Can you step into the same river twice?
It doesn’t feel like there is any solid ground underneath my feet anymore. Like I am desperately trying to step down to find it, but finding that it isn’t there, and that I am treading water, whilst my head sinks helplessly beneath the surface in the attempts.
I am unsure of my future in academia. I am told that my career has sunk into even further uncertainty this week, as collaborations with European universities are vital to the success of UK universities. The reasons for my vote to Remain grounded primarily in such concerns. But it is suddenly as if we are not in Europe anymore. At the same time, other voices plead for not despair, but increased hope – that we haven’t lost our capability for collective action in the face of societal unfairness overnight. If anything, we are more aware of social injustices than before. Still other voices protest the iminent collapse of the world economy; I see arguments for and against E.U. membership that have their roots somewhere in the protection of comfort and capital. Love of money….maybe that is the true evil of the whole sorry affair on both sides of the debate. And I am just as culpable as the rest in my concerns about my future economic stability, or lack thereof. My desire for an open-ended contract. For financial security.
I am living somewhere between two abodes – posessions in one, self in the other. People look sideways at me as I explain who I am living with. As if they can judge our friendship from the outside of it. At the same time, we have never lived together. We are both cautious, deciding on what is OK and what is not, negotiating new boundaries on our time and space. And we are agreeing with each other, and all is going well, but something still feels unknown, uncertain. Trepidation.
I am unsure of myself. Emotions rollercoastering, spiralling and spinning. This week, I have gone from a sense of belonging and solidarity at Pride in London, and something approaching a sense of mastery [effectiveness] at Rainbows and Junior church, to utter despair and suicidality as a letter states that the Minister’s actions were not inappropriate, or even misguided, but rather perfectly acceptable and appropriate. Complete ostracism and treating me as a leper at church are not OK. So the complaint continues. Continues whilst I am exhausted and need simply for the hurt to be acknowledged. For it all to end. I feel as if I am going mad. Or asking for the Earth. Or both. Friends inside and outide the church assure me I am not. It is the church protecting itself.
I am searching for some certainty, solidity. I am told that God never changes. Is solid as rock. But I can’t seem to find the rocks beneath the surface.