Vocation Story #5: Coming Out
The Train Is Leaving the Station
When I returned to New Orleans I began hatching a secret plan. At first I was just daydreaming, but soon I was pondering WHY NOT? I considered how amazing it would be to assist women in learning about this obscure faith-based feminist subculture. Granted, this would be a drastic shift in my career—not where I thought this search would lead!—but I could be promoting this opportunity to women! Shoot, maybe I stumbled upon a new kind of “Gap Year” or Peace Corps service…a new model for young women to figure out where life is calling them to do good for the world! It felt like I was focusing-in on my next steps on this journey, like the spiritual and the professional searches were converging even more.
It only took a couple of weeks to realize that each time I envisioned how awesome this 2-year hiatus might be, it was myself experiencing it. That’s when it began to feel really uncomfortable for me. Perhaps I was having some kind of breakdown or early-mid-life-crisis (if that’s a thing)? Then Jeri followed up to see how I was feeling and what I was thinking. So I told her…I figured as long as I was totally honest with her, I could at least feel like a crazy person with integrity.
I told Jeri in no uncertain terms that I was not looking to become a nun. There was no ambivalence…That said, this formation process I learned about at the retreat was totally calling my name! Was it possible to do that part without the intention of becoming a nun? I asked. Jeri entertained my questions in a good-natured way and was remarkably open to exploring the idea. This was when I began to realize that—as structured as it might sound, the process actually had a lot of gray area built into it. Jeri could answer some of my questions, but not most of them. It added to the sense of intrigue about what I had stumbled upon. The next thing I knew, I was studying the entry application with an excited curiosity. Jeri and I set up regular calls to discuss it.
I increasingly allowed my mind to wander to a vague Sister-Act-version of convent life. It would only last a couple of years, which I knew, from experience, would fly by. Still, my imaginings inevitably ended with deep anxiety and fretting about Olive & Pickle. I had two Dependents, after all—and one a mere youngster.
I also worried, a lot, about what other people would think. Mindful of past times when I had rolled my eyes at people taking organized religion too seriously—look at me now! That’s when I began weaving a rationalization; I put a lot of effort into mining the reasons for this drastic and uncharacteristic step.
Coming Out
As I moved through the holidays that year I acted as if there was nothing different, but inside I was roiled by all kinds of feelings: hope, secrecy, excitement, fear, overwhelm, and lots of confusion (are those all feelings?!). Then one evening in mid-December I went to happy hour with two close girlfriends. They were a couple of my most trusted professional friends, having bonded in the high-intensity post-Katrina New Orleans recovery scene. They were both married—one as a newly-wed and one in a decades-long marriage.
We bitched about work, they shared their marital frustrations, we laughed, encouraged one another, and drank more. Amelia had recently watched a Golden Girls rerun and was reflecting on what kick-ass women they were: I wish I was a Golden Girl, she drunkenly confided. I blurted out, I think I’m gonna become a nun!
They laughed hysterically and it took them an awkward minute to realize that I wasn’t joking. I almost panicked, there is no turning back, now! As I laid-out a frantic stream of my crafted talking points, they listened intently and asked good questions. I went home that night and slept better than I had in months. I was pleased with my fairly-good-sounding explanation. They did not think I was crazy—at least not any crazier. Their supportive responses became familiar ones: a blend of shock, laughter, confusion, concern, curiosity and sadness about potentially “losing me”. Basically, variations of my own response!
That week I began telling my family and friends, each conversation fine-tuning my story. I drafted a long email announcement explaining my decision and rationale as my 2013 Christmas Card. It felt so good to come out of the closet. Confused and ambivalent support was the general response. Those who were familiar with Catholic Sisters—like my own sister who was a Rosary College alumna taught by Sininawa Dominicans—also expressed the excitement I was feeling. Chad, however, was deeply concerned that I was joining a cult. We’d be out on the town enjoying ourselves and once he reached that point of tipsiness that he would inevitably begin sharing his fears and pleading with me not to do it. I resisted going down that rabbit hole with him and told myself he had the wrong idea about the sisters because he’s from Tennessee.
