Nuggets, times are going to come in your lives where you feel really sad, and there's not necessarily a pin-point-able reason for it. There are periods of life where things are just sad. It might be sadness directly related to your life journey. Maybe you will be struggling with your spouse, children, finances, education, career. Maybe a friend will betray you or hurt you. Maybe you will be grieving the loss of someone who mattered to you.
There might come across your radar times where nothing in your personal journey is hard, but those you love are walking some horrific journeys themselves and you can't fix it. You will be helpless to their pain and that hurts. Especially if they are journeys that you relate to oh so specifically. If they are hurts that you've healed from and you remember, you empathize with, the path that they are being forced to walk down.
One of the big life lessons that I hope I can impart to you, my Nuggets, is this: sadness isn't something to fear. It isn't necessarily something to medicate, even though society will most likely tell you otherwise. Sadness should be embraced. We should give ourselves permission to grieve. We reject it all too often here in America, especially in the Christian realm. We have convinced ourselves that life should be happy, candy, la la la lovely all. the. time. This is ludicrous. Unrealistic. Impossible to attain. And then we beat ourselves up all the more for failing to force ourselves to be what someone else has decided we should be.
Grief has a very appropriate place in our realm. Grief can be horrific, but it can also be beautiful. Don't be afraid of it. Don't be afraid to mourn. Loving people means that you will experience these periods of hurt. You have to be brave enough, and strong enough, to recognize that loved ones are worth your sadness. And recognize in advance that when you open your self up to love others, their grief will become your grief. Their loneliness, will become yours. It has to. Otherwise you don't love them.
I hope you understand that when you experience your own personal journeys of strife, my soul will be grieving with you. You will never be alone in your sorrow. It's part of my Mommy super powers. I will sit in the pit with you, soak up the mud, and wait with you until you are ready to walk out on your own. I will always be your advocate. Even if that looks like me sitting there silent with you, while you scream and shout and cry. Even if that forces me into a helpless stance while I watch you embark on a journey that I oh so sympathize with.
Always understand this, about me, my Nuggets: I am not afraid of your grief. I am strong enough to hold it. You will always be worth my sadness. You will always have my platform of love to jump off of. Always.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Monday, November 25, 2013
Safety
You were afraid and you started to cry. I know it's not true, but I feel like there are eyes watching me and I'm scared. Cue warrior Mommy. "I will fight off every monster. I will defend you with my life. There is nothing that will prevent me from rushing to your aid. Me and Daddy will give our lives for you four. Without a thought. And Gus and Foofie would too." I know. But I'm just scared.
The four of you decided to huddle down together. You said there was safety in numbers and bad guys can't see how small we are if we're together. I was struck by the sheer genius-ness of that thought process. One of you had a problem, and the four of you banded together and solved it. This is what Mommy's dream about. Safety in numbers...
It raises up in me the need to be your supernatural ninja. I too, had horrible night-time hauntings. The images were so vivid, so powerful, that I can still recall them as if it were yesterday. I remember feeling so weak and powerless against the spiritual realm seeking to destroy me. I often found safety in the presence of another person there. It wasn't that they fought off my demons, or that they would be easier prey... It was the peace and comfort of knowing I was safer in numbers. I was bigger, more menacing, more difficult to take down.
This is still true today, but in different ways. As a Mommy, Army Wife, Christian... there is safety in numbers. When Chief and I band together to raise our children, we are stronger. When I am sitting in my van with my Army spouses, after we've closed down Starbucks, laughing, and sharing silly stories, we are less easily defeated by the hardships of our lifestyle. We are revived, renewed, sent home stronger and more resilient. When I am learning, studying, challenging with my fellow Catholics, then I am more able to live out loud, all that Christ has called me to.
Safety in numbers..
I hope that the four of you never lose sight of this truth. I hope you always know you can rely on each other. One day Daddy and I will fade away. Maybe it will be faded minds/memories, or maybe it will be our bodies transforming into the infinite realm, but you four will always be. There will never be a replacement, or any one else who will quite understand what it was to grow up in our family. There will never be someone who can understand things like your siblings. You all will be able to encourage each other, protect each other, defend each other like no one else. I hope you will always use this unique understanding to better push each other to better places. I hope you will always be each others superheroes. I pray that you will always wrap around the fragile, broken one, hurting one and stand together so that "bad guys can't see how small you are if you're together".
I hope you never lose sight of this moment where the four of you banded together to create safety in numbers.
