Tangled up in the mess of trying to find where I am and trying to get to where I want to be. Can I not be both? Can I not be who and where I am, and at the same time on the journey to who and where I want to be and become? Is not life too short to wait and become something later? Is not the day’s light almost gone? How can I wait until I’m ‘ready’ to go enjoy the sun?
I’m tired of being pressured to leave a legacy. I want to enjoy my journey now. But I’m afraid that is asking too much. I watch the people around me, I watch the pace and hear the words, and I find a gap between what is said and what happens.
I’m told beliefs mean nothing. Creeds that are ancient and abandoned on paper–meaningless. Stagnant attempts to explain the untouchable, a futile grasp to understand the intimacy of dirt and worms and water and air.
Action, this is where meaning is found. We do, and we reflect on what was done. We act, and ponder the meaning behind our actions. We engage, and find inspiration bubbling up from within.
No longer do we hold up a banner of beliefs and try to make sure our actions measure up.
The morning only comes once. I will either engage the sun, soak in its hope and light.
Or, I won’t.
I want to be that person that wakes up early enough to watch the world wake up. I want to be the person who can find hope in little things, find beauty in ugly, forgotten things, and point toward a different way of life.
But I am tangled between who I am and who I want to be. I am caught between where I am and where I want to be. I have been ripped and torn, but it is not a clean wound. I am splintered and separated, trying to hold my pieces together.
But I am told to give myself away, not to keep and store up for myself. I am told to be generous with what I have been given.
But I find myself wondering, searching from which part I can give, when I do not even know where I am…
Can I be both–who I am now, and walking into who I want to become? Or does it need to happen all at once, is there room for transition, or is it immediate?
So for now, I am tangled, within myself. I am wrapped up in my own world, trying to unravel the mystery inside.
I’m sorry if I ask you to unravel my mess, I don’t mean to. It’s just hard. But this isn’t yours to fix. And–I’m sorry if I presume to understand how to unravel yours. We are tangled in different chords, pinched with different splinters.
But perhaps, we could sit together, and pick a part piece by piece of thread? Perhaps, we could sit together and explore our splinters, see from where they come, and if there is a better place for them–than our bruised hands?
Would you sit with me?
The mystery seems much more bearable with someone else beside me. I’ll save you a seat, because I’d like it very much if I didn’t have to be alone.