Saturday, August 22, 2009

Moving On

I am at a crossroads. As life speeds forward, I’m caught in a sort of holding pattern. I can see where I am and where I am hoping to go. Where my vision is impaired is in how I move from where I am to where I want to go. And it’s because of my “impaired” vision that Whitney Houston’s recent single, “I look to You,” has become my theme song:

As I lay me down / heaven hear me now / I’m lost without a cause / after giving it my all

I am a writer. I write daily. Writing is who I am—the thread of my life. Outside of my writing, I paint. I dabble in musical composition. I’m a long-distance runner. I can define myself, who I am, with any number of nouns. But at the moment, none of those nouns seem to matter.

I’m still recovering from the threat, earlier this summer, of having to potentially facedown a life-threatening illness. The aftershocks of that grand événement continue to ripple through my life. While my doctor has given me the “all clear,” the whole experience has left more questions than answers about what I’m doing with my life.

Winter storms have come / and darkened my sun / after all that I’ve been through / who on Earth do I turn to

I have been shaken to my core, and is it any wondered that now I am, more than ever before, wondering: What am I doing with my life? What is my purpose? How can I be of service? I know that I am doing all I can, that I am giving my best yet, for some reason, it doesn’t seem like enough—that despite my successes, I have somehow failed. I am trying to slow down, ground myself in the present, in a manner of speaking, hold to God’s unchanging hand. I am trying to become tiny and simply do the next right thing—to not let life overwhelm me.

About to lose my breath / there’s no more fighting left / sinking to rise no more / searching for that open door

It’s Saturday. Thick clouds with a blue-grey tint swoosh across the sky. The sun is retreating. Rain is forecasted for the afternoon, and surely it will come. As the sky darkens I do have a renewed sense of hope. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance at life, an opportunity to, in a way, begin again (although I’m not sure we can ever truly begin again). But it’s an opportunity to do things differently, to clear the cobwebs from the closet. While it sometimes feels like my walls are tumbling down on me, I shun the call of defeat. I have been set free.

No comments:

Post a Comment