The four of you decided to huddle down together. You said there was safety in numbers and bad guys can't see how small we are if we're together. I was struck by the sheer genius-ness of that thought process. One of you had a problem, and the four of you banded together and solved it. This is what Mommy's dream about. Safety in numbers...
It raises up in me the need to be your supernatural ninja. I too, had horrible night-time hauntings. The images were so vivid, so powerful, that I can still recall them as if it were yesterday. I remember feeling so weak and powerless against the spiritual realm seeking to destroy me. I often found safety in the presence of another person there. It wasn't that they fought off my demons, or that they would be easier prey... It was the peace and comfort of knowing I was safer in numbers. I was bigger, more menacing, more difficult to take down.
This is still true today, but in different ways. As a Mommy, Army Wife, Christian... there is safety in numbers. When Chief and I band together to raise our children, we are stronger. When I am sitting in my van with my Army spouses, after we've closed down Starbucks, laughing, and sharing silly stories, we are less easily defeated by the hardships of our lifestyle. We are revived, renewed, sent home stronger and more resilient. When I am learning, studying, challenging with my fellow Catholics, then I am more able to live out loud, all that Christ has called me to.
Safety in numbers..
I hope that the four of you never lose sight of this truth. I hope you always know you can rely on each other. One day Daddy and I will fade away. Maybe it will be faded minds/memories, or maybe it will be our bodies transforming into the infinite realm, but you four will always be. There will never be a replacement, or any one else who will quite understand what it was to grow up in our family. There will never be someone who can understand things like your siblings. You all will be able to encourage each other, protect each other, defend each other like no one else. I hope you will always use this unique understanding to better push each other to better places. I hope you will always be each others superheroes. I pray that you will always wrap around the fragile, broken one, hurting one and stand together so that "bad guys can't see how small you are if you're together".
I hope you never lose sight of this moment where the four of you banded together to create safety in numbers.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Veteran's Day
It had been a really long day. We were up early, and it was go-go-go, as weddings usually are. It was a beautiful experience, watching the last of my sisters get married. Despite all of their weaknesses and flaws, my parents had successfully completed their "task". We were all married, connected, moving forward...
I was plumped down on the couch in the "quiet room" at the reception hall. My feet were killing me from those bridesmaid torture devices they call shoes. I heard a couple of people saying oh you've got to get over here and see this. I didn't think much of it, truthfully. There's a lot of that sort of thing going on at weddings. But, because it was my sister's wedding, after all, I got up to see.
He was dressed in his military uniform. He didn't actually want to wear it. To him, it was signing himself up for attention, something that he abhors, especially in this capacity. He doesn't do it for glory. He doesn't do it for accolades. He does it for honor, duty, faithfulness. He does it in defense of this beautiful nation. He didn't want to wear this most handsome of uniforms, but he did, because my little sister wanted him to. And as much as they've disagreed, fought, and battled each other, he loves her. And she's proud of him.
As I got up to look at what these women were talking about, I saw my husband, my soldier, surrounded by children. They were swarming him. Questioning him, barking orders. "Drop and give me twenty!" And he was faithful to the call. He dropped and pushed them out One! Two! Three...! "Now give me fifteen more!!!" He answered their questions as best as he could. "What do you do?" I'm a tanker. "Have you used a gun?" Yes. "What happens if you die?" Someone else stands up to take my place. "Yes, but what happens if you die?" Then my family feels very, very sad.
It was really beautiful to see the tiny glimpse that I saw. I didn't want to interrupt him, or throw off his moment, so I walked away. He told me later that he felt like these kids were so desperate to know, so he didn't want to let them down. He wanted to give them the best experience he could ever give, about soldiers. So he let them smoke him, hound him, boss him...
My heart swells with immense gratitude and joy because of these heroes. The real-life superstars. Thank you to all of our Veterans: the current fighters, defending our nation, and all of the ones who have gone before. I appreciate you with all that I am.
I was plumped down on the couch in the "quiet room" at the reception hall. My feet were killing me from those bridesmaid torture devices they call shoes. I heard a couple of people saying oh you've got to get over here and see this. I didn't think much of it, truthfully. There's a lot of that sort of thing going on at weddings. But, because it was my sister's wedding, after all, I got up to see.
