Purity and Danger

As I walked home from a lovely Shabbat service hosted by friends on a bitterly cold January evening, my mind settled into a reverie connecting and resurrecting memories. It settled on "Purity and Danger" by Mary Douglas, a book I read as a freshman at UChicago. In it, she attempts to explain keeping Kosher as a protection against things that don't fit into easy categories. Pigs, as cloven-hooved animals that don't chew their cud, represented danger. She viewed the rules about Kosher eating as a metaphor for the "clarity of the boundaries around a group to which people belong." (from the same Times obituary linked above)

I wrestle these days with my own violation of boundaries. Two years ago, I embarked on a journey to leave my tribe of over twenty years to join a new group. The transition has been exciting and challenging. Yet I am beginning to experience the synaesthesia of being thisnotthat and notallthis or notallthat.

Weariness has started to creep into my explanations to people. Yes, I am a grad student, but I am also a consultant for a non-profit. Yes, it is hard to strike a balance. Yes, I am continually frustrated by the trade-offs I make, always feeling like I am not good enough or spending enough time in either realm. I don't regret the choices I have made, but this double life leaves me constantly in a state of thisnotthat. I fear becoming a boat moving in circles because the rudder is pinned to the side - an event with which I have some direct experience, on Lake Michigan, with my patient parents aboard. I kept seeing the beach, the pier, the lake, over and over, wondering if I was making any progress toward any of the landmarks, or was I just marking time.

This weariness has bled over into my personal life, where I am a married man who doesn't live with his wife. Friends have rushed to the breach, inviting me to roller derby, parties, dinners, cocktails and Shabbat services. My son has also made the effort to make the long trek from Hyde Park to Lakewood more than once on public transit. I treasure these friends and these times together. I love the cameraderie and the companionship. But I miss having Allyson beside me while I live through this.

On this Valentine's Day, Allyson is visiting Emily in New Hampshire, at a place without cell service. We communicate in snippets over email. I have plans tonight to be by myself. It is too awkward to be with the friends who are part of couples, as they celebrate this love holiday. It is doubly uncomfortable to hang with the single friends, all out looking for that next relationship. Valentine's Day brings these groups into stark relief, and I belong to neither of them. I represent Purity and Danger - the cloven-hooved pig who doesn't chew his cud. I am both sacred and profane. Ambivalent, but ultimately hopeful, that I am moving forward and not in circles.