A life fulfilled (Finally)

With the end of 2011 looming, I debated on whether or not I should put pen to paper, err fingers to keyboard, and write some lengthy retrospective on 2011, as it seems so cliché to compose a formulaic retelling of the year’s lessons. However, 2011 was a legen... wait for it...dary (a la Barney Stinson) year for me, so I felt it deserved some reflection. The end of 2010 brought about the death of my faith, which to some was an unimaginable loss. To me, it marked the beginning of an amazing journey. 2011 was my first year as an atheist, and at every turn, my new worldview revealed a new experience for me.

What I’ve taken from 2011 is that regrets aren’t healthy. Some days I look at the past 14 years of my life that I spent as a bible believing Christian and I feel a deep sense of regret, as if I hadn’t lived my life to the fullest. Other days I’m thankful for those years because clearly, they made me who I am today. I’m reminded of a quote from, of all things, a religious text. The Urantia Book talks of the inevitabilities of life:

“Life isn’t fair. It’s beset by vicissitudes and by certain inevitabilities. The earth isn’t heaven, it’s an evolutionary world where we learn, gain wisdom, and progress as the result of accumulating experience. Consider the following: If courage, strength of character, is desirable then you must be reared in an environment which necessitates grappling with hardships and reacting to disappointments...”

Needless to say, the loss of one’s faith is a hardship and a disappointment. Although, I learned in the last year how I respond to things when I’m not weighed down by the impossible standards of my religion. I learned how I function in love. I learned how I function in love’s eventual end. I learned that I am strong, that I love this life for life itself. I take more joy in the pleasantries of my existence. As annoying as my dog can be at 6 AM, the rhythmic tapping of her claws on the hardwood and her excited pacing in anticipation of her impending feeding time no longer annoys me. Things like that remind me that I have made it through another night to see the dawn of a new day. That dawning of a new day is both figurative and literal. In my prior state of mind, my days were beleaguered with the near constant yearning for something more. It was a time of my life marked by the darkness of night. I longed not for a deeper relationship with god, but for physical affection, emotional intimacy, the love of another person that went beyond the shallow Sunday morning church chitchat and the banality of obligatory holiday family phone calls and empty prayers to an absent god.

In 2011, at 28 years old, I fell in love for the first time. It was everything I had hoped it would be. In spite of the ultimate end of that relationship, I took away from it good memories and a new knowledge of who I am, who I should be, and who I long to be. I learned that I had some growing to do, but I also learned that there are things about me I should never have the aspiration to change. I learned that my words get me in trouble. I learned who my real friends are. Most importantly, I learned to love every minute of life on this earth. In 2011 I experienced joy, pain, sadness, loss, and enlightenment.

I’ve found that most who don’t understand my worldview expect that I’m miserable. I’m not. 2011 has been the best year of my life so far in spite of certain setbacks. I know that from here things can only go up. I hope that the demise of my faith would help those who love me to see that I am all the better for having discarded the superstitious. Now that I realize this life is all I have, I reflect on the importance of each day, of each interaction. I realize that life is too short to fight about silly beliefs, so I’m learning to bite my tongue. I’m hoping that 2012 will be a year of reconciliation, a year of understanding, and a year of growth. I hope that there will be an uptick in the intensity with which I live my life. I’m reminded of the words of Christopher Hitchens, who was a prominent figure in the atheist community.

“The only position that leaves me with no cognitive dissonance is atheism. It is not a creed. Death is certain, replacing both the siren-song of Paradise and the dread of Hell. Life on this earth, with all its mystery and beauty and pain, is then to be lived far more intensely: we stumble and get up, we are sad, confident, insecure, feel loneliness and joy and love. There is nothing more; but I want nothing more.” – Christopher Hitchens (1949-2011)

Here’s to 2012. May it bring you peace, love and joy that is deeper, stronger, and a far greater satisfaction than can be found in the pages of any religious text.

Filling In the Blanks

So I haven't written anything in over a year. I figure it's been long enough that I can share my thoughts now. Last night I attended the Oklahoma Atheists monthly dinner at Hideaway Pizza. It's always a good time. It seems like every month I sit next to someone new and I'm part of a whole new conversation. I always learn something new, and I always have a good time. Last night I got to share the story of how I met my Dad. One of the guys in our group was in total disbelief at how my Dad handled the situation. It made me realize how fortunate I am that my Dad is who he is and how amazing our story is. So, for those who don't know the story, here goes...

