Right sizing

Two years ago, I blogged about The Fallacy of Space and Stuff. The premise was that we’ve bought into the idea that “bigger is better”, that we measure ourselves and our worth by the size and value of what we’ve accumulated. My idea was that we should right-size, that we should move to homes that are just the right size to accommodate our families but not big enough to accommodate all of our stuff. I had no idea that the blog would prove to be prophetic.

At the time, I had just made the choice to confront an existence that was failing me and those closest to me. I didn’t know that I would wake up one day and realize that I was un-marrying, out of the workforce and with three kids looking to me for, well, for everything.  I didn’t know that I would eventually leave my marital home in 16th Street Heights and right size to a house-for-rent that was “Takoma Park-accessible”.

At the time, I didn’t realize that there would be a landscape shift in the people who surrounded me, that, for a variety of reasons, my support system would crumble, that the friends would divide and take sides — few taking mine, and even fewer having the courage to remain neutral in the predictable and unsubstantiated “he-did, she-did” divorce rhetoric. I didn’t know that some of the women that I called friends would turn their backs and hang their heads, some hiding behind their husband’s disapproval of whatever he may have heard (and chose to believe), and still others hiding from their own fear that maybe, just maybe, my situation uncomfortably mirrored their own. I didn’t know that I would turn to childhood friends for womanly comfort and support.

At the time, I didn’t know that not only would my home right-size, but my entire life would face the transformation. But it did. And it was good.

I’m back in the workforce now, doing work that is as challenging as it is rewarding. I work with people who are passionate about helping other people, who are loyal and supportive and willing to stand for what they believe in. I serve and honor those who are ignored, marginalized and invisible to society, those that have no voice but through the megaphone of individuals with enough conscience to amplify what they believe to be true. I serve the highest office in the country and honor the lowest, the most unfortunate of its citizens. And I serve a God who has proven that He is exceedingly, abundantly able to do above all that I can ask or imagine; that when He is all I have, He is all that I need; and that He will carry me in those moments when it seems as though there is no one else within shouting distance.

I have indeed right-sized my home, my life and, most importantly, my own sense of self. I’ve embraced a depth of faith, compassion and optimism I never imagined possible. I am eternally grateful for a God who carried me, and for the friends, neighbors and family who stood by and supported me, in ways both great and small.

And I’m happy to say that I am no longer held captive by The Fallacy of Space (and Folk) and Stuff.

“…lives fall apart when they need to be rebuilt…when the foundation upon which they were built needs to be relaid. Lives fall apart, not because God is punishing us for what we have or have not done. Lives fall apart because they need to…because they weren’t built the right way the first time.”

Peace from Broken Pieces, Iyanla Vanzant

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