He was dressed in his military uniform. He didn't actually want to wear it. To him, it was signing himself up for attention, something that he abhors, especially in this capacity. He doesn't do it for glory. He doesn't do it for accolades. He does it for honor, duty, faithfulness. He does it in defense of this beautiful nation. He didn't want to wear this most handsome of uniforms, but he did, because my little sister wanted him to. And as much as they've disagreed, fought, and battled each other, he loves her. And she's proud of him.
As I got up to look at what these women were talking about, I saw my husband, my soldier, surrounded by children. They were swarming him. Questioning him, barking orders. "Drop and give me twenty!" And he was faithful to the call. He dropped and pushed them out One! Two! Three...! "Now give me fifteen more!!!" He answered their questions as best as he could. "What do you do?" I'm a tanker. "Have you used a gun?" Yes. "What happens if you die?" Someone else stands up to take my place. "Yes, but what happens if you die?" Then my family feels very, very sad.
It was really beautiful to see the tiny glimpse that I saw. I didn't want to interrupt him, or throw off his moment, so I walked away. He told me later that he felt like these kids were so desperate to know, so he didn't want to let them down. He wanted to give them the best experience he could ever give, about soldiers. So he let them smoke him, hound him, boss him...
My heart swells with immense gratitude and joy because of these heroes. The real-life superstars. Thank you to all of our Veterans: the current fighters, defending our nation, and all of the ones who have gone before. I appreciate you with all that I am.
Friday, October 18, 2013
Bliss
The other day I was driving off to a meeting. I glanced up and saw the clouds rolling away from the mountaintop. The sun was simultaneously beaming down, punching through those misty clouds. The mountaintop was all at once flooded with light, flooded with beautiful colors, while the bright white clouds moved away. It looked like a scene from a movie. I was struck by it. It was the kind of moment where you're so moved that you didn't even realize you were holding your breath until you exhale out an audible phrase Wow. Immediate follow up thought: I'm going to miss this.
That phrase probably hit me harder than it would for any normal individual. You see, Chief and I have not experienced a lot of Army moves. There are good reasons why I refer to being Moses'd here in the desert. I am nomadic to my very soul. When I finally up and moved away from Lake-View-Pick-A-Fruit (a term lovingly bestowed upon my childhood city by a friend of mine. It was hilarious then, and it still is. Especially if you've lived in my childhood city...), I fell in love with the idea of moving. I liked change, thrived on discovering new places. I have lived at this duty station for so long that I'm often referred to as the "old lady who's been here forever" amongst my FRG compadres.
I have been eager to move. And then that cloudy mountaintop thing planted the seed in my heart Some day you WILL move. The strange thing is, that thought stung me. It launched me into a memory-lane type of experience. It has caused me to feel differently in the midst of my conversations here. These are all fleeting. They will go away, and one day (possibly soon), we will pack up this home and move on.
This is my "home". This is where Bruni defeated every single odd and walked down the hallway to us. This is where the trips learned to walk, talk, play... It's where I gave countless breathing treatments. That spot on the corner where the stomach flu struck through with a vengeance (and red food), dying the carpet permanently. The hole in the wall from the kids I babysat, who's mom abandoned them, and soldier dad needed help. The kitchen where countless meals, cups of coffee, quiet moments of cuddles have played out. This is where Lolli lost her first teeth, read her first book, grieved her first loss... This is where we all grieved the goodbye of our family dog.
These walls, this roof... The memories live in my head, and I will carry them with me until such time as I become senile. It's just crazy to me that we will go, and someone else will move in. It's crazy that the next family won't know about the bathtub that had the giant hole in it when we moved in. That this new family won't know about the cabinets that have fallen off the wall, or the counter top that is still not screwed in to the cabinet. They won't know about the doors that stick when it gets hot outside, or the outlets that don't work (and never have). These new people won't know about all of the love, all of the laughter, all of the joy, all of the life that has been lived here. They won't know about our story.
It's amazing how difficult it can be to live in the moment. To keep your mind, heart, and soul open to the reality that these are the best days. This place, this duty station, has blessed me with many things I never had before. Some good, some bad, some surprising, some agonizing. But I think that's the point of it anyway. Bliss is never what you think of it as. Bliss is the unexpected moment, where the clouds roll down off of the mountaintop and the sunbeams shine down in all their glory, and you hear your heart celebrating it.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
It Comes
It comes in unexpected moments. The sun will be rising, and the curtain will be shifted ever so slightly so that a beam of sunlight dances across your face. You'll squeeze your eyes tighter as if you're trying to shut out the sun beams, and I'll be there with my eyes wide open catching it, almost as if catching a secret embrace. God danced across your face, and I got to see.
