Fleeting thoughts to go to sleep with

Sitting here and it’s late, thinking about next year and having an existential moment.

If I get a job somewhere outside my hometown (probably necessary and I’d rather) and move away, I wonder how many bonds of friendship would break. Like a tangled head of head being ripped through by a hairbrush or a crumpled ball of trash, our social networks break so easily. I could throw just one tiny stone through the distance and knock out a lot of what was. In a way, I already have.

No one tells you that one of the bizarre things about getting older is being okay having fewer friends. You get to this point where you are more okay with you and hopefully, more okay with God where you just need less. It’s a place of comfort. Years can pass you by in this comfy, chill sorta place. You relax. You can let yourself go. But it’s still no where close to the frantic and haphazard start to adulthood you’ve finally phased out of. You’ve just sort of moved on.

I have fewer really good friends, and if you ask me, that is a result of understanding how much friendship is really worth and what actually makes a good friend. The years and silly time passing that goes into it. I have good friends, but many have passed away. They outgrew their season. And actually, I’m okay with that.

My friends I don’t see all that often. Sometimes, but still here and there. I have a lot of pretty good friends in pretty common places. A lot of people I wish I kept better touch with. A lot of people that hurt to forget but who I don’t necessarily want to talk to. Distance. Time. So many different forms of miles. I have changed so much as a result of being more transparent. The cats out of the bag, and it’s weird to think of a reality that is shockingly close, in which I’m used to it. Like ripping petals off a daisy, I can imagine what it would take to see the next layer of honesty shed, but it doesn’t scary. I walk into it, and then it exists. Another day and we’re on to other petals. Whether my life is passing before my eyes here or somewhere elsewhere is all gravy to me.

What do you do for the young who feel old? Few people listen to us. Maybe when I get externally old, I’ll write children’s books and celebrate all that once was and will repeat in endless cycles until it all does end. Will I feel this stoic once my kids are grown? Once I get married? That is coming, y’all. Sooner, later. What if I’m right about what I want? What if I just walk into it?

I thought a lot about the difference between boys who are just boys and men today. A man seems secure and has his own manner of confidence. So many boys, even with good intentions, simply eager to please and trying to find their way in the world. I could imagine ending up with a guy a few years older than me. Who knows, you know? There is something attractive about boldness and security in oneself and having an idea of what one wants from life, but that doesn’t necessarily follow from life. It follows from faith. One day we will live long enough to see more young men invest in that. Who knows.

I started college, and I made my skills increasingly and yet more increasingly general. Little bits of everything, rubbed casually under my wrists and temples. And I wonder, a year from college, if teaching won’t make me even more general. I get certified and can teach English wherever, my friends. I move right along, and stumble into bigger and bigger “general”. Some day I’ll invest in active ministry. It’s still not the time for that.

Everything becomes more general, and it looks progressively higher. The top down big picture I was born with may meet reality midair; stay tuned. Like a diamond formation.

It feels weird to feel so old, and realize I need to enjoy my senior year, and realize I need to take care of my health, and realize it will be years before a lot of others come around. It feels really,  really weird. I don’t understand it. My brain just mulls it. It mulls all these thoughts into mush. And it’s weird to realize the mush becomes a framework of it’s own, you’re just using words to explain how you see the world. It feels weird but oddly necessary. Not sure why it’s here. It’s never gone away.

Sometimes if you use your words to vomit up the mush, people think you must know what you are talking about. I dont, though. I know how to craft an excellent sounding plan. What actually happens is anyone’s business. The exercise of rifling through the mush is enriching. You never know what you’re going to get. But if I may be frank, our lives are so freaking short that nothing really matters except finding true peace while we’re here, the kind that only comes from the true path leading to God, in Christ. Our lives are like eraser treads on an otherwise clean sheet of paper. I don’t know what’s coming next.

If you want a plan that you may or may not be sticking to, I’m you’re gal. I can also make you an origami box, if you’re asking. We ditch so many versions of ourselves, making room for what’s next. The eternal garage sale of the soul. It’s probably good to love someone you can evolve with, because it will be like a pair of illfitting shoes if you don’t. Why do we make such a shrine of college? We can learn or grow or binge drink or cry in public anywhere. Why should those things be limited to the University?

What if the best life any of us have to live isn’t as meaningful as we think it should be, but is just mostly happy? What if no one who reads this or me or the people I love become rich, successful, or famous? What if we lead happily average lives until the days we die, faith or not? I would still pick Jesus, but what if it turned out exactly the same for someone who doesn’t here on earth as for me? It’s faith still “worth it”?

It’s a funny question, that starts and ends with, “of course it is.” By definition, faith says yes, on the assumption that yes in and of itself of the right choice. That the truth would follow. No impetus to prove things. The desire to try and watch what happens. Faith is almost like the essence of saying the first thing that comes to you’re mind on a fast round of jeopardy. But I really don’t think it’s always about coming up with the right answer. I think it has more to do with saying “yes”.


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I am a second-grade teacher and pastor-to-be who loves people. I spend my weekends with friends or wandering the museums of DC alone and with a journal, trying to put words on the places of the soul that still feel wordless. I spent most of my days at school trying to learn patience through my students and running on sheer nerdy passion. I follow Jesus Christ, and savor that as my most important identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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