There’s something happening in my life that I don’t really feel like I can adequately explain. All I know is I feel a sense of wonder, awe, and hopefulness — even in my darkest moments — about life and what’s ahead.
I dream of grace. I long for community. I long for connection, compassion, and seeing the potential and possibility in everyone I meet and regarding them without judgement. I work toward forgiveness every day, and I try to view everyone I meet with love. I never used to be like this before, but now it seems…fundamental.
Is it religion? Is it burgeoning spirituality? Or is it that I’m just waking up from a deep sleep?
I think loneliness and isolation have taken too great a toll on me, so much so that I’ve forgotten how to be around other people. I call it introversion, but really, what if it’s just an unwillingness to recognize, accept, and love people for who they are, whatever they are, in the moment I encounter them?
What would happen if I stepped away from rational thought, if I threw my arms up and said “I REALLY DON’T HAVE THE ANSWERS FOR ANY OF THIS!” and just threw my arms around the world?
Here I sit, on the precipice of another depressive episode, worried whether this is the one that will send me careening over the edge once and for all. And yet, there’s a tiny glimmer of something so faint, barely pulsating, barely breathing, but so very real and so very present that says “It’s all going to be okay.” What is this thing that doesn’t have a name?
And if it’s what I really think it is, why am I using so much energy on fighting it? Why am I afraid to admit it? I’m afraid that if I talk about this publicly that I’ll lose friends, that I’ll lose favour. I’ve lost so much over the last few years that I don’t think I can stand to lose anything — anyone else. But if by talking about it, what if I gain so much more? More awareness, more love, more peace, more self? Is it worth the risk?
I guess I’ll find out after I push publish.