And a lot does change in a handful of weeks. It’s so funny to me the great lengths we use to ask time to evaluate our lives for us and place value on celebrations, meetings, or planned spontaneity that we don’t uniquely value ourselves. We ask things like Google Calendar, the home screen on our iPhones and the right hand corners of our digital desktops to make sense of our lives, and we think that we can evaluate the love that we have or should feel based on whether we’ve checked our phone enough times to equal a certain hour marker.
You guys I’m tired. I’m tired because my love isn’t measured in minutes or miles, and I work so very hard to reaffirm that every day. I have to un-train myself to just sit and be satisfied with exactly what now is, and it has been such a blessing. But still, the human dark side in me just longs for a time when it will be less complicated, easier, and with fewer worries. I wish that I could be a better friend. I wish that I could keep up with my family better. I wish that more often, other people didn’t see the things I love as selfish, versus help me find ways to care for them like I want to (but have somewhat constructive limitations over). I wish that knew how to convince them with fewer words that I care and that I am still here (for coffee chats, for editing papers, for sitting up and watching stupid movies, for just sitting without even talking and knowing that we don’t need to). I am busy, but I love being busier because I learn so much moving than I do sitting still. I am easily amused, but the part of me that get’s bored is fed by change, contradictions, and fun surprises and I am not myself sitting still. I wish it were simpler. I wish it didn’t require sixth year dark arts training in the art of Google Calendar (my one true love), and an apprenticeship in tough decisions and the unfortunate art of priorities.
But most of all I wish that all of these things weren’t negative. I wish that I didn’t run into so much subconscious resentment when I asked “why” (at least, maybe not quite as often). “Why” means the ability to make things better, it isn’t a curse word and it isn’t an impulse. It’s the deep seated root of curiosity that makes us trip over ourselves trying to slow down quick enough to not smash into the burgeoning tidal wave of change rippling through our carefully maintained institutions and plaster structures. Like children at recess, we are protective until tears of our little square cubbies and the coloring books and markers we keep inside them, except we forget that the cubbies are a means to an end and nothing more. We possess what we want to possess, and abandoning the idea that possession is the goal, we no longer know how to function. In all of the dystopian novels I’ve read in my time (my favorite genre), nothing scares me more than the concept of recognition of the aliens living among us. It’s like the Twilight Zone, but what they never tell you about the Matrix is that regardless of red or blue pill, you can’t escape it, you’re just in a different reality. Do we value our comfort because we value what we have built with it, or do we value what we have constructed in order to value our comfort more? Both.
What I want more in the world is to be near more dreamers. I need no more friends, I just want the friends that I have to accept my questions and feel welcome to ask their own. I don’t want to be divergent, but I am, and while it’s glorious, sharing is my joy. I want to live in a world where my questions are silenced by the splendor of everyone elses’ inquiries, in which I am put to shame by the simplicity of my thoughts and yet, still encouraged to grow them. If my thoughts are my garden and my words are my fortune, then let me spend my fortune on the various lilies and roses and black eyed susans that will live in my garden eternally, and abandon the need to focus on making sure it grows within the chickenwire placed around it. Let it spill out and into the grass and reclaim the yard for it’s own because flourishing was always on track to happen and the thought of not flourishing was never even a concern. I want to be like a flower, ask any of my friends, they will tell you so. If Thumbelina didn’t have such a bad run in with racist tropes in frogs and a controlling fairy prince/royal family, I bet you five dollars she’d be my favorite Disney princess. Alas, Cinderella is too well versed in the highs and lows of the human condition to relinquish her crown, and I am better for it.
You guys I’ve rambled for too long and I need sleep so that is what I will be doing. I hope that tomorrow is productive, and if not, there’s always plenty of words to spend growing my garden. Goodnight.