Something is beginning to click in my understanding, but I am not sure I can fully articulate it yet.
But I want to try, just because I am a little afraid this tiny spark in my soul will go out unless I give it the attention it needs now.
I've always kind of hated the phrase "it wasn't meant to be."
Well, maybe I liked it when I was a Christian, but not at all since then.
If something is "destined" or "meant to be" than there must be a writer of our lives. Some designer that set everything up like some all too perfect plot. Every tiny detail working together for a reason.
If she hadn't spilled coffee on herself while running to catch the bus she would have never gone to the dry-cleaners where she accidentally picked up the wrong clothes that happened to be owned by the man that she instantly fell in love with.
God orchestrated that? I have a hard time buying it.
A common theme in the Buddhisty, kind of spiritual, crowd that I hang with now is all about creating your own destiny. Our thoughts are things and what we think becomes our reality. I think this is true.
I also think I have had an entirely wrong conception about that idea.
Maybe it comes from being a writer, or maybe it comes from being neurotic and having a lot of anxiety. Probably both. But I am in the constant habit of building up narratives in my mind of how things should be or will be. And so far, I have been nothing but hopelessly disappointed.
Every woman I have dated, every creative endeavor I have tried, every adventure or night on the town that I have been really excited for, all these things have left me reeling in despair. This diary is a testament to that.
But much like that Garth Brooks song from the 90s, sometimes you have to thank God for unanswered prayers.
Because I have realized today that had I found love or financial success or any of the things that I dreamed of back when I was dreaming of them, they would have not ended well.
I have always been a bigger mess than I realized. A few years from now, I will read this entry again and think "man, I had no idea how fucked up I really was."
And I know that had I got married at 22 like all my bible school chums, it would have been Hell for both me and my bride when I lost my faith.
Had I found success as a writer before now, I would not have had the incentive to dig as deep as I have into both myself and the cosmos.
That part isn't the revelation. I think about that a lot.
Usually what my brain does with that information is either tell me: "but you are ready now. Go get 'em, tiger!"
And that, so far, has led to failure more often than not.
So then my brain says: "you must be better before anything happens. Work harder. Do more. To be loved, you must be perfect."
But I am not perfect. So far from it, in fact, that I again become filled with despair by how long it will take me to finally be found worthy.
And both of those reactions are clearly wrong.
So I am going to try something new.
I am giving up my narrative.
I am going to try to stop imagining how everything will play out. I am going to stop trying to be in control of my future.
Because honestly, how can I know when I am ready for something to happen? How will I know when I am capable of handling it without freaking out or fucking up?
I will know when it happens. Simply because it cannot, by definition, happen before then.
Nothing happens on purpose. But everything happens when it is supposed to.
The wave hits the land at the time that it does because of the unseen movements of the moon and the pushing and pulling of the whole ocean itself. Everything is working together, not for that specific moment alone, but with that specific movement included.
And I am a wave. So are you. I don't know where we are. I don't have to know. I will hit the shore when I am ready to.
But until then, my only job is to move with the flow of all things. Allow pleasure and sorrow and joy and terror and everything wash over me and through me as it wills.
Because everything shapes me. It informs me. Life will craft me into something so beautiful that it will seem like a divine plan. Like everything was meant to be.
And maybe it is. Maybe there is a divine writer for all of our human drama. Maybe this is all just the most brutal long-form improv imaginable.
We can't really know for sure either way.
Might as well just let go and let things unfold.
I am looking forward to the surprise.
8:02 p.m. - 2017-06-16
Recent entries:
The New Normal - 2017-07-24
Mountaintop - 2017-07-04
Honor the Sacred - 2017-06-28
An odd sort of reflection - 2017-06-26
New Writing Desk. - 2017-06-25
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