Vocation Story #3: Home Is Where the Heart Is
Spiritual Breadcrumbs and Converging Themes
I began my leave of absence in late May 2012…hyper-grateful to return home to all my friends in New Orleans and to my pet parrots, Olive and Pickle. First-and-foremost, I was determined to physically heal myself. At this point, my back hurt so bad I could barely stand until the end of a live music show.
By early June, I had joined the New Orleans Athletic Club and was attending yoga, swimming and Pilates classes on a daily basis. I had frequent visits to Dr. Mike, my friendly neighborhood Chiropractor. On a weekly basis I was getting Rolfed in Metairie by Molly Day and poked by Dr. JoAnn, the Acupuncturist working out of a refurbished 1950s gas station Uptown. I had a deep tissue massage therapist in the Marigny and a saw a craniosacral therapist in the Bywater. My entire schedule was built around appointments and classes.
To afford all these different varieties of therapy I was—for the first time since the Peace Corps—actually spending as much as I was earning. It was money well-spent in my mind because if I didn’t figure this s**t out soon, my life was gonna be a long and painful slog. It was mainly out-of-pocket treatment, but Obamacare actually covered Dr. Whitecloud’s referral for Uli, the Norwegian healer. Somehow, she had an arrangement with Tulane University Hospital working in a closet-like space next to their Physical Therapy department. She worked on me every week doing some strange next-level physical therapy which I now realize was myofascial release.
I. Was. Going. To. Heal. Myself.
In my spare time I was proactively networking and researching professional possibilities. I wanted something that was fulfilling and life-giving. Something that helped others and stretched me in the process; something that I was passionate about. I looked into some academic fields that interested me, applied to a couple dream-job openings that I did not land, and I networked like hell to get a pulse on what was out there. I was not familiar with the word back then, but the “job” I was looking for was a vocation.
Going Deeper
A theme that kept emerging with these alternative healing practitioners was that my pain had more than a physical cause. According to them, there was also a spiritual component at play. That seriously pissed-me-off, but I had to admit there were times during sessions I noticed tears falling for no perceptible reason (not from pain). One time sobs actually blasted out of me when Uli honed in on a particular spot on my ribcage. Well THAT was weird, I thought, then moved on.
When anyone in my cadre of practitioners would talk about this spiritual component, I had to resist rolling my eyes. For me it was just another exasperating clue in trying to untangle the pain. In my mind, they were simply telling me that it was partially psychosomatic because I had issues. I figured that wasn’t too far-fetched, so I picked-up sessions with the psychiatrist I saw after my Dad died about five years prior.
But I had promised not to discount anything, so when a spiritual root to the pain was intimated, I would hide my annoyance and ask, so what is one supposed to do about that? Heeding their recommendations, I tried Gestalt therapy, reiki sessions, started meditation at the neighborhood Buddhist community center. I even called a woman who offered spiritual clearings that “might be able to help” according to one of my therapists. Her name was Kelli and she became something akin to my first spiritual director.1
By July, my quest to heal my back had me probing different faith traditions and world religions with an eye towards spiritual healing. I was unknowingly dabbling in Jewish Mystical tradition and Kabbalah. Organized religions were not my thing and I definitely wasn’t messing with Christianity and Catholicism because…been-there-done-that! I had already gotten my fill of smells and bells, reciting prayers and memorizing rules before I was a teenager and decided that I didn’t buy it. And if I didn’t buy it then, why on earth would I now, as an adult?
Catholicism Says WHAT?!
Then something remarkable happened. I was vaguely aware that the Pope had decided to retire rather than die, which was a weird f**king thing to happen in the Catholic Church. One evening, I happened across the first interview with the new Pope and I was curious. I distinctly remember reading the interview—my jaw dropped a bit lower with each response. What-the-hell-kind-of Catholicism was this? I grew up in Nacogdoches, Texas and I didn’t remember any Catholics who talked like this.
His tone was super appealing. His focus on serving the most vulnerable gave me a sense of validation in my career choices. This interview—this man—made me feel a new ambivalence around Catholicism.2 I was beginning to suspect there might be more to it than I had appreciated when I exited at twelve years old.
Pope Francis was a Jesuit, one of the few Catholic orders I was familiar with. As a child, Uncle Rob sometimes joined us during our summers in Colorado. He was the oldest sibling to my grandmother and he stood out as a particularly delightful and fun elder in the family (and there were a lot of them). He also happened to be a Jesuit priest, so I harbored a deep fondness for Jesuits simply by name association. I figured this kind of Catholicism must be a Jesuit thing.
But it also brought to mind the sisters that taught at Rosary College where I went to undergrad. I attended a Catholic Liberal Arts College in Chicago where I lived a double-life as an A student and a punk-rock groupie in Chicago’s underground music scene (ahh, to be young again!). In the four years it took to earn my bachelor’s in Mathematics I never once attended mass in Rosary’s Chapel. Still, I could recognize there was something exceptional about those sisters, several of whom were my professors. I was drawn to them and felt some kind-of kindred spirit. This Pope also reminded me of them, but they weren’t Jesuits I was pretty sure.
One night I was watching the Colbert Report and he was interviewing Sister Simone Campbell. A-HA! More evidence of the same ilk of Catholic. This nun was funny and sassy. I liked her a lot. I learned that the Vatican’s doctrinal police were giving U.S. Sisters a hard time, investigating whether they “had strayed” too far in how they lived out the vowed life.
