Post-Responsibility

“Responsible” – the state of being responsible, answerable or accountable for something within one’s power, control or management.

At almost 50 I now understand why adults always tell teenagers not to be in such a hurry to grow up.  What the grownups don’t mention is that once you’re out on your own you become responsible for a 

lot.

For getting a job.

For keeping a job.

For finding a place to live.

For paying all the bills.

For feeding yourself.

For a pet.

For your aging parents.

For your dependent children.

For your own decisions.

For your relationships.

For…yourself.

It is only now when my only responsibilities are paying my cell bill, my car insurance and taking care of my dog that I truly understand how all that responsibility stuff really limits your horizons.

For a time.

Some responsibilities are gifts. Caring for my clients, parishioners, communities and peers in their time of need has been selfishly fulfilling. Creating loving relationships with my friends has been my salvation.  Loving my mother through her old age until her death, though arduous at times, was an honour.  And of course, being responsible for the two little humans that come from my very own body has been the greatest joy of my life.  When their father chose to leave the country following the separation I used to joke that I didn’t know that walking away from them and buying a trailer in Florida was an option. It was a joke because, of course, it was never really an option for me.

Because I was responsible.

Other responsibilities are a burden. Trying to please hundreds of people, each with their own unique idea of what priest should be was a game I could no longer play.

“Your stole was crooked.”

“One should always wear nylons, my dear.”

“Perhaps a shawl to cover your arms?”

“Your sandals are distracting.”

“Ministers drink tea, not beer.”

Augh.  I just couldn’t play anymore.

I am still tied to this place, this community and to my people – but I am not responsible for them in a way that I once was.  I handed over the keys to my house and the weight of the mortgage went along with it.  I put my notice in to my employer.  I resigned from my board positions and most of all I launched my boys out into the world – successfully, I think.

For the first time ever, I can decide what I want my life to look like without material ties and responsibilities.  If you asked me 5 years ago if there was anything I regretted I would have said that I wished that I had traveled more before I settled down with two kids.  And if you had asked me what I always wanted to do I would have said that I wanted to go on an emergency mission.  As I saw the workers respond in Haiti, or those who receive the refugees as they arrive from their war-torn countries I did so with a sense of envy – I wanted to be with them.  I wanted to help them build or rebuild a community and to offer comfort as much as my English-only self was able.

I’m at my best when I am responding to people in need.  As evidenced by my response to the flood of 2013, the devastating fires in Fort McMurray (where I desperately tried to find a flight to take me there), or just as I journeyed with people through difficult deaths or never missed a midnight emergency call to the hospital; I thrive in the midst of chaos. I bring calm and reassurance when others are at their worst.

There is nothing keeping me here at the moment.  Well, Sarah the dog but I have a generous offer of care for her.  I have always wanted to go abroad and there are places in the world that would benefit from all I have to offer.

Here I go….