I haven’t written in a long time. Maybe, oh just maybe, I can make some sense out of the clutter of emotions that drone around like gnats thwacking the sides of my brains.
I can’t say I feel discontent. I certainly have every need of mine met and more.
AND MORE!
But I’m still lacking something. Answers to life's obscure mysteries, eternal satisfaction, self-actualization, a EU charging adapter.
There are times I feel far from God, out of prayer, out of devotion, and that is when I feel the most needy.
It’s interesting how masochistic the human machine can be; like how we don't call out when when God is within a whisper’s reach. When all of our suffering and baggage lies wrinkled and sagging, doubled over at our feet, and we continue to trudge on as it droops behind us on the floor as we huff and puff about our circumstances. Do humans always seek something to complain about? Has it been this way forever? At what age does it change? How come our conversations of gratitude taper off sooner than our conversations of shit talking or complaining?
I have been practicing jiu jitsu every single week since November 4th. In the beginning, it was so painfully awkward, ego crushing, and uncomfortable. I cried after every class for about two weeks. Well, I prefer to call it a “stoic-wet-eyed-whimper” on the metro commute home. I don't know what it was, but something told me to stick with it, and I have. I sucked a lot in the beginning and I still suck now. I know I suck because I still can’t do a Triangle choke after being instructed so many times, a few simple steps that never fully molded into anything in this thick, thick skull of mine. I can only do 'americanas' and the occasional 'kimura' but only with people who aren’t as strong as me (like a total of two people on their off-days). I suck at the sport but at least I am sweating. I suck at the sport but at least I have these new kind and international friends to spend time with outside of class. I suck at following directions (I have been this way for years) but at least I met a nice guy there that makes yummy Brazilian desserts. I suck at conjugating any spanish verbs into future tense but at least I can still connect with my teammates and coworkers.
White belts are supposed to be bad. I know. I just wish I was less bad.
Learning a language is supposed to be hard. I just wish I could use the verb “haber” properly.
I am only going to change these matters by continuing to train, by continuing to go to language exchanges, by accepting these errors.
Accountability is supposed to sting.
It burns! Ow!
My brother used to say he loved Ecclesiastes the most out of all the books in the Bible. “Why?,” I would ask, “it’s pretty intense”. “I love how convicting it is”, he would say. It’s good to be convicted, to be checked, to be held accountable, otherwise all we do is indulge in pleasure. We want to be met with someone complaining along side us, validating our sadness, but in the end it’s not so helpful to camp out there too long, not you, nor the friend who knelt down beside you. I used to come home from middle school whining to my mom about this and that, and she would point at the logic and delineate where my mistake seemed to start and finish. As a kid, this irked me beyond end...where is the compassion, woman?! When I just wanted to whine, I was counseled. When I wanted to complain, I was corrected. In the end, I'm thankful for her bootstrap mentality. I think.
Yeah sure, of course I just want to be a little baby and cry on someone’s shoulder sometimes. But if the owner of this shoulder loves you lots, they won’t let you double over snot-nosed for too long.
Maybe this creepy, crawly feeling of discontent and dissatisfaction stems from the pool of self pity we make for ourselves, blubbering and whining until the world revolves in our desired direction. But even when the world arrives, the pleasure is fleeting. We will find an itch, scratch it, hard, wait until it spreads, leaving us restless and yearning.
The more I live for myself, the more restless life becomes. It seems I am hard to please, high maintenance, high energy, like a border collie. That is a very particular breed, y'know.
Border collies can be fed well, loved on lots, and walked, ran even, but they still need more. More attention, more exercise, more stimulation.
Damn border collies. I bet border collies could learn a Triangle Choke faster than me.
To live for something higher has to be more satisfying. If I can please anyone, I don’t want it to be myself, but this is the spiritual battle we are met with. That earthly skin we inherit that vessels the soul God gave us, how do we please both flesh and spirit? Can the two ever really live in harmony? Do they get along? Did their mothers teach them to share space with one another? Do they get to exist simultaneously? I’m afraid not…but they certainly push and shove for attention.
I get self conscious even still. I get self conscious that I give up on things far too quickly, which I deduce to a wavering, case-dependent discipline. It's the earthly part of me fighting to feel good about myself, I'm sure. I give up on the things I am not immediately great at; learning the banjo, finishing a book, following a recipe. Is it lack of discipline? Passion? Undiagnosed ADHD? Who is to say? These are the things I am most insecure about. The creative outlets I want to define me that I try and fail, to be a reader, to play an instrument well, to be patient enough to follow directions in a recipe, whatever it is, it stings.
I feel like often the difference I am allotted to make in this world has to be conjured from what I do, what I create, how I contribute. Is life one big spectacular of creating reasons to be confident, accomplishing things or “finding yourself”? I fear this would be incredibly mundane to constantly try and impress yourself. I want to be good of course, but it would be sabotage to believe that that is where my value lies.
There is not much to gain in the end of everything other than connection. I don’t think people will like me because I’m good at things. I think those satisfactory things are for myself. I think people around me just care that I’m nice or kind or make them laugh or help them when they need it. These are the things I can certainly do. I remember people’s names pretty well. My doorman and I are like peanut butter and jelly. I write my friends postcards and remember to call my mom. Gee wiz, I’m not half bad.
I feel joyful. I am joyful. I feel an overwhelming gratitude for everyone I have in my ring over here in Spain (woohoo year 2!). I have people I can call in emergencies who I know would take care of me… and this thought of mine indicates I am indeed maturing because I cannot assure you I would think so far ahead a few years ago. I have friends who care who really do care about me. I have enough jackets and layers to brace myself from the evening chill that sweeps over the Sierra Nevada, it’s just up to my stubbornness to wear them. Aside from a bum knee and the jiu jitsu bruises that cover my arms and legs like leopard spots, I am in a healthy and good condition. Enough so that my own two feet carry me to and from work.
This I know is a privilege.
I can’t be too sure what God will tell me when I finally get to chatting with Him. Probably chill out. Probably enjoy what He has put in front of me. Be nice. Quit wallowing.
I just want to assure myself I’m doing okay. That I am exactly where I need to be and all the things. But oh how bored I become of my predictable human behavior.
“For who knows what is good for man while he lives the few days of his vain life, which he passes like a shadow? For who can tell man what will be after him under the sun?”
Ecclesiastes 6:12
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