These Times

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

These are the times of listening to "Moving On and Getting Over" John Mayer's album, over and over and over again, fingers on the steering wheel as I blink the sleep from my eyes. Something about those gentle strums promises optimism. Hope. And I need as much of that as I can get.

I remember back in December trying, for the first time to pick a word for the year, and deciding it needed to be 'joy,' mainly because I was determined to cultivate it in my life. So that I could see the joy in the present rather than looking ahead at the future, believing life will be better and more joyful later. 

But here I am, nearly six months into 2017, and in so many ways, the word given to me is 'hope.'

A holy hope--that's what I'm clinging to and believing in. I have hope things will be okay. I have hope that God is moving and changing my heart, my life. Hope that I will get to where I want to be. Hope that this thing called growing-up will someday be a little easier to understand and not as hard...or that maybe, rather, I learn that it doesn't but you get stronger and better able to meet it head on.

These are the times of reading Anne Lamott's book Plan B, and the quiet rush of gratitude at reading words that describe the tangled up emotions of life and love and hardship that I feel roaring beneath my skin.

These are the times of slowly trying to become a person again. Because I, most times, feel like I've forgotten how to be one. How to breathe. Slow down. Actually do things on the weekend. Make plans and have a robust social life. Navigate the world outside the comforts of childhood home or the security of college life. It's tricky and this first post-grad year feels, in many ways, like an unbecoming.

And now I must learn, all over again, how to become. It's a messy thing, this process of becoming. It's an odd search of who I am. The growing pains of a soul. Finding my voice--my writing one, especially--again. Sitting down and sifting through my words and thoughts, trying, daring to think of putting them all on paper.

These times...I'm impatient with them most nights, but I know, as sure as the thrum in my veins, that these times are my becoming. Hallowed by the hardship and need for hope.

So here's to these times. And to Harry, for the reminder. Cheers, mate. 

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