Born Agains

I knew two religions growing up: Judaism and Catholicism. One of the Rockland County-born boys (who'd later challenge me to a fight after school one day) said he was "Christian" when we asked around at lunchtime, which started a conversation about what exactly that was. We figured out in the fourth grade that a "Christian" is someone who believes in Jesus Christ, because the word "Christ" is in it. I remember it because the doors to the cafeteria were open, and the weather was warm. I even remember some of the kids at lunch: Molly, Vinny, Michael, me, and a few others. We were all Catholic except for Michael; a Gerlach with Dutch/German roots, whose family did not like the "ethnic" people moving up from the city during the 70s.

During my post-college career, my fiance/husband chafed under the conditions that New York City imposes upon the individual. He was struggling, and he needed my help. I knew a change of scenery wouldn't cure his alcoholism and manic-depression, but I was up for an adventure. My career and my hometown would still be there when I got back, and I knew that, too, despite a former classmate's prediction that I was committing "career suicide" by leaving New York. I didn't actually believe in my impending suicide, though, so we made the move out west to Colorado, anyway.

I'd never been to Colorado before, but I'd seen enough pictures and done enough research to have an idea of what was there. That, and I already scheduled an interview. We reached Boulder at night, and the hotel room looked like anywhere. The next day, we woke up to a blizzard with lots of snow, which I liked. I love the mountains, having grown up near the Adirondacks and the Catskills; hiking, camping, and exploring rural New York. I discovered during college that my genetically thick skin was still intact after that first winter in Oneonta: a city in the hills, where winter begins in October and ends in May.

After a bout of altitude sickness, I adjusted quickly, as is my way. Culture is another story. It's very different from New York, as anyone who's ever been to both places can attest to. Within a week, David found carpentry work that was easy to find during the town's construction boom. My work? Not so easy. It took me six months to get an excellent freelance position at a museum, which launched my career there. During that time, I got a lot of flack from both sides of my family, even though I lived off my savings and paid all of my bills on my own, without my husband's help. I am the first professional working artist in my family, and the time frames are different. It's slow and hard to find, but the work is exciting and challenging. It's worth it.

Of course, there are a lot of other differences than just geography: the weather, the people, the food, etc., but the first real bristling always happens at an office, where people brush up against one another. Needless, the women I encountered at my first job didn't like me, so I moved on. The excuses were the same as New York, though: the hemming and the hawing, the awkward avoidance in hallways, the gossip and the sniping....how....human. The next job was a fun, frat-like, all-male recording studio. It was filled with emigrés who couldn't tolerate the East Coast lifestyle, like my then-husband, but I wasn't bent on recreating myself into a mythic Western ideal like they were. I had an identity already, and from an early age. Part of the secret handshake of that world, I learned, was a disavowal of one's past life, with fretful hand-wringing about my time in New York. There's even lingo devoted to it; a sub-culture of hatred, envy, and regret, for "escaping" from New York. I was barred entry for not performing my lines correctly.

Another bout, this one with severe flu, no health insurance, and my husband's arrest, brought about some quick changes. My marriage was over, I had no health plan, and I was alone. So, I got a corporate gig with regular benefits and "stability", though I know those aren't real, either. I was part of a design group within a large company that went bust. Working right next to me was a woman who'd gone to my high school. She was immediately freaked out by me because she'd hoped to be a pioneer out west, cobbling together a "fun" identity borrowed mostly from Seinfeld episodes. My appearance blew her cover and her routine, which made her skittish and uncertain around me. Naturally, she wanted to be my "friend", which is called a "frenemy" nowadays. She hadn't lived in "New Yawk" since high school, and I threw her off because I wasn't serving up Brooklyn cliches just for entertainment. She was also the only practicing Catholic I knew out there.

We had a mostly Colorado work group, people who alternately avoided me and competed with me, which I expected. They feared and disliked me, making an uneven peace with my presence through an avoidance that they played off as their folksy, country reticence. The other out-of-towner was an unfortunate transplant who shivered all winter long in his resort-wear from Arizona. No amount of talking could persuade him to buy a coat, a scarf, gloves, or a hat. He had a large poster of a tropical palm tree in his pen, which shouted out his climate preferences to anyone who passed by. We got along well, though, as outsiders. He's a devout Christian and a wayward soul, wandering among the scriptures like a beach-comber looking for treasure. He doesn't quite get it, but he loves to talk about it. 

During another slow union-funded afternoon, he made the mistake of handing out religious pamphlets at work. I felt an obligation to tell him the truth, albeit discreetly, that he was breaking the law. He's originally from Mass., so I used that as a reference point, guiding him along as gently as I could. He wouldn't do that if he was in New York, would he? What if he handed this to an Atheist or a Jew?! It's not only offensive, he could lose his job over religious solicitation during office hours. He had the fire of a new convert, but it was also extremely condescending to anyone with a serious religious background. As a Catholic, my parents and family had introduced me to our ancient faith before I could speak. These spiritual concepts were not new to me.

Years earlier, my then-fianceé and I lived in my aunt's old apartment to save money for our wedding and moving expenses. I often went to other neighborhoods to shop and run errands they weren't available to me in the Kensington section of Brooklyn. I don't often take the bus, because I prefer to walk within distance, so I usually take the subway for further trips. I took the bus one time, a real rarity for me, and I was delighted when a normal-looking young woman asked if she could sit down next to me. Oh, good! I lost touch with a lot of female friends during the post-graduation phase of my life, and I welcomed an opportunity to make a new one. She was an average white woman, clean, neat in appearence with straight brown hair. She asked me a few questions to break the ice, or so I thought. Wow, friendly, too...nice!

Then, she dropped the "freak" bomb. She became chirpy and glassy-eyed, a little too keen to talk, speaking much quicker than before. "Me and a group of friends like to meet every Wednesday." Okay...."Would you like to come by?" Uh, what for? Shit. Too late. "Have you accepted the Lord Jesus Christ as Your Savior?" Yeah, and a long time ago, too. Welcome to the club.There's no gift basket, by the way. Since then, whenever I'm approached by a zealot, I just blurt out "I'm Catholic!", which seems to frighten them off right away. And, yes, I also carry an "I'm Catholic" card in my wallet.  

Blessings to you and yours this week.