Seven facts
Instead of passing it along, I offer it up to anyone who would like to participate.
7 FACTS about
Jennifer
1 - WORK: I was a reference
librarian for about ten years, first for a state
legislative agency, then for a Washington, DC-based
think tank, and finally for
the U.S.
Senate.
Four years of working 40-50 hour weeks in a
basement paging through Congressional
Records, locating report language, and watching
C-SPAN with my colleagues for the laughs led to
disillusionment and burnout. (Note: There is
really much more to being a reference librarian at
the Senate Library than that, but an exhaustive
listing of what we did would bore most readers). I
quit to go to culinary school.
Took a detour to be a stay-at-home mother and
freelance writer. 2 - EDUCATION: After one
false start, I received a bachelors in philosophy, a
masters in library science, and a certificate from a
culinary school. My first college experience was
about drinking; my second, about thinking, my third,
about getting a job, and my fourth about taking a
chance while I still could.
3 - FRIENDSHIP: When I do make a friend, it is
generally for life (even when I am not good at
keeping in touch). I’m still figuring out how to make
connections as a reserved person without a
traditional working life in a place I don’t know very
well, since we’re still fairly new to Northern
Californa. It isn’t easy, but I am getting there. I
don’t need a posse, just a few confidants.
4 - RELATIONSHIPS: My second husband and I have been
married five years as of last Saturday, and have been
together for ten. After a tough 2007, we’re in a good
place now. Happy belated anniversary, honey!
5 - WWW: The Internet was just taking off when I was
in graduate school. I remember becoming quite
engrossed in the usenet groups. Gopher -- a kind of
menu-driven WWW -- was the hot technology during my
first library job. It’s a totally different world
now. Completely addictive, too, especially now that I
am blogging.
6 - FITNESS: Run 3x a week when I can, other exercise
on the off days, walk almost everywhere. I’ve been
mainly vegetarian (some fish) for 13 years and don’t
see going back to eating meat.
7 - DREAMS: One basic dream: that I make an authentic
life as a writer. A better way to put it: I am living
an authentic life as a writer, making the dream a
reality. (Thank you to The Fearless
Blog for cheerleading the idea
that we must think something to make it
so.)
Heathen can wait
There was no other conclusion. I couldn't believe in God. This wasn’t a question of whether or not he existed, but was a question of my own belief. No proof was sufficient and I had no faith, no religious background, no desire to hide behind the wimpy safety of Pascal's wager.
Shortly after I reached this conclusion, a product of a paper I wrote on God’s existence in a Philosophy 101 class, I dropped out of college. It was the middle of the second semester, sophomore year and for a while I kept it quiet, kept on accepting my father and step-mother’s checks, which were enough to cover my half of the rent. My roommate, in shaky recovery from an eating disorder, was working as a waitress. As the money dried up, she got me a job waiting tables.
It fell apart. We drank and drank, put ourselves in dangerous situations. I was moving to DC, she didn’t want to come. She slept with my longtime boyfriend, I abandoned her for an Eastern Shore boy who lived with his brother in a place called the Sugar Shack. That fall, my mother drove me and the cat to a small rowhouse in NE DC where I was renting a room. I was starting a new life as a sophomore at Catholic University.
This was the atheist’s choice? Catholic University? I was thinking of majoring in education and Catholic had a good program. The school was located in Washington, a city I wanted to live in. My decision was sealed during the interview, when my interlocuter -- Miss DC 1988! -- told me I was in. But on that first day of school, I jettisoned education for philosophy. It was the most interesting thing going.
Amy, my housemate, was 30 years old to my 20, a Peace Corps survivor. Amy counted her potatoes and onions, and even recorded the shape her peanut butter was in -- the knife slashes, the peaks and valleys and indentations -- before she put the lid on the jar. I found her tallies of produce, her vivid peanut butter descriptions, recorded in tiny script on a piece of paper hidden in the pantry. When I moved in, she had envisioned late night bull sessions with her new gal pal. What she got was an unhappy, underage semi-alcoholic, quiet and removed. She coped by counting her vegetables, a safeguard against (non-existent) theft.
I found salvation on the second day of classes, while taking notes for the History of Ancient Philosophy. N., a Basselin scholar, started up a conversation with me and his fellow Basselins joined in. They were men my age, in the seminary and on the road to priesthood, in addition to being philosophy majors on steroids. If it weren’t for N., who pulled me in, supported me, got me a job when I was desperate, and on occasion gave me food "donated" from the seminary kitchen, I’m not sure I would have survived. He was -- and is -- a good friend.
N. is happily married now, to a kind-hearted, amazing woman. They have five kids. He and his wife have accepting of me, of my quiet atheism. They approach me without judgement.
But am I still an atheist?
I don’t have faith, but I am not as slavishly devoted to proofs. For those who believe, God is real. As for me, I’ll have to be content with not knowing.