An Existential Reverie

"You know, Mary, it's the mark of a mature woman to know how to use her time alone well." Those are the words of the hospital chaplain, Fr. Murtaugh at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota. When I was a senior in college at the College of St. Teresa, they thought I had mono, so I was hospitalized for a couple of days while they ran tests. ( This was clearly pre HMO ).

At that time, 1968, the war in Vietnam was raging, women were beginning to awaken to the possibilities of careers other than the the traditional professions ( nursing, social work, teaching ), the birth control pill was available creating options for millions of women who had been prisoners to unwanted or dangerous pregnancies, the civil rights movement was moving forward after too much death and violence, and college campuses like Berkeley, University of Wisconsin, University of Michigan were erupting with students demanding more say in their curricula, their entire college life.

Even at CST, a pretty conservative all women's college, there were rumblings. And yes, dear reader(s), I was part of them--although certainly not even remotely a radical. I was, and still am, to the left of center but never subscribed to far left notions like SDS. I was, let us say, a concerned and active student. But the president, Sr. Camille did know I was present, shall we say.

In addition, it was, like time eternal for college students, my senior year. I wanted nothing more than to savor it. I wanted to spend time with the women who had been part of my life for four years ( some of whom still are ), get as ready as I could for the "world", and, OK, party. Even in Winona, Minnesota, my friend Betsy and I could find a party pretty much anytime we tried.
Not the Woodstock kind of party. This was Minnesota after all. We would go to the local hotel, like the young ladies we were, and have cocktails!

Why this story? Because this trip is sort of like that. In those days, I was like a small kitten--I played and worked hard until I dropped. Thus, the mono scare.

Now, sitting here on my last full day on St. Barth's, I think I finally truly understand that chaplain's admonition. It isn't the places I've been here on St. Barth's, it isn't even the people ( although they have been both wonderful and lots of fun ). It's the sense of calm and serenity that I found here--in my little aerie above Marigot Bay. No sentimentality. I came with an agenda--to write two stories, to determine my plan for the next 9 months professionally ( any farther out, I've found at my advanced age, and their jettisoned ) and prepare for a very significant birthday by our culture's standards ( more, I'm sure on that later ).

I think this is what God intended in retreats, which is what this, essentially, has been. It's been a chance to take stock. To look at what has been, try to tell the truth about its merits and its stumbles, and discern what is next to be all I can be going forward. That, by the way, is my theology, very anthropomorphic. The whole Christian mystery boiled down to being all you can be to honor the fact that you have been given this chance to "be". Always transforming, becoming. Existential? Yes. Teillard de Chardin is one of my heros. Life giving? I think so.

So, here I am, sitting in my bungalow trying to absorb the light to warm me, the sound of the sea to still me, watching the waves slide along the reef to remind me of reality, And preparing for the next whatever-it-is.

I have treasured my time alone here. Fr. Murtaugh, are you listening?
M.C.