I love a good book. It's a real treat when I can lose myself in a book. But other times, I open the pages, begin to absorb the words, and instead of pulling me in, it's as though the mixer in my head gets switched on and instead of wrapping me in the words off the page, the words start swirling out of my own mind. Usually, I just let it swirl and run about. I extemporize fantastic speeches in my own mind when there is no way to capture it. You'll just have to trust me on this.
I'm an introvert, which means I can't quickly tell you what it is I'm thinking. It is a slow burn, this forming my pondering into words that can be offered, but sometimes I find them describing themselves through my fingers, on the keyboard, only discovering my own truth upon spelling it out. "Oh, so that's how I thought of that...", like explaining myself, to myself.
I'm pretty sure that matters not to anyone else.
I signed up for a writing course with a friend. I'm kind of not sure why we did that, but I'm looking forward to it. Looking forward to homework...that's saying something. I don't want to be stuck with only the ideas that float naturally in my head. I'm looking forward to someone else prodding me to write about whatever it is I will write about. I'll at least post more often, so that's good.
I'm struck by the input I find myself drawn to, the conversations I seek out and inhale. Equality, roles, writing, motherhood, community, family, adoption, fair trade, faith. If they were evenly spaced around a circle with spokes drawn across to all others, you'd find me at the hub. I hover in a balance of Meaningful Things and Daily Monotony, counting small victories in dishes washed, laundry actually put away, and fair trade chocolate as a treat, because that's how I take care of those within my reach, and even the workers who harvest that chocolate can be within my reach if I so choose. If I'm ever off kilter, it's probably because I am leaning too heavily on either the Big Meaning or the Daily. Making sure we have groceries bought and homework completed keeps me grounded. Making choices based on a global reality keeps me from egocentrism. My family and home matter. So do everyone else's. So I balance and try to be a good hub so the wheel spins around me and we keep moving forward. I'm a long way from a smooth ride.
I write little phrases and thoughts on small marker boards on my fridge. Just stuff to keep in mind, things that caught my eye online or ran through my head while I was peeling carrots. I erase it when it loses its potency. The Spirit sparks different ideas at different times. I figure it's like a craving. I find something that hits the spot, then move on to wait for the next urge to draw me toward something else. If the Spirit in me craves a bit of truth, I'll savor it when I find it.
I feel small in the world. Not small as in unimportant, useless, helpless. Just small as in minimal, forgettable, plain. I have my little piece and I'll manage as best I can, but there's a huge world out there and I am the tiniest of blips on that radar. Here's to us all taking responsibility for our blips. We can still light up the world, just not alone.
But Preston says we should all keep doing what we're doing, because there's a chance that I might be an inspiration to someone else. I might be someone's Sarah Bessey (high standard, much?). So I'll write another thought and send it out there because sometimes it's less about the packaging and more about it providing for the Spirit's craving in another soul. Others do the same daily for me; I'm a link in the chain.
I think maturity has less to do with figuring out what you know and more to do with figuring out what you don't. It's why older folk look back on teenagers and shake their heads. Acknowledging what you lack is a huge sign of just how much you have actually gained.
I think I'll write the line from Wreck-It Ralph on my board next, from his mantra: "I am bad, and that's good. I will never be good and that's not bad. There's no one I'd rather be than me." Can you honestly say that? I can on some days, not others. Not the good/bad part. The other part.
I like the phrase "comfortable in your own skin". I'd like to be that. But I think for me to be comfortable in my own skin, I'd have to stop thinking about the skin part and be comfortable in my own personality, my own sensitive heart, my own contentedness. I'm not a driven person; I'm satisfied with the ambition to keep my house managed well. Today's culture would tell me I'm weak for not wanting to steamroll toward a goal. I'm okay with that, too. Now if I could just get over the knee-jerk reaction to try and impress people. I'm solid in many areas, but unimpressive.
I told you this was about nothing, really. Just letting those swirling thoughts fly out into reality this time, setting the book aside and paying a little more attention to my words, giving a small glimpse into my head.
Deep thoughts, man. Deep thoughts.