Growing Into Newness

We are re-launching the Millennial Quest publishing with a brilliant post by Taylor DeNaples. Stay tuned for more articles in the near future!

I’m a new college grad. I’m in a new city. Moved into a new (for me) house with three new young folks. What an exciting time. I’m so freaking excited.

Young folks like myself seem to be expected to take on newness as “exciting” or “adventurous.” But what about young folks like myself who are teased for being an old spirit, or, as my sister says, “an old man.” Neither am I male nor seventy-five, but yes, I do like oatmeal raisin cookies better than chocolate chip cookies and I don’t like going out past ten and I have been called cute—like the old man from “Up”—and yes, I do call my peers “young folks.” Is this “old soul” of mine the reason I’m not feeling as adventurous as I feel like I should? Is that why I’m feeling uncomfortable in my new surroundings?

I got comfy in my college life. I majored in English and Religion. I found friends who majored in English and Religion. I thought about historical context. I thought about systems. I thought about language. I thought about art and poetry and what makes this world beautiful and I thought about food that was cooked for me and about the papers I was writing and the books I was reading. I thought about theology. I thought a lot about dead white theologians.

There are three popular options for a religion major after undergrad: grad school, social service, or seminary. As one of many religion major millennials who is uninterested in ministry, I opted to work with Lutheran Volunteer Corps for a year—to move to the west side of Milwaukee and try to be a positive part of the change erupting in our country. I studied religion for a deep interest in people and how they orient their lives. What I’m beginning to realize is how hard it can be to translate theory into daily practice where people are real and suffering is real and anger is real.

As I was talking with my new landlord—a pastor at a nearby church that I attended for the first time today—he mentioned that he’d like to write something someday. I asked what kind of thing. He said, something that will make people uncomfortable (just hearing that made me a little uncomfortable for a moment—what does he mean by that?). Something, he said, that will get people who have the privilege of ignoring injustices, because it is not their daily reality, to wake up and do something about it. This requires getting out of being comfortable.

Being comfortable is, in one sense, feeling at home. It’s feeling like you have a safe, comfortable place to rest and rejuvenate from outside—which is so important for a person’s wellbeing. How about for those who don’t feel at home anywhere? For whom it’s unnerving to see a police car as they walk down the street?

I’m living in a daily reality that is new for me in many ways—first time to be the minority in my neighborhood, first time I’m close to injustices happening. I moved into my new house a few days before the shooting and unrest in Milwaukee that reached national news. The following week I listened to people talk about their neighborhood, their worry for their teenage sons, their frustration, their sadness, their powerful words.

I’m uncomfortable thinking about systematic oppression. I’m uncomfortable thinking about my privilege. I’m uncomfortable trying to express anything about racism—what if I say something offensive? But right now if that discomfort is preventing me from thinking and talking and acting on matters of discrimination and oppression based on the color of a person’s skin, then nothing will change. At LVC orientation we heard the phrase “courageous space.” I’m attempting to enter new spaces courageously, though it may be uncomfortable, even frightening.

Perhaps the question isn’t whether or not my lack of excitement for newness is atypical of my peers—everyone experiences discomfort. Rather, the question is how to best react to and use this discomfort. Of course I’m not thrilled and excited about the discomfort of newness. But am I going to shut myself out mentally, emotionally, physically in order to get through? Or am I going to let myself feel it and let the discomfort begin to change my frame of mind in order to address the injustices around me?

We’re all in a time of change and newness. We’re in a world being pulled and torn by tensions too many to count—race, gender, class, socioeconomic disparity, housing, immigration, homelessness, political upset, fill in fill in. The earth is suffocating, it’s crying, it’s burning. And it’s time to accept that discomfort is okay, and necessary, if this place is going to improve. So perhaps it’s not so bad to experience discomfort in this new place—maybe allowing myself-yourself-ourselves to feel the discomfort is exactly what we need right now. If I let myself enter into it and let it shape me—maybe I can go on to change my surroundings.

What am I to do about the way things are? Well, I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s too big for me. But I also know that if I breathe love and trust and understanding, the folks next to me are sharing this air I’m breathing. So while I’m here, I’m going to start making this newness familiar. My plan for the current moment is simply this—go outside, sit on the stoop, meet my new neighbors, and learn something new about their lives.