Some Kind of Journal Entry

(reflections on working in a bookstore, studying theology, moving out...)

2024/12/16

I feel like it's been a long time since I've been able to write anything for this site. I moved out near the beginning of September for the first time, and it's been a big adjustment to make, but I'm a lot happier now, overall. I wouldn't normally write journal-type things here, but there have been a lot of different things I've been thinking about, so this format seemed most apt.

Whenever I had just moved out, before my classes began, it felt daunting to adjust, and probably more lonely than anything. I tried attending student clubs and events, especially some Protestant ones, and while a few of the people I met felt pretty direct and kind, it still felt fairly forced and often farcical. It's easy to feel drained when you feel like you have to pick the right things to say and concern yourself with whatever the 'right thing to do' is all of the time. Maybe it's related to autism, or it's just normal for everyone, but I find that's usually how it is with almost anybody, and I refuse to do it unless I need to, for work or out of consideration and general politeness at a church or social event.

I decided to use the internet to meet a few people in person after about a week, and I've been getting along with them very well ever since. Maybe it's because it's easier to filter people out online, in a way, to see who you might mesh well with in person, and it's easier to find people who share some more niche interests. ('Try finding someone at the Protestant society who knows what 'FOSS' stands for' challenge: start.)

It hasn't been lonely since then, and it's been far more comfortable to have my own independence. The things that seemed daunting and scary at first can still be tedious now, but they're definitely not scary at all like they used to be.

I began the adult conversion process to join the Catholic Church, and it's been rewarding, also. I've found a really great young adult community within the Church, and I feel so at home within it. I have unanswered questions, still, but that's what cathechesis is for, after all. The jump from Anglicanism to Catholicism has come with a lot of bumps along the way, but it's still not as drastic as conversions from other less traditional denominations would be.

I received a new mantilla as a gift recently, and even though it's still incredibly rare, it's been so lovely to see other Catholic women veiling. I'd never seen another woman doing it before, nevermind a younger girl.

The mainstream education system has always been something that has irritated me, but university has been a lot better so far. A theology degree isn't exactly very standard, and studying at a dedicated seminary isn't common, either. My teachers focus a lot on primary texts and the classical education method. (Wow. It really does get better.) I don't have much time to read in my free time anymore, but what I read for my studies is interesting to me, anyway. I'm glad I chose to study what I love so much.

It's been interesting to study at a conservative and overtly Christian institution, also, considering how I think most universities seem to generally be considered very liberal and secular. I think a more mainstream university education wouldn't have encouraged me very much, because I prefer small, intimate classes, and I like to know and understand the people teaching me as well as possible. I don't like the idea of students being treated merely as something to receive money from, and to judge based only on grades. My lecturers have expressed a focus on nurturing students as individuals within the faith often, and my classes always feel very personal.

I guess my point is that I feel lucky.

I was surprised I was able to find a job so relevant to my studies, in a theological bookstore. I have to stop myself from buying Koine Greek New Testaments and leather Bibles almost every day I'm there.

A lot of the job involves organisation and systematising, which can be tedious at times, but ultimately, it's what I love, and it's the easiest job to love I've ever had. Being able to speak openly about my faith with my coworkers and with customers, and even for them to expect that from me, is certainly not something I've ever experienced before. I think being so involved with theology in every aspect of my life has come to teach me that it really is important to study what you love. I'm not the kind of person who can easily push through something I hate for extended periods of time with just discipline. I have to care about what I'm doing and think it's truly valuable; I'm bad at pretense.

I think the best thing about it all is that at the end of the day, I know that even if I feel tired or confused, I can rest assured that what I'm working at or towards is ultimately related to or directed towards God, and in some (direct or indirect) sense, it's serving something greater. In that regard, I guess it feels transcendentally meaningful, even though it can feel meaningless or difficult in a material way at times, as I think anything can for so many people.

It's validating to feel like your work serves some kind of higher purpose; whatever it may be.

I haven't had much time for reading, but I've tried to pick drawing and painting and jewellery making back up with the little time I do have outside of work, my studies, chores, and the gym. I've taught myself how to make rosaries, which are probably my favourite thing to make. It feels rewarding to have some kind of creative outlet, and to be able to give to others. I always seem to feel like I'm stagnating whenever I don't have that in some capacity.

In my free time I've been watching movies whenever I can, and frequenting local student or indie cinemas. I've fallen in love with Irish cinema: the slow, quiet, melancholic sort. An Cailín Cúin and That They May Face the Rising Sun, especially. The rural settings and quiet interactions, the focus on finding beauty in the mundane, the familiarity of it all — it feels very nostalgic. The latter has some brilliant quotes that struck me a lot.

"The days were quiet. They did not feel particularly quiet or happy but through them ran the sense, like an underground river, that there would come a time when these days would be looked back on as happiness, all that life could give of contentment and peace."

I think that's what life should really be about: trying to find that quiet, comfortable sense of contentment and peace, which I think is found in simplicity and familiarity, rather than constantly chasing the concept of happiness or new and better things. Lately I've found that there's a lot more joy to be found in trying to appreciate and most fully appreciate or enjoy what one already has than in searching for new things incessantly. (There's a time and place for new things: "Everything good was once also new." I think most of us tend to focus too much on this aspect, though, especially in a modern age of convenience, thinking the problem is with what we currently have, or don't have, rather than our attitude towards it.)

It's been more rewarding to try to simplify my life, rather than trying to make it better by adding more to it all of the time.

You can keep chasing 'better' things forever, but if we can't attain perfection in this life, then where will that get us in the end, really? I would fear finding myself, in the end, with nothing material or reliable or consistent enough to hold in my hands for long enough to truly savour and appreciate in the sense that it likely ought to be. I would fear never appreciating anything in its fullness, as it was designed or created to be — fully understood. Understanding and appreciating something like that takes time; it requires you to sit with it and to allow it time and patience. (My professor taught me that to fully understand a historical text, one must take the time to 'empathise' with it, and to allow it to speak for itself, in a sense. Having the patience to appreciate what might go unappreciated or unnoticed at first glance.)

I probably apply that philosophy to almost everything now — schedules, material items, my diet. I've even developed (or, rather, fully actualised or realised) what feels like a very profound love for Ireland, when growing up all I wanted to do was move away.

I hope it doesn't come off in some kind of defeatist manner, because it's certainly not supposed to. There are times for change, and new things. Nonetheless, I think there's something valuable to be found in instead considering first the orientation of one's heart, rather than simply assuming the grass is greener elsewhere. It's helped me to simplify things in my life, and to live more minimally, in a way that I think those Irish films really highlight the value and beauty of.