It feels like tears welling when I think too much and when I think too little. It feels like closing the door to keep it all, everything, out there and simultaneously yearning for someone to open the door, all the while knowing that if they do I don’t have the words to explain why I closed the door in the first place. It feels like being the outsider even though my name entitles me to this home, even though this home has felt to be just that for years before. It feels like a buzzing in my ears instead of the clear articulations spoken by the ones in front of me. What did you say again? It feels like trying to refocus again and again and again. It feels like forgotten prayers or even prayers that never come, like words that sit heavily on my eyelids, coaxing me to sleep, and then waking in the morning with hopes that God is a mind or dream-reader, surely he has known all along. It feels like going to bed too early and rising too late, with muscles that ache from the exercise I never got, with doughy guilt sitting in my gut expanding more and more. It feels like a silent house is yelling at me. It feels like Fear and Anxiety are my best friends, more loyal than I can comprehend. It feels like fingers crossed that I will not be noticed or addressed directly. It’s a discomfort that I want to describe to you, but as soon as my voice leaves my tongue, that sing-song speech well-practiced and fine-tuned, to meet your eyes, I know you have misunderstood. My depths are not your depths. I’ve confused you with my disguises so I leave it be again.
If money were no object, I would be nonstop on the move. (you too, right?) There is an uneasiness that lives deep within me, an ever-present itch to plan, move, travel, and see. It took mere days after our California adventure (enough sleep to overcome the redeye headed east and enough organized thought to throw our photos together in an album) for me to start the imaginative process again: what next? I would like to chop it up to wanderlust, to attribute this constant motion to a sundress on a sunny afternoon, carefree kind-of attitude. But most days it feels more like a fear of missing out, discontentment with the ordinary, oversized sense of pressure. This feeling that tells me if I’m not constantly pressing harder, working harder, trying harder, I must be failing. The one that tells me that back porch sitting is time poorly wasted, that nearby cafes and first-name-basis baristas are overrated, that walking to the neighborhood playground is mundane, that being born and raised and still anywhere is boring. Y’all, I am so wrong.
Today my husband text me I want to live everywhere, and I smiled because I know he said it for me. He said it because I have a heart bursting with dreams, driven by goals, yearning for simplicity while fighting off the enemy of wanting more. My prayers sound like a mind game. Please help me find contentment. Please help me to want to find contentment.
Weddings feel like goodbyes. Let me say from the beginning that I do not disapprove of weddings, for I am secretly one of the Emotional Ones, the ones who will feel all the feels, both joy and sorrow, while hiding my teary eyes with sunglasses and a smile. Though my natural pull may be more inclined to notice the sorrowful, weddings are certainly some of the most joy-filled days in our lives, and my heart is so grateful for what the covenant of marriage means. The sacrifice of self and the promise of overflowing love point us to the beautiful and bigger love of Jesus. And I will say it a million times over: that marriage, though challenging and soul-struggling at times, gives me a small glimpse into that beautiful and bigger love, that hope for eternity. My heart is full of gratitude for the opportunity to watch my brother take that leap of faith over the weekend. But even with so much goodness, weddings still feel like saying goodbye. Goodbye to yesterday, to the person you were. Goodbye to roommates and twin beds, to a family of five, four, three, or two; so long to simplicity of holiday scheduling. To an identity you’ve clung to or maybe despised. Maybe it’s goodbye to dreams that dissolved into greater desires. To putting your own self first. To the luxury of disregarding your own messes. It’s goodbye to two people who will surely come back different and changed, beneath the surface, in ways even they cannot be sure of just yet. Some goodbyes can be so enriching, so life changing, so good deep down. Weddings feel like goodbyes because the event marks another milestone, acts as a reminder of this trip of a lifetime continuing to carry us forward at what feels like light speed, into unknowns and new identities.
. . . . .
His bride was walking down the aisle, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I watched as he and our other brother stood at the altar, both with teary eyes, reminding me that being one of the Emotional Ones is more than okay, too worthy to say goodbye to.