It comes when fragility, exhaustion, grief washes over and the need to protect, defend, pretend fades away. When weakness becomes the dominant language, and safety comes only with you. It whispers across my spine as my whole being sinks against your chest.
It comes when the sound of giggles, laughter, and silliness waft down the hallway as I'm lost in some mundane event. The glee-filled sound of some little person's voice saying Daddy! Hahaha! You can't get me!!! AH!
It comes when uncertainty and chaos fill every single crevice of our lives. In the midst of the insanity, your fingers intertwine with mine. Unspoken words pour through that connection, and overflow the deafening noise.
It comes when, in the most devastating moment of grief, our sobs and tears, echo through these walls in unison. When eyes are swollen shut, noses are running, and tissues abound.
It comes when we stand side by side, and kneel side by side, on Sunday mornings. When we hold hands in prayer, sometimes in a rushed, agitated plea for quick relief, and some times in immense gratitude crying out Thank You God! Thank You God! Thank You God!
It comes when we walk in to a doctor's office, ready to stand as the unbending platform for our seven year old daughter, as she faces down the demons of cancer possibilities, endless blood tests, and horrible illness. As we sit there and listen to her fate, to our fate, doing our best to be present in the moment.
It comes when we climb in to our car and drop you off to continue the war-fight; separating fingers, embraces, legs-to-legs-on-the-couch.
It comes when I feel so horrendously ugly, and your eyes glance at me from across the room, saying with the most sincerest, truest, and deepest of soul-speak You are beautiful. You are SO beautiful to me.
It comes when changing the nine zillionth diaper, cleaning up the ten thousandth projectile vomit, giving the 6 hundredth dose of medicine/breathing treatments/physical therapy exercises, and the exhaustion drops us to the floor. When people chip in with their thoughtless words, useless "advice", ridiculous marital judgments. It comes when stupidity overwhelms, and life feels nearly lifeless.
Thank you, Chief, for knowing exactly what I'm talking about. I love you more than I could ever begin to say.
It comes when fragility, exhaustion, grief washes over and the need to protect, defend, pretend fades away. When weakness becomes the dominant language, and safety comes only with you. It whispers across my spine as my whole being sinks against your chest.
It comes when the sound of giggles, laughter, and silliness waft down the hallway as I'm lost in some mundane event. The glee-filled sound of some little person's voice saying Daddy! Hahaha! You can't get me!!! AH!
It comes when uncertainty and chaos fill every single crevice of our lives. In the midst of the insanity, your fingers intertwine with mine. Unspoken words pour through that connection, and overflow the deafening noise.
It comes when, in the most devastating moment of grief, our sobs and tears, echo through these walls in unison. When eyes are swollen shut, noses are running, and tissues abound.
It comes when we stand side by side, and kneel side by side, on Sunday mornings. When we hold hands in prayer, sometimes in a rushed, agitated plea for quick relief, and some times in immense gratitude crying out Thank You God! Thank You God! Thank You God!
It comes when we walk in to a doctor's office, ready to stand as the unbending platform for our seven year old daughter, as she faces down the demons of cancer possibilities, endless blood tests, and horrible illness. As we sit there and listen to her fate, to our fate, doing our best to be present in the moment.
It comes when we climb in to our car and drop you off to continue the war-fight; separating fingers, embraces, legs-to-legs-on-the-couch.
It comes when I feel so horrendously ugly, and your eyes glance at me from across the room, saying with the most sincerest, truest, and deepest of soul-speak You are beautiful. You are SO beautiful to me.
It comes when changing the nine zillionth diaper, cleaning up the ten thousandth projectile vomit, giving the 6 hundredth dose of medicine/breathing treatments/physical therapy exercises, and the exhaustion drops us to the floor. When people chip in with their thoughtless words, useless "advice", ridiculous marital judgments. It comes when stupidity overwhelms, and life feels nearly lifeless.
Thank you, Chief, for knowing exactly what I'm talking about. I love you more than I could ever begin to say.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Milk and Honey, Infant Christianity
It's a powerful life moment when you recognize that you are not as "christianly" mature as you think you are. The moment where it hits you like a sucker punch to the soul, and your 30+ years of seeking, trying, studying, learning, growing, believing more of yourself comes crashing down like a ming vase at your feet. You are not as grown up as you imagine.
