Taking Space

This story begins in Paris, where I found myself one day about a month after college graduation. I had just wrapped up a trip during which I led and taught American high school students, who were now en route back to the US with another of the teachers. I was set to catch a flight to meet my parents in Rome the following day. With 24 hours in my favorite city, free of any obligations and with some money left over from my teaching salary, I had expected to be jubilant on this last day, roaming the city’s streets without a map, popping into tiny cafes and boutiques and daydreaming about the next time I would return. Instead, I found myself consumed with agitation and anxiety. I felt the need to run and escape, though I had no direction. An unpleasant incident had occurred the previous night, in which one of the teachers had made poor decisions that endangered a student, and although the situation had been resolved safely, my mind still swam with confusion, betrayal, anger, and disappointment that I had yet to process. So I stalked the streets distractedly until I realized where I needed to be, then made my way to one of two small islands situated in the Seine right near the city’s center and entered the cool cavernous sanctuary of Notre Dame.

I am not religious, and if I were, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be Catholic. Though I am only vaguely familiar with the faith – growing up, the little girl across the street always seemed to be wearing pretty dresses when she played in the driveway after church, from which I deduced that this must be one of the fancier denominations – I do know that organized religion is not, at this point in my life, something that appeals to me. Regardless, I felt a strong pull toward the cathedral.

I have made many visits before, each time falling more deeply in love with the stunning architecture, so I attributed the draw to this fondness and familiarity. I sat in a pew, thought hard and let my mind wander, focused on breathing and being.

***

This month, I am rotating in a partial hospital program, which is a treatment program for children who carry concurrent (and often connected) medical and psychiatric diagnoses. It is organized similarly to a school; the kids arrive and check in each morning, then return to their families for evenings and weekends. It can be very difficult, especially for kids suffering from anxiety, to always be around others and to participate in group activities and therapy. Thus, a child always has the option of “taking space.” This involves going to a separate room where he or she can remain - supervised by a staff member – until the feelings of anxiety or panic or being overwhelmed have subsided.

I’ve been thinking a lot about space and its importance in relation to different activities and even states of mind. I often get frustrated with myself for failing to integrate meditation into my life, until I look around my cute by small apartment and realize that there is no area where I would feel serene and calm (and not totally bizarre) sitting on my meditation cushion. In the living room with the TV towering over me? Nope. In the bedroom between the dresser and desk? Not so much. It’s the same reason that yoga performed on a mat spread out in front of the couch just isn’t as relaxing as that practiced in a studio with dimmed lights and soft music and a teacher and other students surrounding me. Different spaces have different distinct purposes and connotations, and while there is some overlap and fluidity, attempting to assign too many tasks to one particular space, or not having enough space in general, can be mentally and emotionally constricting. Which is probably why I am writing this in Tay’s large, bright, windowed apartment in Boston, where I only come to relax, and which feels vastly different from the spaces I use for studying and the tasks of everyday life.

When I look back, I have to laugh at myself because there have been many times in the past when I have fully - though subconsciously - appreciated the importance of space, such as when I chose to study for both steps of my board exam in Vermont. At the time I conceptualized the decision as "Vermont is a place where I am happy and not distracted," but I clearly needed to remove myself from my everyday milieu and the aura of stress that permeates the study areas at my school and even at my desk at home. I took space without even knowing that I was doing so.

In retrospect I understand that my pilgrimage to Notre Dame was not one of faith in religion but of faith in my need, although I didn’t explicitly understand it at the time, to take some space. I needed a peaceful, comforting place to hide out from the disappointments of world for a little while; to work out how I felt about what had transpired, to take a rest from the effort required to exist in the unpredictability of the the everyday, and to shore up my mental strength to re-emerge and face it again.