What I didn’t expect were all the deep and meaningful conversations with my folks about their own faith journeys—some of my closest friends had whole WORLDS of depth that I was ignorant about. Who knew so many of us have spiritual depth tucked away and compartmentalized like that?! I thought. It was just never part of our conversations before then, which seemed rather weird to me. Another thing I didn’t expect was how many people—after hearing my spiel about the sisters and my 2-year plan—expressed how the craziness of it also made perfect sense to them on some level. Some variant of Knowing you, that tracks and sounds right.
My Rationale
This is how the conversations often went…After their initial shock—once they realized I was serious about joining the convent—there was the inevitable WHY!? I had woven a contorted—albeit truthful—storyline and rationale that went something like this:
There’ll be 2 years of this process called “formation” that will be super-interesting and good for me. It’ll be like my service in the Peace Corps…I’ll need to learn an unfamiliar culture and language and adjust my behavior accordingly to be accepted. I will learn to be more humble and more disciplined. I’ll be discovering a little-know counter-culture of kick-ass women, and have the chance to witness their modus operandi at a pivotal and challenging time in their history…as an insider …all while gaining a deeper understanding of my faith roots in Catholicism and searching the more mysterious aspects of being a human. I will be learning intimately from this group of amazing, joyful old women who have been steeped in that kind of Catholicism. Then, when I return to my normal life, I’ll be a wiser, more grounded and resilient person for having done it. Not to mention, What an awesome story!?
In retrospect, it’s a bit embarrassing how solidly I fabricated this rational spin on the least reasonable thing I’d ever done! I had no idea what I was getting into, but I had to be able to explain it so I could feel like I was calling the shots. The truth was that I couldn’t begin to articulate what I was doing and why I was doing it. The true miracle of my vocation is that I actually took that step. Once I took that first step, they’ve seemed to line-up for me ever since.
My Dependents
I brushed on them earlier, but this newly-hatched plan taking shape had a very concerning implication. I would need to find a special foster family for two years to take care of Olive and Pickle, my Quaker parrots. Olive was almost 15 at that point and had already been fostered before when she was about 5 years old. Thanks to dear Amber and Curtis, she spent some happy years in Tulsa, OK when I went to the Peace Corps. She was a tough old bird, but little Pickle was a mere 2 years old! It helped to consider that they’d at least have each other if I had to let them go—it had been a long delicate process to get them to bond as a couple (they mate for life)! It might be something of a challenge to find someone ready to take on TWO quaker parrots. I would have to find them THE PERFECT home in order to feel okay about leaving them and joining the convent.
I approached seeking a foster parent the same way I did the Dubuque’s Got Sisters retreat: with full disclosure about what they would be getting.1 I had a few inquiries and some concerning offers from interested parties that my vet flagged as bird hoarders. But soon enough, I was in touch with Diane, the mother of a dear friend from Peace Corps. She shared how she had lost her pet parrot of 25 years a couple years earlier. I’ve done my grieving and I think I’m ready to take on a couple of new buddies! BINGO!! We agreed I would bring them to Diane in Boston before joining the convent!2
While I was still suffering from crippling back-pain, I started the New Year of 2014 feeling the most hopeful I had in years. Things were purportedly lining-up and the year was going to be quite the adventure! I was especially excited about the first half of it—up to the actual move to the convent.
I would quit my job by April, travel as if I had a fatal disease in the Spring, get my personal s**t in order3 and have meaningful good-byes while back in New Orleans, and join the convent in July. I was ready to embark on the “letting go” part of this journey.4 Then, one day in mid-January I riding my bike through Central City. I barely had time to see the car going 40 mph before I was struck and everything went black.
I included the following flier as an attachment to my Christmas announcement:
Diane and I left things open-ended about whether she would ultimately be adopting or fostering them. In 2016—the same week Caitlyn Jenner came out as trans, Diane told me that Pickle had laid eggs and that Olive is actually Oliver, the male! My image of them as the older vixen and the young buck was turned upside-down. As things turn out, Pickle, Olive and Diane live together in Pennsylvania. They have their own aviary wing in her home and they remain a happy thrupple to this day.
I’m a cultivator of things. I keep my eye out for things I find lovely and/or meaningful and have developed a particular taste from my years thrifting and managing vintage shops. I love certain (usually old) items and it brings me joy to surround myself with them.
But just for 2 years…
Thanks again!
Wow,