I woke up this morning and I felt lost.
I think I've been feeling this way for a couple of weeks.
I realized I didn't feel like I had purpose anymore.
In a part of my mind, I know this will lapse. This will pass -- this, too. Yes, this feeling of purposelessness -- it WILL pass, because God will go on to complete the good work He began in me. I know this to be true, and I believe it.
Today I feel a little lost.
Like I'm a boat that lost its rudder, and I'm drifting aimlessly in circles in the midst of the open sea.
The waters aren't rough yet. But I'm not sure I know where I'm going or why.
It's not just losing the way. it's losing the entire reason you were on the road in the first place.
It's like amnesia.
You don't only forget where you were going -- you forget WHY.
That's the part that is the most unnerving to me: I've lost my why.
I couldn't tell you why I'm doing a lot of the things I do.
I work out because it makes me look better. I sleep because I need it. I eat because I need it and, y'all, I love food. And when I hang out with people or go to church, I do it because I love it and I know I need it.
But for the love of God.
Is that all I'm about?
Is that all I was made for?
It cannot be.
I have been so convinced for so long that I'm special.
That I'm meant for greatness.
But what happens when you say to yourself, "Well, you know, for now, this is okay"?
It won't be okay forever, this smallness of existence.
But I am so tired, and I don't know if I can bring myself to dream of adventure right now.
Yes, my life feels so, so small.
And I'm afraid to dream of bigness, of greatness, of grandeur because I don't know what I want anymore.
It's all bound up and confuddled by I don't know what. By a myriad of different motivations.
By a longing to be many things that are difficult to be. By a longing to do everything I want.
I believe there IS a way to do all the things you want to do. I don't know yet what that way is, but I believe that it exists.
As I write this, my brain is so tired that I don't know if my writing is good or bad or whatever. I don't particularly care.
I just want to tell you that I feel lost.
Not even lost.
I feel darkened. Like I am in the dark.
Do I feel more like myself? I do. We find out who we are when stripped of who we feel like we should be.
But I feel like I'm swimming in a fog.
And I feel a little bit like my brightness has been dulled.
For once I am content to just be here. To just continue living this life, right here, the one I have right now. I'm not dreaming of a bigger one.
I'm not really dreaming at all. Not of the future, not of anything I might do later in my life.
I am happy to just be here.
I am content.
And I am also hella exhausted.
(My mama asked me recently what "hella" meant. I love it.)
Maybe my brain is foggy from how tired I am, but I also think that when we allow the questions in, there will be fog.
It's like the edge of a map: here there be monsters.
When we allow ourselves to ask the questions that are deep, deep within our souls, buried in the sweet-smelling, cool, loamy soil, we will naturally open up Pandora's Box.
The fog will seep in around us.
And we will say, WAIT -- I thought this would be different!
And beloved, it is.
We are exploring new territory. We are getting out of our comfort zones.
Everyone who's ever wondered what to do with their lives has felt this way.
I wrote earlier that I felt purposeless, but that is not quite true.
I feel like I have purpose. I just don't know what it is yet.
Jesus, give me eyes to see it. Do not allow me to be so focused on the grandeur that I cannot look down at my feet to see what you have placed before them.
This feeling is unlike anything I have ever felt before.
It's a sensation of not knowing what I want, not really.
I have dreams, but I feel as though all my options are open to me -- and when all options are open, none of them are, really, because we get decision fatigue.
When this happens, when we find ourselves on the road and the air is hung thick with silver mist, cobwebby and dew-threaded --
Well, then, our only job is to do the next right thing.
So what does that look like?
For me, it looks like getting up and coming to work today. It means continuing to create even when I don't feel like it, because in my continued creation I know I am doing something. I know I am fulfilling some kind of purpose.
Real talk here, y'all: I haven't practiced in several weeks. This is good -- I need a minute, I need to take a beat. But it also stems from my confusion, my not-confusion, my fear, my decision fatigue, but most of all, the fog.
I do not know if I can sing in the fog.
But I can. And let me tell you, if nothing else, singing turns my lights on. It does something to my brain.
It means writing. It means reading and honing my mind. It means trying my very best to sleep, and it means taking chances and doing new things, and it means doing those things and foregoing sleep because I only have this one wild and precious life.
And I do not know what to do with it.
And isn't that a little freeing?
I can do literally anything.
What will I do?
I don't have to be locked in.
And all the possibility is crowding me to where I just want to take a nap.
Adventure is HARD, y'all.
I can't see past this single point in the story.
I don't WANT to. I am content.
But I can feel that I am longing for something else, something more.
I have told those close to me that I am basically having an existential crisis. A quarter-life crisis, though I hesitate to call it that.
I believe that God has a direction for me, and this is all just part of the story. I struggle a lot with belief, but this is the one thing I know, the one thing I do believe.
It is a comfort to be at peace.
The timing of God always seems screwy to me. Like it comes at the WORST possible time.
How can I be confused now? I'm supposed to go to grad school soon! How can I be doubting purpose in my life?
Is what I would say if I was freaking out. And maybe I have some low-grade freak out going on, but I don't really think so.
Because the timing of God is perfect.
And I know it won't be this way forever.
I need to sleep a lot and cry a little, but I feel like I am hidden away, watched over by a few express people, as I become larger. As I expand.
I'm a seed.
And the fog is almost too much above my head and I can hardly see my hand in front of my eyes.
But I know my hand is there, and it will come back into focus.
I've always thought the fog was gorgeous.
I love the dampness, the sense of mystery, of adventure. With a capital A.
Maybe I'm swimming in the mist.
There aren't a lot of places I would rather be.