You could take most parts of my life these days and put the word “new” in front of them. New home, new school, new friends, new expectations, new schedule, new needs, new plans, new hopes, new dreams. Some of these — my hopes and dreams, for example — are old but presently refreshed and finding form.
New has asked me to dig deep, and at the same time given me containers into which I can pour all the pieces of myself I have longed to combine, all the parts often splintered by other realms and efforts, all the nuance and contrast some groups I encountered were not equipped to hold.
That which is new brings excitement and potential. It is the reason we all love spring. These new pieces of my life offer great beauty. I am watching people find each other and their grooves, often choosing to explore that which is daunting arm-in-arm. Some are asking more questions, and some, like me, are finding answers. Either way, each day is rich with learning.
Despite all the doors that newness opens, despite how long-awaited and necessary they may be, that which is new is not easy. That which is new calls us to be daring, and it tests our fortitude.
New, it is clear, demands self-generosity if we hope to ever adjust.
My prayer, then, is for self-compassion. That I might bring lightness and levity to the moments when all this new becomes too much. That I would choose realistic expectations for myself and relentless grace when time runs out.
***
My refrain amidst this beauty and this challenge is thank you.
Thank you to my nervous system for allowing me to take in entire worlds of information — more and more and more information. Together my nervous system and I entered a foreign environment and five days of orientation and two and a half weeks of classes, each with a truly ferocious stack of books.
At the same time there was a weekend intensive for re-imagining chaplaincy plus chapel services plus establishing a social fabric plus getting to know a whole community of living, breathing humans, each with their own sacred story to tell.
Thank you to that nervous system which carried me and only went off the rails exactly once, in week three: Is this what you would call a miracle? It happened in a moment that required me to balance, for the first time, school and family and a marriage dedicated to careers in multiple places, at which point it said: Trees, go to the trees, you need the trees.
Thank you to those trees I have loved since the first day I arrived in this town, always waiting in East Rock Park, always breathing, always witnessing with steadfast presence. As Peter Wohlleben says in The Hidden Life of Trees, trees are “social beings;” they seem almost happy about my visits — welcoming at the very least — ready to enfold me into the spiraling net of creatures they have held for a century and a half. Thank you to this park’s designers, who must have realized at some point in the 1870s that students like me would require a ready alternative to books and big ideas. We need the river, the rock, the trees, their roots.
Thank you to the modern keepers of this park, who celebrate and protect; thank you to the birds who appear at just the right moment to catch my attention and restore my wonder; thank you to the deer who reflects a hint of my own wildness back to me; thank you to fellow visitors who keep it hushed and reverent.
Thank you to those dear friends tolerating my grand disappearance; those sisters of mine who for twenty years or more have known they are among my greatest joys in life, who understand I pride myself on staying connected to their experience, on knowing how they feel more often than not. They sense I have immersed myself but will return, and they are patient.
Thank you to the new friends who prove divinity school is a wonderful place to go off the rails, even a little bit. Overwhelm, for many of us this week, became an opportunity to deepen friendship, to receive glimmers of ministry from future ministers, a term I use in the broadest, non-ecclesial sense of the word. They meet me in moments of doubt with honesty. In my experience, we do not compete; we do not compare. We extend a hand and take a step.
Here is how I am managing the reading, some said. We have to lower our expectations for ourselves, one offered. Can you go for a walk tomorrow?, another asked. I reached overwhelm this week, too, many affirmed. Another miracle, that I found the caring community I long desired.
Thank you to my great partner in life, who meets me in each moment: the fun, the moving, and the hard. He has handled countless meals and errands in an attempt to let me swim these waters of transition unencumbered. Thank you to him, who understood my moment of overwhelm was not about school, not about multiple careers, not about his requirement to be in two cities in one week, but simply a fear that we might begin to live our lives apart. We will never do that, he assured me.
Thank you to the little canine who trained himself to hug on occasions like these. Thank you to the professors who invite moments of reflection and deep breaths for grounding. Thank you to the hint of autumn in the air, which reminds us that everything new will grow old and fall, and this season, too, will pass in time. We will look back and see that our roots have strengthened.
But for now, life is new. All we have to do is arrive fully in each moment. We are weaving the past and future together in the present. As we embrace the inherent potential of this terrain we also embrace its struggle, the reaching out and reaching forth to gather every bit of wisdom we can find, even when that wisdom says, simply, You cannot do it all and that is okay. Never forget, you are enough.
Between you and me—
Hello to all! And welcome if you are new to this space. If you are an old-timer here, thank you for joining me in our new bimonthly cadence. Although I miss being with you every week, living this new chapter tells me my instincts to slow down the production schedule were right.
We just finished the third week of class, and as I mentioned above, it was intriguing to watch newness and excitement shift towards overwhelm in people’s eyes. As one professor pointed out, we probably all carry at least a little perfectionism into this chapter, and that can be hard to reckon with amidst the external academic pressure of a place like this.
Overwhelm leads to stress, but it can also bring humor, deeper relationships, and clarity about how to live going forward. It is important to remember both sides of that coin. Overwhelm, as we experience it, is difficult. But it can also be an important teacher.
The questions I am holding to address any overwhelm or stress that might (and will) arise in the months ahead look something like this:
What serves me most in this moment?
What do I need to find peace right now?
Where might I let myself off the hook?
What pieces of this environment will most support my personal interests and goals going forward?
Where can I prioritize those?
What self-made pressure or expectation can I release this week?
When a pile of books is always waiting, when does it make sense, with our need for wholeness and balance in mind, to choose nature, pleasure, connection, and fun over work?
Sometimes these questions are easier to ask than answer, especially when you are in the grip of a to-do list, and that is the reality of being human. Yet I find that simply asking questions like these, and remembering their importance, is often the nudge we need to move towards self-compassion and realistic expectations.
Wishing you peace and delight this week, no matter what monsters of overwhelm may be lurking in the shadows. I’ll see you on October 1! As always, take care out there.
The audio version of WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is available on Spotify, Apple, Substack, or wherever you listen to podcasts.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. Can you help us grow? Send this to a friend and ask them to subscribe. Share it on Instagram and tag @lauren_only. If you enjoy this work become a sponsor, which makes this publication possible and keeps it free for all. Thank you so much for your contributions!
I couldn't find the time to read the past couple of weeks, and I realise now that I missed your words <3 Good luck for your classes! :)