The idea of being still sounds really wonderful.
But then I get antsy.
When I haven’t written in awhile, I feel troubled. When I haven’t traveled in awhile, I feel tense.
I write about contentment only for it to escape me. Just when I think I’m living in the moment, my mind wanders to three years in the future; my nerves twitch. Where will I be? Am I doing what I need to be doing now? I have no idea.
I spend quite a bit of time talking with my high school students about the unknown. Turns out I’m just as anxious in some ways as they are.
My rational mind says, “You’re okay pal. You’re not supposed to know, remember?” But my curiosity shakes its fist in the air and says, “But why can’t I just have a hint?!” Some days are as black and blue as a bruise. Some leave me weeping in my car over a precious exchange of words. Some days are so sweet they dissolve into the past instantaneously, cotton candy memories.
So I write and I ramble because I’m really just as lost and confused as anyone else. I find old napkins with half scribbled poems, notes in my phone that make no sense, as though I’m trying to give myself a breadcrumb trail without knowing the final x on the map.
I borrow words from others who are searching; I connect with people who listen to the shifting of the world. I seek out the people adventuring in mind and body for something they can’t name. I do my best to love people as we all chase our moving targets.
So wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, it is enough. Let your unknowing be your knowing, and know you are always enough.
But then I get antsy.
When I haven’t written in awhile, I feel troubled. When I haven’t traveled in awhile, I feel tense.
I write about contentment only for it to escape me. Just when I think I’m living in the moment, my mind wanders to three years in the future; my nerves twitch. Where will I be? Am I doing what I need to be doing now? I have no idea.
I spend quite a bit of time talking with my high school students about the unknown. Turns out I’m just as anxious in some ways as they are.
My rational mind says, “You’re okay pal. You’re not supposed to know, remember?” But my curiosity shakes its fist in the air and says, “But why can’t I just have a hint?!” Some days are as black and blue as a bruise. Some leave me weeping in my car over a precious exchange of words. Some days are so sweet they dissolve into the past instantaneously, cotton candy memories.
So I write and I ramble because I’m really just as lost and confused as anyone else. I find old napkins with half scribbled poems, notes in my phone that make no sense, as though I’m trying to give myself a breadcrumb trail without knowing the final x on the map.
I borrow words from others who are searching; I connect with people who listen to the shifting of the world. I seek out the people adventuring in mind and body for something they can’t name. I do my best to love people as we all chase our moving targets.
So wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, it is enough. Let your unknowing be your knowing, and know you are always enough.