I stopped home recently and was enjoying the weather on the porch. When crossing the threshold, the doormat caught my eye. Now faded and weathered, it reads in my handwriting “come as you are.” I paused for a moment to appreciate the phrase and reflect on how it came to be at the literal and metaphorical entrance into our home.
A few years ago, my family underwent a period of transition, and we chose “come as you are” as a mantra. Perhaps it was from the Crowder song of that name, which we had heard many times at LIFT nights (praise & worship events in the Archdiocese of Boston that we dearly miss now due to COVID-19). Regardless, the phrase slowly became a familial motto during a time of renewal––as we picked up the pieces from turmoil, sickness, and an abrupt relocation.
Our new mantra and new home birthed something we declared as the “No Rules Summer.” You want to eat ice cream before dinner? Go for it; you enjoy that ice cream. Don’t have the desire to make your bed today? It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of life. Want to spontaneously jump on a paddleboard? You do you, just be on land before dark. We played the radio loud, danced often, hugged a lot, and had plenty of ice cream, all with the help of the majority of my extended family who all live within a block of each other in this coastal neighborhood.
It was a novel reordering of priorities for my family. Suffering in any form or extent has a way of making us realize priorities. We realized that stringent expectations from society and from ourselves did not truly matter or make sense––what’s really going to happen if you don’t do the dishes immediately after eating or if you go to bed later than expected because you were enjoying the company of friends?
I’ve realized since then that our world, and sometimes our Church, makes us feel guilty for taking up space to care for ourselves in these ways. We don’t want to stick out, show weakness, or inconvenience anyone, ever. And in doing that, I feel like we’re missing out on living. We spend more time on shrinking and conforming than we do on spontaneously and adventurously living how the Spirit leads us.
Millennials and Gen Z-ers have heard enough about how social media can force us to conform, but I recently had an opportunity to reflect on this professionally. I’ve worked at The CatholicTV Network in varying capacities over the years, most recently in podcasting, where I host and produce the To the Heights podcast on Catholic changemakers. I run social media for the show, and for almost two years I had been keeping our Instagram profile “organized” by lining up new episode thumbnails by strategically posting them every third post. It does look tidy this way, but more often than not, I found myself frustratedly tied to a rule that I had arbitrarily dreamed up.
After ironically podcasting about young people’s tethered tendencies to social media, I raised my white Instagram flag. How had I become fixated on an Instagram theme, when I could have been following the Spirit-led pushes of inspiration and creating when I wanted to create? If creativity is in our nature because of the Divine, shouldn’t I recklessly follow where it leads?
Some rules are meant to be followed, and over the summer, I found myself obliged to wear closed-toed shoes at the sailing and maritime camp I work at. Oftentimes the job requires wading through water (or mud), wrangling sea creatures, or jumping into the ocean after a rogue child or capsized sailboat.
I observed feeling hesitant to jump into the water for “unnecessary” things, as I was fully clothed with a lifejacket, marine radio, sometimes spray gear, and always sneakers. Sloshing around in salty sneakers for the rest of the day never sounded desirable, even if a dip in the sparkling water sounded nice.
A few weeks into the summer, I resurrected the “come as you are” mentality. Life is too short to not jump into the ocean now because you’re worried about wet sneakers later, I concluded. I wanted to live joyfully and messily in the present moment. When the kids want you to come play in the water, don’t be the adult who’s too concerned about their dry clothes to participate.
Following the tug of Creativity, I shared this sentiment on the To the Heights Instagram and started posting pictures of my sneakers in the ocean. It struck up many meaningful conversations around radical joy and adventure with Christ.
Now, as I step over our home’s doormat (with dry sneakers), I’m reminded of this permission to take up space, to love and create foolishly with Christ, and to truly and deeply live. If I’m going to live, I’m not going to do it any other way than to be fully alive. Take up as much space as you need, my friend.
Previously the Campus News Editor and Catholicism 101 Editor, Olivia dabbles in The Torch’s writing and photography. She is a senior studying theology and applied psychology and human development with a minor in journalism. She is unashamedly passionate about youth ministry, Haiti, all things charismatic, the Oxford comma, and CatholicTV––where she can often be found as an on-camera news reporter or host of the To the Heights podcast.
- The Beauty of A Marathon - March 27, 2022
- A Tale of 5,000 Cookies and A Rare Disease - February 28, 2022
- Signing Off As Your Editor-in-Chief - December 25, 2021