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writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/beats/01-agenda.html

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 <p>I don&rsquo;t remember quite how I came to the decision to share, but I suppose I must have weighed my options and figured it might be worth it to bring the memory into the conversation. Perhaps I thought it would be a piton of shared experience on which to hang some form of guide rope for him.</p>
 <p>I leaned back in the chair and adopted what I imagined was a thoughtful expression. &ldquo;You know, back before I decided to go into social work, I went to school in order to become a priest. Catholic priests generally get their masters in divinity, which includes a ton of theology &mdash; something I really loved &mdash; and psychology, but also the practical aspects of ministry. I was great at the first two, but the third, well&hellip;&rdquo; I trailed off and gestured at myself.</p>
 <p>The wolf cocked his head.</p>
-<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s difficult to be balance being the leader of a congregation with being an awkward mess in social situations.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s difficult to balance being the leader of a congregation with being an awkward mess in social situations.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>He laughed. &ldquo;Okay, yeah, I can see that.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>&ldquo;So, they were nice about it, and we weighed our options,&rdquo; I continued. &ldquo;One option was for me to switch from an MDiv degree to getting a degree in theology, which would be all that intellectual research and navel-gazing that I loved without the pastoral care I was simply not cut out for.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>&ldquo;But you didn&rsquo;t,&rdquo; he hazarded, gesturing at my degree on the wall. <em>Master of Social Work, Univerity of Idaho, Sawtooth.</em></p>
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writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/beats/02-meet-cute.html

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                 <p>I have noticed over the years that we tend to put benches in the strangest of places. I noticed this at Saint John&rsquo;s, those years ago back in Minnesota. The placement of benches ought to be deliberate. There ought to be some sort of goal in putting them where we do. A bench placed in a park with a careful view across the grass, through the trees, down the street would be ideal. You could look at the kits playing in the grass, the trees moving in the breeze, down the bustling street. Instead, we place them facing buildings along sidewalks.</p>
 <p>Or, here at work, we place them facing a parking lot. I know, of course, that this bench is here because it is intended to be a place to wait for someone to come pick you up in our car-ridden town. I <em>know</em> this, and yet this bench feels so fantastically pointless. There is one in front of short-term and handicap parking which feels far more apt a place for such a thing, but no, perhaps that was not enough: this one is along the side of the building, facing that overflow portion of the lot that on some days sees no use at all.</p>
 <p>There is this occasional fad among certain groups on the Internet, I&rsquo;ve been told, of seeking out so-called liminal spaces. I think that the term is ill-fitting. Liminality has a very specific meaning. I do not think that many of the places described as &ldquo;liminal&rdquo; that show up on social media and forums on the &lsquo;net are liminal so much as abandoned and vaguely spooky. They are not a place between, they are not a place one transits, not a border. They are simply poorly lit or forgotten.</p>
-<p>The important thing about liminality, though, is not that a place be forgotten and certainly that it not be in any way scary, but that it should slip and slide beneath your interest. Liminality requires some form of passing through, It needs to be a border that you cross or a place that you enter for the sole purpose of exiting. Abandoned shopping malls are not liminal. A barn, canted awkwardly to the side with age, standing alone in a field is not liminal.</p>
+<p>The important thing about liminality, though, is not that a place be forgotten and certainly not that it be in any way scary, but that it should slip and slide beneath your interest. Liminality requires some form of passing through, It needs to be a border that you cross or a place that you enter for the sole purpose of exiting. Abandoned shopping malls are not liminal. A barn, canted awkwardly to the side with age, standing alone in a field is not liminal.</p>
 <p>A parking lot is liminal. An airport is liminal. A drive-thru is liminal. These are the spaces that exist only to be traversed. They are the spaces where, should you get stuck in them, you will be struck by the unnerving quality of the experience. They are not places that you visit. They are places that, should you visit &mdash; really, intentionally visit &mdash; you will feel unwelcome because they resist the very idea of doing so. They push back at you, in some intangible way, and say: &ldquo;You are not meant to be here.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>I am stalling.</p>
 <p>It&rsquo;s perhaps a little strange that I seem to get the most out of journaling during my lunch breaks. To me, it feels as though I ought to be doing something so personal and introspective back at home, rather than sitting out on that awkwardly-placed bench in front of the office in that liminal parking lot, but there is something about the discomfort of that place combined with me already being in the therapeutic mindset that makes this the ideal situation.</p>
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