Instead, I was fortunate enough to live in a quaint rectory-turned-rental run by the Catholic campus ministry with two or three women who were also involved- in some way- with the ministry.
Surprisingly, this did not mean that all of the women who lived there were Catholic. Actually, my roommates had a broad range of beliefs. We were also a mix of majors and ages, which inevitably led to random quotes from Virginia Woolf on the message board, serious discussions about rock collections not being allowed in the bathroom, children's books frequently being analyzed, and perhaps... slightly... dramatic mental breakdowns leading to simple English phrases being repeated endlessly while searching for the correct phonological intonation. (WHAT do you like? What DO you like? What do YOU like? ...but that definitely wasn't me...)
Although we all came from different faiths, ages, and majors, there was something that the "Blue House Girls" could always agree on.
Food.
(I mean, obviously.)
Every couple of weeks, we would sit down to a delectable feast cobbled together with whatever we had in our collective cupboards, fridge, and freezer, and before commencement of feasting, we had one simple regimen.
We wouldn't pray (together.)
We wouldn't dig in (well...sometimes I would...Hey, I was a hungry college kid, give me a break.)
We would
say what made us happy.
It may seem silly that I would waste several minutes of your time to tell you that we would discuss such a simple thing, but that is what we did.
We would go around the table and say what made us happy that day, week, or month.
It may have been a good grade on an exam, an event that went well, or a good walk, but it was always something good.
Always.
Every once in a while, I recall those meals- a rosy glow surrounding warm and fuzzy memories- and I realize that, although we were young, we knew what was important. (Yes, I know that I am still young. Don't judge, yo)
I was reminded of those dinners today. My friend and I were sitting down to an early dinner at a Japanese-style fast-food restaurant when she asked me, "So, what's one good thing that happened to you this week?"
I couldn't answer.
My mind went completely and utterly blank.
What had I done in the past week?
My mind immediately went to the unpleasant events of the week.
Waking up with a pain in my neck and an endlessly runny nose; going to the doctor only to have him prescribe a ridiculous amount of medicines while not telling me what the actual problem was; having a bit -okay, more than a bit- too much to drink on Friday night resulting in a two-day hangover (see, I really AM getting old).
I could not surmise one good thing that had happened this week.
I had finally been forced to acknowledge what has been breathing down my neck for quite some time.
I pay no attention to the good things happening in my life.
I am not living my life.
I just float.
You see, I have this problem.
I am a mix of 50% anxious and 50% lazy.
When I am around other people, I constantly agonize over minute details of both the verbal and non-verbal communication that I partake in while attempting to present myself in the best light.
In the simplest of statements, I, like presumably everyone else on the face of this planet, desire to be liked. However, I seem to have an insatiable dread that I am never completely liked.
Instead of learning to cope with this anxiety, I have- perhaps subconsciously- chosen to manage my insecurities in the easiest- and laziest- way possible (I am a "Millennial" after all.).
I watch a lot of TV.
I mean a LOT.
As I watch an episode, or five, my brain completely shuts down. I don't think about potential plot twists; I don't analyze character interactions.
I just watch.
and watch.
and watch.
Now, in my defense, I have always known that this behavior is neither healthy nor beneficial to my development as an upstanding member of the human race,
but it is so garsh-darned easy.
Perhaps, after reading this far, you may be thinking that I have some fantastically moving words of wisdom coming.
I don't.
...Sorry?
However, I am reminded of a passage I read in a book that I have been inching my way through for the past... two years (hey, I've been busy...watching dramas) by Matthew Kelly:
The will of God in the broadest sense is that you become the-best-version-of-yourself, that version of you that most perfectly allows God to come into the world through you. God doesn't want to control you, or manipulate you, or stifle you, or force you to do things you don't want to do. If that were God's desire, then he would not have given you free will. God wants you to become all you can be, and in the process he wants you to experience the greatest mystery of them all: love.Kelly goes on to write something that is prrrrrobably exactly what I need to hear at the moment:
The will of God is not as mysterious as many make it out to be. You come home from work and you have a choice: You can sit on the couch in front of the TV with a large bag of potato chips and some beer [I'm usually eating 鹹水雞 and drinking 奶茶...but still], or you can go for a run. Which will help you become the-best-version-of-yourself? Every situation can be approached with this question.
To answer your question, no, I will most likely not start a running regimen; however, I have ascertained the solution to my current state.
I need to be the-best-version-of-myself.
I need to uncover and rekindle my passion.
When I find that passion, I will no longer be floating. I will be able to see all of the good things that God places in my life every day.
So, there you have it.
Lauren Stephanie Francis Hanson is on a mission.
A mission to find her passion.
Watch out, World!
p.s. Isn't it too bad that "mission" and "passion" don't rhyme? The ending would have been much more catchy if they did...
p.p.s. The book by Matthew Kelly is called Rediscovering Catholicism if you are interested in checkin' it out.