In the spring of 2002 I was a freshman at the University of Central Oklahoma. I was majoring in Child Development (I know, right?). In my Contemporary American Families class we were required to do a family tree as part of our final project. I was a little more than nervous at the thought of how I'd fill mine out as half of it had always been blank. I approached my professor and explained to her that I was in the dark on who my father was, and who he had descended from for that matter. I'll never forget what she said to me next. "You have three options Ms. Brooks; you can leave it blank and fail this course, you can bullshit the whole thing, (I'll never know), or you can let this empower you to be an adult and find out the truth for yourself. It's your decision." I was dumbfounded. Part of me wanted to just make everything up and make an easy A, but part of me wanted to know the truth. I had long dreamed of my father being present at various milestones in my life. When I was a little girl I would lie in bed at night listening to my stepfather and my mother fighting and I would imagine that somewhere out there was this amazing, loving dad of mine. I fantasized about him being at my graduation, walking me down the aisle, all those TV like daddy/daughter moments I had grown up wishing I had. However, I was an adult now, I was supposed to be realistic. Later that day, I called my Mom and asked her who my father was. Dead silence was followed by a click. To me it was obviously an "I'll tell you when you're older" moment. I don't really remember how I felt at that point. I was used to my Mom's keen ability to avoid the truth by that point in my life, so I can't imagine I was anything more than disappointed, maybe mixed with a tinge of anger.

A few days went by without hearing a word from Mom. Then, in the mail I recieved an envelope with no return address. Inside was a piece of notebook paper with my dad's name, the last city he was known to live in, and what his occupation was. I cried as I stared at that paper. I wasn't sure what this was going to lead to. I was part joyful, part hopeful, and mostly full of dread. I laid that note out in front of my desk in my dormroom. I stared at it for a while, unsure of how to proceed. At the time, Yahoo had a people search function. I did a search for the name and city and I got back one hit. It had my Dad's name, his wife's name, an address, and a phone number. My friend Traci was in my dorm room that day studying with me. You have to understand my friend Traci. She was hilarious. She had these facial expressions that were something from a comedy. I called her dumbass Traci, she just called me dumbass. It was a mutually comedic friendship. Traci and I made jokes about my Mom and about what kind of person my Dad probably was. It was therapeutic, she helped me to lower my expectations and be realistic about my Dad. At that point, I had resolved not to call the number. Traci and I continued studying for a while. Then, suddenly, I found myself with phone in hand dialing the number of a complete stanger. I'll never forget the face dumbass Traci made when she heard me say "I'm looking for a James Magnus".

It was something like this:


That look was an epic "Holy fucking shit" moment. She was dumbfounded. I was dumbfounded. We sat there staring at each other like deer in the headlights as I continued my phone conversation with a total stranger.

Me: "I'm looking for James Magnus."
Stranger: "This is Jim."
Me: "Uhhhhhh, do you know a Nyoka McBride?"
Stranger: "She's my ex wi..."
Me: "YOUR EX WIFE?!?! You mean you guys were MARRIED!?!"
Pause. So here's the funny thing about this moment. It was the first time in my life I realized I wasn't the result of a one night stand. This moment legitimized my existence in a way that I could never have imagined. For the first time in my life, I wasn't Nyoka's bastard kid.

Stranger: "What's this all about?"
Me: "Well, Nyoka is my mother and she uh.... she says you're my father."
Stranger: "................."
Me: "................"
Dumbass Traci: "................"
Now here's the best part... My Dad had two options here. He could have been a complete and total asshole, or he could do what he did next.

Stranger: "Well, how old are you?"
Me: "I'll be 19 in a couple weeks."
Stranger: "Well that makes sense. We were married in March of 1982 and she left late that summer."
Me: "Where have you been?"
Stranger: "All over the world honey. All over the world."
Now my Dad and I recall the conversation a bit differently, but either way he comes out looking like a saint. We talked for a bit, I spewed a ton of information about myself a la Micro Machines guy, and then I told him that I had to go, that I needed to figure out what to make of all this. He asked me to email him some pictures, so I did. This whole time, Dumbass Traci is sitting across from me with her eyes wide like saucers with a sucker dangling out of the corner of her mouth. She couldn't believe what was going down in front of her face.




After recieving said photos, my dad called me back. He told me there wasn't a chance in hell I wasn't his kid. Poor me, I look just like him. The best part about all of that is that 10 years later, my Dad is my best friend. I absolutely love him. He is the perfect example of a loving, accepting father. From day one it was as though he had been in my life all along. In 10 years I have found that every ounce of my personality comes from my Dad. I'm just like him. I think like him, I tell really lame jokes like him, I laugh like him. It's weird. It's amazing. It's nothing short of the TV fantasy I grew up wanting. I love that crazy bastard and I'm thankful for him every single day.