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I realized for the first time yesterday that this doesn’t
feel like home.
When I read stories about people and how they describe the
place they live, I am always struck by how content they sound—you know, happy
to travel to work via the all-too-familiar road day after day, or describing
with tender love the places that make their hearts always return to. But that’s not how I feel about my home…for
some reason, it barely feels like home at all.
I’ve always wanted to explore. As a kid in middle school, I would lay out on
the hammock during lunch hour with a book and a sandwich, grab a stick to use
as an oar, and rock myself back and forth pretending I was gliding down the
river in some beautiful European forest.
The sun would filter through the trees and carry me away with my
imagination and returning to my studies an hour later was the heaviest cross I could
have borne.
I lived for summer road trips. I loved the snacks and books and cramped legs
because it meant that when I would step out of the car hours later, I would
breathe in the humid, fragrant air of another place. Nothing compared to the awe-filled mystery of
visiting someone else’s normal. Hotel swimming
pools were the waters of Greek mythology and horse-grazed meadows were the
fields of Narnia to me.
I covet routine, yet I almost always find it suffocating
once it comes. Why? It’s like the more deeply I wear a rut in the
dirt, the more toxic the air becomes and I begin feel the overpowering need to
escape. Every time my dad mentions how
much he loves his city, this uncomfortable feeling fills my gut. It’s his
city, not mine. I didn’t choose this
one, and as fond as I am of it, I’ve never been able to escape. Not like I haven’t tried. Everyone else seems like they just choose a
place they want to go and they’re there, for school or ministry or just
straight up adventuring. But here I am,
still at the same job I was at when I graduated high school, and restlessly
trying to get through school at a great and affordable place nearby, but where I
don’t fit in even a little bit.
Maybe money is holding me back. Maybe I’ve limited myself because I refuse to
go into debt and I don’t want to live off of the support of benefactors for the
sake of being a missionary. My life
makes sense in theory right now, but I can’t remember the last time I felt
completely content and at home. I feel
like a parasite living off of the contentment of those closest to me, but
feeling as though my own vision and dreams have no room to fly. The plane keeps getting stuck at the end of
the runway, forced to taxi back to the starting line and try again.
This could be a good thing.
This could mean that the slingshot is just getting pulled further and
further back, and when the great Hand finally lets it go I’ll be soaring
farther than I could ever imagine, and the dreams trapped inside will come to blinding,
vivid, exhilarating life. But the
big w h a t i f is:
what if it’s not good? Too many people get
to their thirties and realize they should have just jumped off the diving board
instead of playing it safe. Am I playing
it safe or just playing it wise?
Because conversely, some of the most successful people never
did what they’re famous for until they were in the second half of their lives. They simply needed more time and experience;
rushing the process would have been self sabotage.
I don’t know. I’m not
looking for instant gratification, even if it seems like that. I’m okay with waiting as long as it takes,
just as long as the monotony I feel now isn’t really monotony, but is in fact
the slingshot being pulled backwards with purpose.
There is so much world to see and I am determined to see as
much of it as is humanly possible. I
want to live on the edge, out of the box.
I always want to look back on December 31st and say I lived
well this year. Heck, I always want to
look back at 11:59 pm and say I lived well today. I want to be brave enough to accept the
mundane with grace and joy and creativity if that is what is required of me. Perhaps living well is not having lots of
great moments handed to you, but rather making every moment great.