Sr. Simone got in trouble, too, for organizing sisters all over the country to advocate for the Affordable Care Act. Basically, their vocal support pushed the bill over the finish line a couple of years earlier by giving Catholic lawmakers “cover” when the U.S. Bishops had lobbied against it because of abortion. So when the vocal sisters tipped the scale, some of the guys at Church Headquarters got bent out of shape.3 Boy, I hope this new Pope helps them out, I thought.
I was listening to Sr. Simone and Colbert talk, when it happened—like a straw that broke the camel’s back—I realized that Colbert was a practicing Catholic and my head just about exploded. None of this made sense, what the hell was happening?!
The next week, I started secretly attending mass. Initially, I would slip into the back of the Church by my house on Sundays. Then I started attending other Catholic masses around New Orleans. As I peaked into the services like a fly on the wall, I started noticing the different flavors of worship—a whole vibrant world that I didn’t understand but which was also really familiar.
I remembered the cadence of the mass—it was consistent in each Church—and I even knew the words (with a few exceptions)! However, they still didn’t make much sense to me as an adult. But what a treat to be experiencing this new side of New Orleans! I also found them comforting. The music felt like it was literally tugging at my heartstrings. On occasion, I would weep silently. I knew that there was something here.
Closing the Loop
August was coming to an end and I would be returning to my old job, soon. I had not landed on my next career step. My back pain, while more manageable, still hurt like hell and I still didn’t know why. I was feeling defeated by my lack of progress.
I met regularly with a water drainage advisory group in New Orleans—a bunch of planners, landscape designers, engineers, civil servants, and architects. We were exploring alternative solutions since every engineering fix had already been done. I started attending as a “scout” for business opportunities on behalf of my company (their primary shtick was water/wastewater engineering). But my interest had shifted to professional networking and market research. One day in late August a new project idea was brought to the group by a local design firm working with Dutch flood engineers—it was a huge and exciting opportunity.
Some Catholic sisters in New Orleans were proposing a partnership with the City to devote a large portion of their Midtown motherhouse campus to natural drainage. A bioswale on their low-lying property would serve as badly needed drainage basin for the entire area. I remember my head started tingling as I listened to the story. I felt chills move through me—that was the first time I experienced the Holy Spirit almost shove me off of my seat.
I knew this was a sign revealing my next step: I would explore a planning career working with religious communities. I had a pretty firm read on the demographics of religious men and women from my time at Rosary. I suspected many of them had underutilized land and buildings because they were a shrinking population and Catholic Church = buildings. I was a planner! It all added up.
These folks might appreciate some planning support, right?! Like the CSJ Sisters in New Orleans, some might even be excited by out-of-the-box ideas…ways to carry forward their legacy through creative reuse of their assets. My consultant brain went into high-gear. I needed to do some market research, first. Was this planning niche already a thing? How might I get my foot in the door? With a good business development strategy, I might secure that fulfilling dream job in planning!
And I might just check-out more of the Catholic scene while I was at it…
Kelli’s clearings were over the phone, which immediately had me thinking she was a fake. I guess I associated physical proximity with magic!? She would chant formulaic phrases that I could kind-of get the gist of… but not to me. She was speaking to “Quincy’s Higher Self” as if I wasn’t even there. I was deeply uncomfortable with it at first, but I had to admit I felt a little bit lighter and better after each session. I could feel that it was stirring something in me. Subsequent work with Kelle provided my introduction to Jewish mysticism, the Tree of Life and Kabbalah. I often took what she said with a grain of salt. It’s important to preserve the inner-skeptic. But I also knew she was supporting my growth and healing, somehow. Today, I credit her with opening me up enough to embark on this journey.
Sadly, in 2020 during COVID, I started noticing her spiritual teachings seemed to be dabbled with political commentary. During the tumultuous summer of BLM protests, she mentioned “Antifa” as an example of a dark and evil force. Now, I’m not one to quibble about fringe extremist movements, but there was a marked lack of commentary about Christian Nationalists and the alt-right. In my assessment, they deserved a shout-out, too, if we’re going there! By fall of 2020 we had gone our separate ways. Kelle’s coaching cultivated a spiritual awareness in me and I continue to hold those traditions as foundational in my prayer and spiritual practices.
I was the youngest of three with a Catholic mother and an Agnostic father. At an early age I learned the difference between an Atheist and an Agnostic (my Dad was also an English professor). Dad explained that an Agnostic is not certain if there is or isn’t a God, and is comfortable with that uncertainty because it is impossible for humans to know either way. To me, atheists seemed as presumptuous as Christians: certain their was not a God in the same way Christians claimed to know who God was. Claiming agnosticism seemed like a perfectly reasonable stance that allowed me to focus my energy on more important things. And so I did, for about 25 years.
Sr. Simone’s response was to ride around the country with a bunch of sisters talking about how important affordable healthcare is for people. The Nuns on the Bus, as they were known, actually rode around together in a huge vinyl-wrapped tour bus. They were like celebrities as whole bunch of U.S. Catholics who “loved the nuns” came out in droves at every stop to show their support. They were all probably former students, I thought.
Love to learn more about your journey. Thank you for sharing.