Ah. Back to the days of words that define and make sense of what life cannot explain of its own accord. Away from hiding in my own head, thoughts churning and growing and gnawing until they become an existence unto themselves. I have missed this.
I work now. I'm full-time for the first time since I started school, and I am honestly loving it. I was unsure as to what my own self's reaction would be once I started; my personal will is occasionally thwarted by my inner self's more prominent tastes and desires. Much to my surprise, there was no revolt and I am happily employed. It's amazing to find myself leaving work with a twinge of regret, but also with excitement to come back the next day. I haven't felt that way about a job in a very long time.
I have more health junk happening. It's like it never really ends to be honest. It feels like I'm being a downer, but in reality I am just trying to be as accurate about the Right Now as possible. Unfortunately dirt makes up a big enough portion to demand an audience, even if only of one.
I have a love with a man that is deeper than all the rest. Plumbing this ocean's depths shows me the futility of a snorkel in a kiddie pool. There are sharks and yucky seaweeds and sometimes the salt water goes up my nose, but the thrill I get down there is second to none. The beauty of breaking the surface at dawn and the candid joy of discovery at each stroke makes every wave-battered bruise worth it. I love him beyond the deep.
I read trash novels (i.e. the Left Behind series), drink boring teas, wear ugly sweaters with gusto, forget constantly how to apply make-up (though I am getting dangerously close to perfecting the smokey eye), forget the most important words in my sentences as a matter of habit, forget to eat lunch because I am caught up in my work (which I never understood in others and understand even less in myself), watch shows that embarrass my boyfriend but make me feel less alone in the world, correct run-on sentences for a living yet use them like I use my air, and forget on a regular basis why I am here at all.
Tomorrow is new. Tomorrow is useful to learn why.
I love the ocean. There is nothing like the smell, the taste, the breeze that can only come off of thousands of miles of open water. The sand has that feel of being touched by sea, whether it's white powder in Cancun or beige sand in Santa Cruz or gritty grey in White Rock. It all feels the same on my toes. But the one thing all ocean beaches have in common, storm or calm, are the waves.
Life generally comes in waves; ups and downs, risings and fallings, hard times and the most wonderful times come one following the other. Tides come high and low, but they never falter. Waves are constant.
My life is not waves. When I think waves, I think little shpsh's to great white breakers and everything in between. My ups and downs tend to follow more of a hurricane versus frozen-over/only-slight-undercurrents-beneath-the-solid-ice ends of the spectrum. I rarely see an in between.
I am in a hurricane. The old adage that says when it rains, it pours...truth. It never stops. One thing after another after another after another. It's like getting caught in a strong current or a sudden volley of giant waves with no room to breathe in between. Just when I think it's safe to inhale, another wave smothers me and only stinging water enters my lungs. I haven't been able to breathe in a long time.
Today was another tsunami. A BIG one. I mean, yes tsunamis tend to be viewed as pretty huge, but this one was a monster. It nearly swallowed me whole. I cried and cried and cried. I haven't cried like that in...I don't even know. It was pathetic. It was pathetic, but it was real.
Tomorrow will probably be just another aspect of the hurricane. Maybe things will be better, but only until I realize I've just been resting in the eye and need to buckle down for another long fight.
There's something about the ocean that takes me back. Back to walks on the beach in tender years with a woman whose age I will never know but whose love I will never forget. Back to my eighteenth birthday kissing a boy who I still loved but I knew deep down had long since stopped loving me. Back to swims and bikinis and sunburns and crabbing trips and boating trips and weeks at summer camp and long meaningful walks and first rebellions and confessions. Back to the first night I knew someone cared for me, truly cared, and staring out across the bay with him altered me in a mystical, soul-changing way that I can't shake.
I love the ocean. I love the feel and the smell and the taste and the refreshment and everything it does to me. But I'd take waves over tsunamis any day.
When I'm walking and waiting and eating and engaging and conversing and crying and interacting and imagining and creating and cooking and laughing and lounging and showering and shopping and deciding and dreaming and fighting and flattering and sleeping and shivering and lying and living...I think I'm doing those things. I think I'm doing them convincingly well. I tell myself that this is just the way life is.
And then.
You walk into the room. Or call. Or just make eye contact. And all of a sudden, it's like I'm coming up for air. I realize that all this time that I thought I've been living like a normal person, in reality I have been holding my breath, drowning in a sea of withoutness.
I don't know how to live without you. I thought I did. I thought I could do life and be okay. But I'm not. And you might never know now.
Every time I think of stars, I get all nostalgic (of course). Apparently nostalgia is what I do. Some thing comes to mind, but it's never just the thing...it's the predominant memory that goes with it.
The stars have always been big for me. They signify how big my God is, and how small I really am in comparison to the rest of His creation; yet, He loves me. They represent four years ago beside a river and the aftermath. They bring to mind camping trips last summer, lying in the middle of the road, feeling small compared to their bigness. And, more recently, they remind me of so little time ago, sleeping bags on grass and the rush of the ocean.
I don't know what this process is for. I don't know why it's so hard, or why I have such a difficult time explaining it. All I do know is that God doesn't test us and lead us through trials for the fun of it. We always come out with a character that is stronger and a heart that beats closer to the rhythm of His.
So I'm holding out. I don't know why, except for all the selfish reasons I've come up with. Maybe I'm crazy, and maybe I'm making the biggest mistake of my life. But I cannot pretend away this burning in my heart, just the same as I cannot imagine away His hand on me every time I look up into the shimmering specks of universe.
