Perhaps one benefit to being on the bus so often is that it’s given me time to be in my own mind again. (It’s simultaneously one of the evils of such a long commute, but I won’t talk about that.) I had barely left home this morning when I was already thinking pretty deeply, reminiscing about two years ago… and thinking about Kierkegaard. I know I just blogged about him, but that might be why I made a connection to him this morning.

Kierkegaard expresses this admiration of Abraham because of the faith Abraham has, which Kierkegaard says is beyond understanding. During my second reading of Fear and Trembling, I thought that Abraham and his faith were paradoxical, incomprehensible, just as Kierkegaard says it is. Could I imagine giving up my son–who was promised to me after years of being denied him–and even delivering the blow myself, for the sake of faith in God? No. I couldn’t. Not that I had a particular yearning to imagine, let alone know, this feeling of Ultimate Faith.

However, I figure that love is a kind of faith, especially loving again. I wouldn’t change anything of early-middle teens, no matter how ugly it was (in retrospect). After all, I’ve come to realize that I was in my early middle teens and not nearly as wise as I deluded myself to think that I was (and I’m sure the trend continues into my late teens), but I haven’t forgotten that everything I felt and experienced was very real and very valid. I’m far enough away from my first boyfriend (emotionally, temporally, and–thank goodness–spatially) to almost think, “God, Jia, you were so petty, you were immature, you were so ridiculous”, but I don’t want to give my younger self that condescension. I was fifteen, sixteen. (And I also recognize that I have to give that same concession to him. So, you know, if by some chance you’re reading this, this is a kind of forgiveness–not that I want you back in my life, because hindsight does wonders for a person.)

I remember feeling so angry, so frustrated, and so confused. How could you promise someone certain things and then cheat on them? Is that not in the back of your mind? What outcome did he see from what he was doing? Could he even see an outcome? If not, how does anyone live like that? So without aim, without conscience?

These are questions I still haven’t answered. (“He’s an asshole” is the limited conclusion I have arrived at, and I’m completely fine with it.) I wrote down once that no one could ever promise me what I wanted them to promise me. At the time, I felt like those kinds of promises were meaningless. Nobody knew how they would feel about commitments until they were at the middle or end of “the long run”. I remember being terrified of that prospect. I’ve always been a scheduler, a planner, and the idea that I could not be able to trust a person to stay in my long-term plan was so frustrating.

And yet, here I am, having faith in the long term, and it doesn’t scare me like it did at the time. Despite everything I said nearly two years ago now, I’m not afraid of being committed. I don’t think I could be, to be honest. It’s just in my wiring to want and have a partner like Nathan. I was so sure, even when Nate and I were first getting to know each other, that I wouldn’t want to stay with him for a few months, let alone for a full year… but this is my faith, and I am happy in this infinite resignation and this inexplicable faith. Being with Nathan is my incomprehensible faith. How could I believe in the long term? I don’t know, really, but I don’t think Abraham knew either. Even if he did know, Kierkegaard makes the claim that he couldn’t explain to anyone his faith, and that that is what makes it faith. And I think I can understand that now, on a personal level.