swimming sacred

The older I get, the more I believe in spirituality. And not spirituality as anything organized. And how the lack of organization is okay. For me. My parents were raised in differing faiths and both moved away from practice as they got older. So when they had me and time came for a religious decision they decided not to decide. They left God up to me. And, when I was growing up in a primarily Christian, often Catholic area, this felt frustrating. It didn't seem okay to be a misfit, at least not in this arena. I didn't know what I was and that was more troubling than I think my parents expected it to be.

It seems odd now to think about being distraught over a lack of religious alignment. Most of my friends now don't attend any kind of worship service. But, when you're a kid, and all of your friends are getting dressed up and going off to some big building every weekend it's easy to feel left out. Now, most of these same friends that were shuffling off to a church while I was playing in my backyard, have since told me about the conflict they felt when they left their faith. Since I technically never "left" anything I feel like I can't exactly relate. Sure we're both in the same place now, but our paths were different. I never had to go through the turmoil of leaving something that was a big part of my life. I never questioned God because I never devoted a lot of time, at least once a week, to thinking about Him. He was there, He wasn't there...it didn't really affect my day to day.

I guess I'm still a little ambivalent. But what I do feel, beyond God, is a sense of spirituality. I felt it today when I was going for a 9 am swim at Barton Springs. The Sunday morning crowd at Barton Springs is a religious bunch. They do their laps and dangle their toes and there's a huge sense of fellowship. I lay in the sun and it was quiet and honest and peaceful. It felt sacred. And it wasn't about God, at least not directly. It was about the letting go and the acceptance or faith that everything was good.

I've realized, thanks in some sense to my family, that my relationship with something bigger than myself can be just that, my relationship. And while sometimes it's easy to feel that left out feeling when people talk about their religion, I remind myself that not being in their specific faith doesn't take anything away from mine. I actually sometimes feel lucky to have found my spirituality in a way that was organic, a way that made sense for me, instead of struggling to squeeze parts of myself into something that didn't exactly fit. Now, I can be in religious service every day. In swimming, in working in the yard, in cooking, in listening to music, and in my moments of true connection with friends and family. It's pretty miraculous. And okay. And good.

babies

When I was a kid I used to alternate sleeping with my stuffed animals so one wouldn't feel unloved. As I got older my attention turned to cats and dogs. I preferred my pets shy and would seek to draw them out with gentle pets and my best attempt at a calm presence. When I hit my teens I became everybody's confidant. I didn't date, but I became the go to person when everyone else that was dating wanted to discuss it. These days my mothering comes out more pronounced through my job and personal life. I put probably far too much effort into making coworkers feel appreciated through birthdays and special emails. With Zach, I not only make dinner and clean house, but find myself watching over him to make sure he's taking care of himself. For someone who still feels a little squeamish about babies, I have a palpably strong maternal instinct.

A lot of this came from having a sick parent. The kind of sick that could come on unexpectedly. Before much was known about how diet affected diabetes, my dad struggled keeping his blood sugar under control. By the time I was nine or ten I became adept at sensing when he was slipping into an insulin reaction. His movements would become slow, his speech less focused, and he'd seem almost drunk. I'd spring up to get something sugary and then monitor him until his regular self would return. I can't even describe the combination of relief and pride when I'd "fix" him.

In the past few years I've noticed the long term effects this nervous vigilance has had on my relationships.

-I want to help everyone all the time, whether they know they need help or not.

-Drunk people freak me out. They are unpredictable and exhibit all the same symptoms my dad did when he needed sugar.

-I am hypersensitive to people's moods and changes in personality. I adopt the role of peacemaker most often just to get the uncomfortable feeling their imbalance causes me to go away.

I know adults aren't babies, but I also know they can be just as fragile. There have been at least a dozen times where I could have lost my dad. The multiple car accidents he had and 911 emergencies that have resulted from his diabetes have made me very aware of how health problems can create life or death situations. All of this never made me think "I want to be a doctor;" I still can't give blood without passing out. I guess the one thing it did do was subconsciously make me designate myself as responsible for everyone in the room. This, my friends, is the reason "Rachel hates fun" came about. If I'm around people that are losing control I spring into vigilance. This cancels out any chance of me having too much of my own fun. The plus side is that as I've gotten older I've been in this scenario less and less and it's allowed me to feel more comfortable letting go.

My friends are having babies right now and I'm excited for them. I think, sometime in the next few years, I might do that too. But I know that, unless I can temper my watchfulness, my child will have absolutely no fun and all the same cautiousness that I struggle with now. So I'm trying to chill out and recognize that people can take care of themselves. Or, if they're not, they won't automatically end up in the hospital. I'm working to not always adopt the role of the most "mature" person in the room and giving myself a pass on taking control of every uncertain moment. It's surprisingly liberating to let things happen good or bad and feel yourself still in one piece. And it's even better when, after passing on an opportunity to be the responsible one, the people around you not only come out okay, but thrive in ways you didn't even imagine possible.