My Anchor

I believe that two basic tenets anchor my mind, and transitively, my life.

The first is trust. Trust is everything I know. Frequently I take for granted the trust that I have in myself and in others. If you were to ask me: “Is grass green?” I would probably reply: “Yes.” Although a more accurate response would be, “It looks green to me, and I trust my senses,” I tend to lose that step because I couldn’t fathom not trusting my senses, second-guessing the smell of a blossom or the sound of a melody. I would go insane without a foundation of trust in my own faculties.

All the information I “know” is based on trust as well. Recalling anything requires trust in my memory, and I only let memory hold water because of a trust in the source, be it a book, a person, or the world as I observe it. Sometimes I try to imagine what school would have been like if I didn’t trust my teachers, if I didn’t believe a word they said. Productivity would be a myth. I’ve come to realize that concepts like fact, reality, and even truth are little more than testaments to the deep-seated power of trust.

The second is hope. The absence of hope for me would be misery: utter, impenetrable misery. It’s not necessarily immediate, and it doesn’t have to be certain or directed; just a small candle somewhere in the dark, stormy wood that will be found… someday.

I feel the presence of hope in my life. It’s how I get through every day. It’s far from a wishful hope, and it often has no specificity at all. I experience it as a force of vitality, in that in order to get up each morning and live and try, I need to hope that the choices I’m making mean something; that I belong here.

Then there are the luxuries that can come from trust and hope, and I’m fortunate enough to experience them to some extent. I get to trust in the love that my grandparents give to me because they show me time and time again that I mean more to them than the world. I get to trust in the loyalty and devotion of my best friends because there is solidarity amongst us that I’m sure would not be easily broken. I get to trust in my own future because I know better than anyone the resilience of my drive and my passion.

I also get to hope freely, which does more than carry me through each hour. It gently perks the corners of my lips, coaxing a subtle but profound happiness. I hope that we will find a way out of this rough economic climate; I hope that we have found a leader who can restore integrity and principle to a lost nation; I hope that I will make it through four years of college; I hope that my family will continue to have job security; I hope that my little brother will grow up to enjoy what I get to enjoy, without being looked down upon or mistreated because he learns differently than others.

And yet there is another component that transcends the others. It is elusive, and unfortunately, I have not been able to grasp it, at least not yet. It takes the power to synergize those two vital pillars, and when you can do that, when you can trust in hope, you will find it. It’s called faith. If people who know me personally were to hear me speak highly of faith, they would probably take it as a joke or a bit of sarcasm. I do tend to come off as cynical and bitterly agnostic in discussion of the matter, but I think it’s just a manifestation of the envy I have of those who have been blessed with faith, with the ability to give their lives purpose.

I have seen faith at work, and it is miraculous. I see it in my grandfather more than anyone. As a young man just starting seminary, my grandfather had to hold in his arms his five-year-old firstborn son, and watch leukemia steal away the very last breath from his lips. And somehow every Sunday, for all these years, he has found the courage to stand in a pulpit and imbue others with the belief that somewhere out there is a merciful and just force watching out for them. Every night he prays, and at every meal he thanks his God for every blessing in his life. Every step he takes bears conviction, and assurance that he is a piece of an intricate, incomprehensible puzzle. I want that purpose. I want that strength. I believe that faith, regardless of creed or religious practice, can elevate life far above my morbid reality, and I will continue to search for it. But for now, I’ll just have to settle for being anchored.