A friend used to always say "uh oh"any time I began a sentence with these words: "Hey, you know, I was thinking. ..". The funny thing about this tonight is recognizing that this particular friend knew me well enough to know that my brain is constantly thinking. It occurred to me though that the only time I would put that into words was when my incessant thinking had transitioned to plotting and planning, and if I hadn't shared the thinking process prior to that point in time one would never be able to predict how that sentence would end, no matter how well they knew me.
So hey, I was thinking. ... I was thinking a lot. I was thinking about all the people in my life that are currently being lifed by life. I was thinking about the people that are carrying enormous burdens, whose hearts are weighed down. I was thinking about how busy people are in trying to resolve real life problems. I was thinking about how isolating that busyness can become. I was thinking about the people that remain in isolation by the assumption that other people are too busy doing their lives to be bothered. I was thinking about how many people are staring at their Facebook page to supplement their lack of social interaction. I was thinking about the big WHY question. Eventually all the thinking leads to conclusions.
So the why answers for everyone will always be different. Sometimes filtered with excuses, laziness, or blame. Sometimes actual truth. Sometimes believing things that aren't true. Sometimes we just don't know what the actual motives are. For me it's always a mixture of a lot of things and sometimes I don't know what's true about my motives until later. But when I can actually get to the answer of my own why, it clearly reveals my motives and my beliefs.
So I can choose to browse the internet or social media and see the things other people want other people to see. I can see the newest political or religious arguments and who stands where. I can see accomplishments and areas that show a persons strengths. I can see beliefs that people want to be known under. I can see some joy some anger some sadness. But what I can't see are the things no-one is wanting to shout from their rooftop. I can see briefly another person's pain and see their victories. But it clearly lacks the vulnerability of the mess in the middle. Very few people openly discussing the sometimes long and drawn out places of suffering in the in between part. The vast majority of exposure to this creates a false sense that other people have life figured out. That the neat presentation of the beginning and end leads to conclusions that no one exists in the messy middle places. If they do briefly visit that place, that they know the great mystery of how to fix it and clean it up to presentable with the nicest neatest comma in a sentence. But when I step out of the land of illusion, I see people. I see many people struggling in their life's particular messy place longing for this nice neat comma that everyone else seems to know how to use except them. But I'm coming to understand that isn't true at all.
This pretend world of what we feel is presentable continues to reinforce that anyone who can't implement the fine art of utilizing the proper punctuation in a nice neat way, is alone. Stuck in a time out of isolation until they learn their lesson of presentable sentence structure. To only speak of the positive end result of what was gained in the brief pause the size of the comma of their pain. If you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all.
No-one shouts their insecurities though they may shout in anger. No-one proclaims from a stage that they cry themselves to sleep. No-one writes of the fears that consume them with anxiety. No-one talks about the long dark nights. No-one acknowledges being lonely in a crowd of people. No-one sings a song without hope.
These are real people who cannot use there voice to announce "I don't have life figured out right now." "I don't even have a game plan toward figuring it out." "I have no idea what the problem is so I cannot move toward the solution."
So all I'm really saying after all this thinking is that my comma isn't nice and neat. Some long days become long weeks and some long weeks become long months. And sometimes it feels like the messy middle part has no end, whether that is true or not doesn't even matter sometimes. Sometimes in the midst of a pain that is taking forever to stop, I don't think I have anything worth saying. When it isn't nice, when it isn't joyous, sometimes the greatest thing I actually do have to offer in the midst of that season is simply this: me too
So hey, I was thinking. ... I was thinking a lot. I was thinking about all the people in my life that are currently being lifed by life. I was thinking about the people that are carrying enormous burdens, whose hearts are weighed down. I was thinking about how busy people are in trying to resolve real life problems. I was thinking about how isolating that busyness can become. I was thinking about the people that remain in isolation by the assumption that other people are too busy doing their lives to be bothered. I was thinking about how many people are staring at their Facebook page to supplement their lack of social interaction. I was thinking about the big WHY question. Eventually all the thinking leads to conclusions.
So the why answers for everyone will always be different. Sometimes filtered with excuses, laziness, or blame. Sometimes actual truth. Sometimes believing things that aren't true. Sometimes we just don't know what the actual motives are. For me it's always a mixture of a lot of things and sometimes I don't know what's true about my motives until later. But when I can actually get to the answer of my own why, it clearly reveals my motives and my beliefs.
So I can choose to browse the internet or social media and see the things other people want other people to see. I can see the newest political or religious arguments and who stands where. I can see accomplishments and areas that show a persons strengths. I can see beliefs that people want to be known under. I can see some joy some anger some sadness. But what I can't see are the things no-one is wanting to shout from their rooftop. I can see briefly another person's pain and see their victories. But it clearly lacks the vulnerability of the mess in the middle. Very few people openly discussing the sometimes long and drawn out places of suffering in the in between part. The vast majority of exposure to this creates a false sense that other people have life figured out. That the neat presentation of the beginning and end leads to conclusions that no one exists in the messy middle places. If they do briefly visit that place, that they know the great mystery of how to fix it and clean it up to presentable with the nicest neatest comma in a sentence. But when I step out of the land of illusion, I see people. I see many people struggling in their life's particular messy place longing for this nice neat comma that everyone else seems to know how to use except them. But I'm coming to understand that isn't true at all.
This pretend world of what we feel is presentable continues to reinforce that anyone who can't implement the fine art of utilizing the proper punctuation in a nice neat way, is alone. Stuck in a time out of isolation until they learn their lesson of presentable sentence structure. To only speak of the positive end result of what was gained in the brief pause the size of the comma of their pain. If you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all.
No-one shouts their insecurities though they may shout in anger. No-one proclaims from a stage that they cry themselves to sleep. No-one writes of the fears that consume them with anxiety. No-one talks about the long dark nights. No-one acknowledges being lonely in a crowd of people. No-one sings a song without hope.
These are real people who cannot use there voice to announce "I don't have life figured out right now." "I don't even have a game plan toward figuring it out." "I have no idea what the problem is so I cannot move toward the solution."
So all I'm really saying after all this thinking is that my comma isn't nice and neat. Some long days become long weeks and some long weeks become long months. And sometimes it feels like the messy middle part has no end, whether that is true or not doesn't even matter sometimes. Sometimes in the midst of a pain that is taking forever to stop, I don't think I have anything worth saying. When it isn't nice, when it isn't joyous, sometimes the greatest thing I actually do have to offer in the midst of that season is simply this: me too