward.
