Saturday, February 9, 2008

Walk

My husband and I had been struggling to make our marriage work. We wanted so much to express our sacred bond in marriage, but in the process we both had lost our sense of self. And in a way, our ability to walk. He and I were stuck, forced to stay in a place of pain. We feared so much the walking away, and never turning back, would be the biggest mistake. A definite, final and painfully wrong turn.

And surely, albeit slowly, we began drifting farther and farther away, without ever using our feet.

We drifted mentally, socially, sexually, emotionally. We were very far from each other. Almost strangers. Living in the same home, sleeping in the same bed, but truly having no common ground on which to walk. For years, we moved our feet around in a disgraceful dance, in a poorly choreographed movement, and one in which we only continued to lose direction.

I lost my path in February of that year when I came inches away from committing adultery. It was not my own path, and all I knew was that I had taken a very wrong turn. I had to, without a question, find my way back to myself.

And so I told him about my crisis, and with all the pain, and hurt, and guilt, and shame, I took my first steps away.

I left that night to my parents’ place. My heart was heavy, as were my suitcase and my feet. I knew I needed to walk into my mother’s arms, and let her hug comfort me. I knew that this move would be followed with plenty of heavy conversation, emotion, consequence. But I also knew that if I didn’t take that walk, I’d miss the exit forever. This was the right time to start on my journey.

So I did. I walked in and told her that he and I had a fight, and that I would be staying with her for a few days, if that was ok. She didn’t ask too many questions. I think she thought it was a temporary thing. You know, every married couple goes through a night apart once in a while.

And then it was Passover. My husband and I had planned to spend the first night of the holiday together at our rabbi’s house. Even after a month apart, we were determined to find our way back to each other. After all, it was destiny, it was fate that brought us together. And a night of ritual, history and tradition was all we needed to reignite that sacred spark, that religious commitment to each other.

During the seder, I remember liking my husband’s company. I liked when he put salad on my plate before taking some for himself. I liked sharing glances when someone would say something that would remind us of one of our many inside jokes. And it felt nice to like his company. But it also felt new to have some sort of clarity: I liked him, but I did not want to be his wife. And I would not change my mind about that. Because it was the truth. And no matter how hard we tried to rationalize that we were meant to be together, the clarify of spirit that came over me around that table on the first night of Passover was not to be ignored.

We read the story of the exodus of the Jewish people from physical and spiritual slavery. And we read it as if we too were right there at that time, getting freed by the hand of god, who led us on our forty year walk in the desert.

And the next morning, I took the next steps on my walk toward freedom and self- realization.

I felt tired and uncomfortable as I put on my walking shoes. I packed my bag from the night before, and said my goodbyes. I was going to walk from my rabbi’s house to my mom’s so that I could be by myself and spend the rest of the holiday as I wanted: alone and walking.

I wanted to walk so badly. There was nothing else I wanted more. Not because our religion prohibits us from driving on that day. Not because it was the right thing to do for anyone else. But I wanted to walk because I wanted to walk. It was a brand new sense of expression for me. I knew what I wanted, and I followed that direction.

I had been living with so much anxiety for years before that walk. I was always afraid of something: afraid of getting attacked by a stranger, afraid of losing my way, afraid of getting too hot, too cold, afraid of disappointing. But during this walk, which lasted over two hours, I walked confidently, with an open heart. And much like my Jewish ancestors, who left Egypt and walked toward an undiscovered homeland, I was walking between two worlds, not quite sure of my destination, but certain of my destiny.

Every ordinary sight I passed had special meaning for me. The old man reading his newspaper now symbolized the freedom to continue to learn. The young woman barbequing on her balcony symbolized a lust for life.

I was confident and willing to see. I was trusting in god, for the first time, to guide me to exactly where I was supposed to be.

It was an ordinary walk, but with so much grace and love. The breeze, the calm that came with it, proved to me, once and for all, that walking was the best and only thing I needed to do to come back to my true home. My self.

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