When I finally got all of my logistical nonsense worked out for moving to Boston, I stopped focusing so much on myself and started looking more at the people who I would be leaving behind. It was then that my moving-away-anxiety shifted from asking the question “How will I fare in that far away land?” to “How will these people fare while I’m gone?”
And as soon the words of the latter question “left my finger tips,” this question struck me as somewhat arrogant. My question is arrogant, I think, because it forgets that I am merely a part of something much Bigger and Greater than myself and it elevates me to the status of “irreplacable.”
I am supposed to be the kind of person that has faith in that Bigger and Greater Thing, and if I’m being the kind of person I ought to be, then I must recognize that the Divine is at work in my abscence. Indeed, my abscence might clear the way for the Betterment of the people that I care about.
I am supposed to be the kind of person that recognizes that, in the grand scheme of things, I’m about as significant as a fly on a terd in the sewer of New York City. (I need to spend more time looking at the stars.) Any signifiance or merit that I might garner is only through that Bigger and Greater thing. (This is perhaps the most scandalous relationship of which I’ve ever been a part. Why would God care about me? I wonder if there’s a “God is Love” way of talking about the scandalousness of our significance-through-Divine-Love. I wonder, in other words, if there’s a way to hold on to the scandal without a personal diety.)
May my anxiety melt away as I consider the Divine possibilities that will fill actuality in my abscence. May that melted-down-anxiousness be transformed into an eager anticipation of hearing the news that indeed the kingdom is being ushered into and through those that I have left behind. In the mean time, may I learn humility and faith as I turn my eyes towards this new path to which my Rabbi has led me.