In America, Christianity is a farce. It's a sickness that permeates through our religious society and has broken our witness. We are knee deep in Bible studies, Sunday School classes, Scripture memorization, and religious statements, but they penetrate no deeper than the most surface layer of our souls.
What is love of God? It's a soul changing, heart gutting, give-it-all-up-and-away experience. It's seeing the world with a completely different set of eyes. It's reflexive. It's your knee-jerk reactions in pivotal moments. And therein lies the answer to the depth of your "christian" maturity... when you are hurt, angered, rejected, lied to, cheated, mistreated, cut off on the freeway'd, what is your knee-jerk reaction? When you walk by the homeless person who is begging you for money/food/water, what do you instinctively do? Look away? When a "friend" rejects you for your faith, or an acquaintance spreads lies about your family, how do you respond in your heart? Is it with vengeance? Anger? Hatred? Animosity? Self pity? Rage?
If you're me, then it's probably all of the above. And it's an ugly heart exposure type of scenario. I'm going to make so and so pay for this injustice. They'll regret crossing me! Knee-jerk, almost reflexive, responses. In the midst of my rage, I heard a voice, almost whispering, "Where is Jesus in you?" Truth is, He wasn't. He wasn't present in my heart at all. The only sentiments that brought him up to my brain were self centered Why are You doing this to me? Not very Jesus-y to me...
So I freely confess, I have a milk and honey christian heart. I place myself in the bottom of the ladder and I confess that my heart is sick, and disgusting, and ugly. My heart seems to have learned these surface responses of love and kindness, but underneath it's all rage. I expose the ugliness. I confess it. Because I want to be a meat-fed Christian.
I want my heart to react with gentleness, patience, love, mercy, goodness, self-control when tested. I want my heart to reflexively show kindness and persistence in the face of immeasurable hostility. I want my love to be bigger than as long as You give me everything I want, when I want it, how I want it. I want my peace to be deeper than milk and honey Jesus.
The Apostles didn't live on milk and honey. They were tortured, tested, rejected, forsaken, starved, beaten, abandoned. Joy abounded. Joy abounded! Absorb that for a moment. They weren't launched in to a panic mode because the government cut off their paychecks. They weren't launched in to an angry, vengeful, spiteful viewpoint because the government beat them (and many were killed). They reacted with love, mercy, gentleness and faithfulness. They were meaty Christians. They were grown up Christians. They were beautiful, hopeful, and inspiring. Because the things of this world stopped mattering. The hurts, angsts, frustrations, and horrible things of life on earth washed away. Their eyes were fixed on eternity. Their minds were made clear.
I want to be that kind of Follower. I want to know Love like that. I want to live Love like that.
In America, Christianity is a farce. It's a sickness that permeates through our religious society and has broken our witness. We are knee deep in Bible studies, Sunday School classes, Scripture memorization, and religious statements, but they penetrate no deeper than the most surface layer of our souls.
What is love of God? It's a soul changing, heart gutting, give-it-all-up-and-away experience. It's seeing the world with a completely different set of eyes. It's reflexive. It's your knee-jerk reactions in pivotal moments. And therein lies the answer to the depth of your "christian" maturity... when you are hurt, angered, rejected, lied to, cheated, mistreated, cut off on the freeway'd, what is your knee-jerk reaction? When you walk by the homeless person who is begging you for money/food/water, what do you instinctively do? Look away? When a "friend" rejects you for your faith, or an acquaintance spreads lies about your family, how do you respond in your heart? Is it with vengeance? Anger? Hatred? Animosity? Self pity? Rage?
If you're me, then it's probably all of the above. And it's an ugly heart exposure type of scenario. I'm going to make so and so pay for this injustice. They'll regret crossing me! Knee-jerk, almost reflexive, responses. In the midst of my rage, I heard a voice, almost whispering, "Where is Jesus in you?" Truth is, He wasn't. He wasn't present in my heart at all. The only sentiments that brought him up to my brain were self centered Why are You doing this to me? Not very Jesus-y to me...
So I freely confess, I have a milk and honey christian heart. I place myself in the bottom of the ladder and I confess that my heart is sick, and disgusting, and ugly. My heart seems to have learned these surface responses of love and kindness, but underneath it's all rage. I expose the ugliness. I confess it. Because I want to be a meat-fed Christian.
