I’ve come to realize this about myself: I make decisions using my brain, and then as
my soul starts to catch up no amount of rationalization can completely deflect the
emotional toll. As I prepared to finish
up my JV year in the Twin Cities, I was very conscious of the finite amount of
time remaining with community and at my placement. Historically, my goodbyes are inadequate and
I wanted to give myself and the people in my life the space to provide a
semblance of the ever-popular, but completely intangible “closure.” At the end of July I said goodbye to my
community members. Sarah, Sean, and Luke
are all gainfully employed in Minneapolis.
Two of them took staff positions at their JV placement sites. In July I was prepping all of my clients at
the Drop In center I worked at that I would be leaving. I didn’t want any surprises for them. I was so focused on the end being positive
that I didn’t give the beginning of round two in Philadelphia much
thought.
Moving back to the East Coast and starting at a new
placement, entering into a new community, and opening myself to a new city has
been harder than I anticipated. JVC
often makes jokes about grocery shopping being overwhelming, and having to sort
through the moral dilemma of which ketchup to choose that is both socially Just
for our world, as well as JV budget friendly.
Comedic geniuses understand that solid humor is rooted in the
foundational truths of day-to-day life. I
am not a comedic genius, but I appreciate the simplicity of this and will
joyfully embrace the retrospective humor and awareness I find in this story.
This past week, I was at the Bottom Dollar in Philadelphia doing
some mid-week shopping for our community.
I was in a rush and didn’t have a quarter to hand over as collateral for
a shopping cart. So, I decided to use
this box I found in the store to collect all of the groceries I would purchase,
because I was far too busy to ask for change.
As I meandered through an unfamiliar grocery store and yearned for the
limited selection of Aldi, I became resentful.
I was angry that I had to leave the cities I fell in love with in
Minnesota. I was truly sad that while my
community no longer lived together, they could entertain the possibility of
enjoying each other’s company. I was
frustrated that shopping for a community of 6 presented more challenges than
shopping for a community of 4. All of these feelings were being pumped
through my veins as I felt more and more disoriented in Bottom Dollar. The boxes became more cumbersome as I walked
down the aisles and as I continued shifting the weight of the flimsy boxes, I
could not find the tortillas. I could not
find the red wine vinegar. I felt
overwhelmed with these feelings of grief and loss surrounding last year. Much like the boxes I was juggling,
readjusting, and shifting, these feelings felt awkward.
I had already said my goodbyes, cried, laughed, written
letters, and sorted through these feelings.
I’ve learned to be gentler with myself this past year, and providing
these residual feelings that I have deemed as “awkward” with the space and
consideration to exist is part of that process.
In this instance, it’s clear that these feelings are too large to have
been addressed and resolved in the month of July, and that it will just take
time. But I was fortunate enough to find
something similar to closure at Bottom Dollar.
I think it was somewhere in aisle 3 with the pasta, when I realized that
I can love more than one place, and I can love more than one community, and
that my heart can grow, expand, and welcome many new people into it. When I decided to learn to love Philadelphia,
I was in the Bottom Dollar on 31st and Girard.
