Perspective

Perspective can lie to you sometimes. Well, it does that a lot, actually. Especially when you're this small. Everything seems so big and up-close and...real. I was once even smaller, and the things that were then so mesmerizing, only turned disappointing as I grew. Almost like watching a magician's trick: so breath-taking, confusing, and delightful all at once. Slowly I inched up to the stage where I was able to observe closer. This man wasn't doing anything special at all. The trick was just that - a trick, an illusion. Why did I think it deserved my attention in the first place? My perspective: the position from where I viewed and judged what crosses my path - it fooled me. Again.

What scares me the most, though, is that as I said before, I am so small. I feel like I'm seeing things finally clearly, but I know that's definitely not right. The path before me is long and winding still. I have much more to walk than what little I have covered. Infinitely more there is to learn, to change, to trip over...

But do I expect someday to know everything? Is there some age when my experiences start to guide my life into perfection? Well, no. I guess that's not a thing.

I'm a control freak, maybe. I want perfection, and I want to master and achieve it on my own, because I can't will myself to trust anyone. Being unable to accomplish this feat, I am terrified. My lens is constantly shifting, and though the world is coming slightly more into focus, I don't even have a decent grip on what "in focus" is supposed to look like. It's miserable. I want to curl up in a ball and cry.

It's all slipping through my hands, and I don't know what to think or believe about anything. But hey, could this be a good thing? Wading through the blurry confusion, amidst frustration and fear, I am reminded of the only One who isn't held back by human shortcoming. I have Him to help and guide me for crying out loud, and the control freak inside me has to realize that His way is ridiculously more peaceful, joyful, and rewarding than those countless times I thought I saw a flower and it turned out to be a pebble.

What an excruciating process it is learning to acknowledge my inferiority, to let go and be okay with Jesus' lead. But you know, there is peace. And there is reward. For though we are as good as blind, the greatest Hope is in front of us: it's just a matter of grabbing hold, and while the fear and anxiety still lingers, and occasionally you'll imagine something pretty in the opposite direction, every once in a while He will give you a glimpse of the whole story. And it is beautiful.

Who are you?

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

(image via the depths of Pinterest)

Nobody...I am nobody. Scanning through Emily Dickinson's poems, these words cut my heart as beautiful poems typically have the power to do. I committed the piece to memory, only to recite it in my head whenever...fitting. It's pretty ridiculous, don't you think? A few simple words put together in a less-than-logical way, and somehow it just makes sense to its readers. Poetry brings up those hidden - and often times horribly vague - pressing feelings, and brings clarity to them, as well as the comfort of knowing you're not alone in your insanity. 

Most of us have been nobodies before, right? Would it be a venture to guess that most of us are nobodies by our own judgement? For years I have struggled with (unconsciously) looking at the world and its inhabitants as if I'm on standing the outside looking in. It's as if I have the whole world fooled into thinking that I'm a person like them, but alas, I know the truth: I'm a mess. I'm barely figuring out how to act like other people. I can't possibly be one of them.

Over time I fear I've trained myself to take pride in my supposed outsider-ness - this is really just as easy as turning it into an insecurity. It feels as though I'm watching everyone turn into the same thing as everyone else - like they're all identical robots, and I'm glad I can't fit in. I get the impression that this same pride was at the root of Dickinson's following stanza which details the dreariness of somebody-ness. How public, like a frog to tell your name the livelong day to an admiring bog! I couldn't agree more with her.

However... The more I open up about this sensation, the more I'm discovering how not-so-special I am. Indeed, even merely the popularity of this poem reveals something about humanity. Do you think Dickinson would have been surprised? A lot of us are faking it. A lot of us are afraid of the shame that might come along with making known our struggles: they'd banish us, after all.

If you're a nobody, go tell someone. Take comfort and be humbled by the number of us out there. Let's tell the world who we are until there are too many to banish - maybe someday we will bring about a true definition of what it is to be somebody. 

Introduction

Family, friends, strangers, Internet - welcome to my new home! Take a look around. This is the result of years of dreaming, exploring, planning, perhaps some spending, and turning these things into something tangible. I really am proud of it. No, I don't suppose it's horribly fancy, but I rather admire its simplicity. Oh, please do sit down. I'll get us some coffee. I don't think I have told you yet how thrilled I am by your choosing to visit me: I am humbled truly, that with all your busy schedules you remembered how dearly I appreciate your company, and determined to stop by. I thank you for this. I will be free on most days, actually, so please know that you are welcome to visit whenever you see fit. I anxiously await seeing what memories are made; what conversations are had between these walls. Ah yes, I should be off to make that coffee I promised us a moment ago. But please tell me, how have you been?