I want my heart to react with gentleness, patience, love, mercy, goodness, self-control when tested. I want my heart to reflexively show kindness and persistence in the face of immeasurable hostility. I want my love to be bigger than as long as You give me everything I want, when I want it, how I want it. I want my peace to be deeper than milk and honey Jesus.
The Apostles didn't live on milk and honey. They were tortured, tested, rejected, forsaken, starved, beaten, abandoned. Joy abounded. Joy abounded! Absorb that for a moment. They weren't launched in to a panic mode because the government cut off their paychecks. They weren't launched in to an angry, vengeful, spiteful viewpoint because the government beat them (and many were killed). They reacted with love, mercy, gentleness and faithfulness. They were meaty Christians. They were grown up Christians. They were beautiful, hopeful, and inspiring. Because the things of this world stopped mattering. The hurts, angsts, frustrations, and horrible things of life on earth washed away. Their eyes were fixed on eternity. Their minds were made clear.
I want to be that kind of Follower. I want to know Love like that. I want to live Love like that.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Impact Moments
There are moments in life where the road direction changes. It doesn't matter if you are anticipating it, avoiding it, or wanting it. The fork is there, the impact is impending, the choice is yours. Life moves in slow motion in those moments. It's you vs the questions that you don't want answers to. It's you vs all of the stuff you haven't taken the time to face. It's you vs what you wanted and reality.
The silence before an impact is deafening. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but I say it happens before the choice. I say it happens as you're sitting there gutted out, ears ringing, heart aching, hands shaking. I say it happens in the instant where your whole world view becomes something different and you're left wondering what the hell to do next. I say it happens as the shock erupts through your body and forces its will upon you.
Grief hits in a myriad of ways. The loss of the life-direction can be devastating. Change sucks. Learning to find yourself in the midst of the unbalanced, unpredictable, constantly shifting chaos is powerful. Finding light in the darkness, peace in the muck, and sanity in the insane is like finding a tiny space of fresh air. You're gasping and gasping and clutching at straws just trying to make sense of it all. But maybe that's the point of it. Life doesn't make sense. It's irrational, ridiculous, and almost embarrassing when you trim it all down to brass tax.
We waste so much time trying to understand why we're not "happy". We spend ungodly amounts of money on self help books, counselors, alcohol to medicate away the symptoms of life. It's really just "okayish". I think that's sort of the trick of it. Learn to accept that life is just "okayish". Some times it's hell, sometimes it's heaven, and when the scales of impossible experiences are weighed, we should be able to say "It was okayish."
But for now, there are these moments of forks in the road. For now there are these shaky hands that won't steady themselves, and ears that won't stop ringing. For now this heart is aching and racing in such a deeply unnatural state, as it forces the mind to accept a new scenario. For now there are new scenes unfolding, and the subconscious just keeps whispering over and over again Resistance is futile. Resistance is futile. Resistance is futile.
Resistance is futile. The change is here. Nothing will ever be the same again. Ever.
The silence before an impact is deafening. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die, but I say it happens before the choice. I say it happens as you're sitting there gutted out, ears ringing, heart aching, hands shaking. I say it happens in the instant where your whole world view becomes something different and you're left wondering what the hell to do next. I say it happens as the shock erupts through your body and forces its will upon you.
Grief hits in a myriad of ways. The loss of the life-direction can be devastating. Change sucks. Learning to find yourself in the midst of the unbalanced, unpredictable, constantly shifting chaos is powerful. Finding light in the darkness, peace in the muck, and sanity in the insane is like finding a tiny space of fresh air. You're gasping and gasping and clutching at straws just trying to make sense of it all. But maybe that's the point of it. Life doesn't make sense. It's irrational, ridiculous, and almost embarrassing when you trim it all down to brass tax.
We waste so much time trying to understand why we're not "happy". We spend ungodly amounts of money on self help books, counselors, alcohol to medicate away the symptoms of life. It's really just "okayish". I think that's sort of the trick of it. Learn to accept that life is just "okayish". Some times it's hell, sometimes it's heaven, and when the scales of impossible experiences are weighed, we should be able to say "It was okayish."
But for now, there are these moments of forks in the road. For now there are these shaky hands that won't steady themselves, and ears that won't stop ringing. For now this heart is aching and racing in such a deeply unnatural state, as it forces the mind to accept a new scenario. For now there are new scenes unfolding, and the subconscious just keeps whispering over and over again Resistance is futile. Resistance is futile. Resistance is futile.
Resistance is futile. The change is here. Nothing will ever be the same again. Ever.
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