the quest

“You can end your quest”, he said. “What quest?” I laughed as I asked. “The quest for external proof of your goodness,” he replied plainly.

As a small girl I looked out at the world, not through rose colored glasses, but through lenses of goodness. My world was shaped by the stark contrast of right and wrong, good and evil. I sought goodness – in myself, in others and in the world. This seeking was not a sometimes endeavor, an occasional interest – it was the basis of my forward movement in the world. It was my quest.

Looking up at my mother, I would question where she stood in this world of goodness. Who was she in her inner world, the world of thoughts and ideas? Was her world anything like mine? And each time I looked I would note that there was something about my mother that seemed quite straightforwardly – bad. She was mysterious in her adulthood. Clearly compromised – in that unavoidable way that being human for any length of time entails. My lack of years had left me with fewer mysteries, fewer occasions for losing integrity, giving up hope, or being led astray.

What was clear to me as I looked at my mother was that just as I was forming this judgment of her, she was judging me. Goodness seemed to lie outside of our reach – to exist only in the minds of others, a construct formed out of their sense of us. I believed this and I didn’t. Somewhere deep inside I believed that I was good, great in fact, amazing, exquisite, delightful. But the quest propelled me nonetheless – the quest to know what they thought, to please and impress them.

As I grew my seeking was only encouraged. Parents are always pleased when their children are liked by others. And since adulthood seems not to rid us of our combination of fear & awe in the face of authorities – parents especially like when their children are seen as good by teachers, pastors and community elders. And I was good. I sought, found and had my goodness confirmed by those around me.

Finding goodness with my peers was a whole different – and often vexing process. I wanted it, their liking, approval, validation – and yet goodness only sometimes intersected with these things. More often it resulted in the title of ‘goody two shoes’ which did not lend itself to what I sought. And even so I could not pull myself from my seeking. Even as my seeking pulled me away from my desire I sought goodness.

In adulthood my questing often replaced my judgment. I would unthinkingly move toward what seemed good. Boxed in by my need to be good, I wrote off whole parts of the world.

End my quest, I thought. What might that be like? My seeking had so long ago become a part of me that leaving it behind felt like shedding my skin. I laughed at his reference to my quest not because it was funny, but because considering it was so far outside of my reality that he may as well have suggested living underwater or learning to fly.

And yet in that moment I knew. My laughter, while inspired by disbelief, meant my seeking was already ending. I would give up my quest. My glasses of goodness discarded and my vision crisp and clear I would begin a very different journey.

-kmj