Crazy, tragic, and sometimes almost magic.
I haven't written in a while. No stories, no blog posts, not even any creative ideas for ten-minute plays that will never come to be. Most people would think that writer's block stems from not knowing what to write...which is accurate, or not having anything to write about....which, in my case, is not accurate. The case is not that I have nothing to write about, it is that I have too much to write about.
I am trying to learn that even the parts of life that I become impatient with end up being part of the beautiful journey that is my existence.
You see, as I have probably written before, patience is not something God blessed me with an abundance of. And, now more than ever probably, I have been reminded of the exact thing. That my timing for things is not always necessarily the best timing, and that just because I am ready for something does not mean everyone involved is or that it is the right time for it to happen. However, sometimes being ready for something that you are unsure of when it will actually occur is, in a word, somewhat torturous.
I find myself fantasizing of white picket fences and a shared farm with the family brand on the fence. A southwestern-decorated home, redecorated to feature more masculine decorations. This is only amplified by a constant questioning by those around me of when it is actually going to happen. Sometimes, I uncleverly push the blame off on someone else, which is possibly unfair but it momentarily seems to tame the beastly line of questions. Then, as if that wasn't enough, I am reminded that there are so many happy unions out there that did not take as long to "make it official" as mine has taken so far. Or that we are somehow standing on a ticking clock face that will eventually run out of battery. Or that I have somehow reached past the age where all the important decisions should have been made and all the great things should have been done. I have heard before that God will not give us anything we cannot handle, but God also have me an inheritance of a saturation point and a sarcastic mouth from both sides of my family, so I think he might understand if I launch into a three-point sermon the next time someone asks me "what the holdup" is.
I have also learned there are things in my life that I will not have an answer for. I know, it took me 28 years to get there, but I am slowly starting to realize and come to grips with the fact that there are certain things that I just will not figure out within my lifetime. There are times I feel things, think things, or say things, for no reason or pretense. I am sure that my psychology friends could come up with some kind of deep darkness within my psyche to make me question my entire existence, but I think I will skip the existential crisis for now. I will save that for 2 a.m. on a night I can't sleep. There will be unexplained things in my life...it seems to be an unfortunate side effect of being human. It drives my journalistic spidey senses insane.
There is so much more I could write about, and that is the problem. In the realm of have too much inspiration, I lack inspiration. Lately has been a whirlwind of trying to fit things in, get enough sleep, and throw myself together in a halfway decent fashion every day for the critical eye of colleagues and judgmental teenagers. It has been a tornado of celebrations, grading papers, and trying to find the perfect time to put up a Christmas tree. Thus is this awful beautiful love-hate everyday struggle that we call adulting.
I am trying to learn that even the parts of life that I become impatient with end up being part of the beautiful journey that is my existence.
You see, as I have probably written before, patience is not something God blessed me with an abundance of. And, now more than ever probably, I have been reminded of the exact thing. That my timing for things is not always necessarily the best timing, and that just because I am ready for something does not mean everyone involved is or that it is the right time for it to happen. However, sometimes being ready for something that you are unsure of when it will actually occur is, in a word, somewhat torturous.
I find myself fantasizing of white picket fences and a shared farm with the family brand on the fence. A southwestern-decorated home, redecorated to feature more masculine decorations. This is only amplified by a constant questioning by those around me of when it is actually going to happen. Sometimes, I uncleverly push the blame off on someone else, which is possibly unfair but it momentarily seems to tame the beastly line of questions. Then, as if that wasn't enough, I am reminded that there are so many happy unions out there that did not take as long to "make it official" as mine has taken so far. Or that we are somehow standing on a ticking clock face that will eventually run out of battery. Or that I have somehow reached past the age where all the important decisions should have been made and all the great things should have been done. I have heard before that God will not give us anything we cannot handle, but God also have me an inheritance of a saturation point and a sarcastic mouth from both sides of my family, so I think he might understand if I launch into a three-point sermon the next time someone asks me "what the holdup" is.
I have also learned there are things in my life that I will not have an answer for. I know, it took me 28 years to get there, but I am slowly starting to realize and come to grips with the fact that there are certain things that I just will not figure out within my lifetime. There are times I feel things, think things, or say things, for no reason or pretense. I am sure that my psychology friends could come up with some kind of deep darkness within my psyche to make me question my entire existence, but I think I will skip the existential crisis for now. I will save that for 2 a.m. on a night I can't sleep. There will be unexplained things in my life...it seems to be an unfortunate side effect of being human. It drives my journalistic spidey senses insane.
There is so much more I could write about, and that is the problem. In the realm of have too much inspiration, I lack inspiration. Lately has been a whirlwind of trying to fit things in, get enough sleep, and throw myself together in a halfway decent fashion every day for the critical eye of colleagues and judgmental teenagers. It has been a tornado of celebrations, grading papers, and trying to find the perfect time to put up a Christmas tree. Thus is this awful beautiful love-hate everyday struggle that we call adulting.
