Sometimes I can't stand those people.
Although, today, I guess I am one of those people.
Today I learned that listening to Amy Winehouse makes me feel like a queen.
A mildly sad queen- and exceptionally lonely, perhaps-
But a queen nonetheless.
Lovers, it's been a long three weeks, hasn't it?
January is almost over- and if this month is any indicator of what the rest of 2013 looks like, then I have to say this is not going to be a very good year for me.
Personally, I'm fine with that. I can't exactly expect every year to be like the past year has been.
From the very beginning, it was sort of.... ill-fated.
I spent New Year's Eve trying my hardest to fall asleep before 11pm because I had to wake up at 5 the next morning, and I ended up crying at the sound of the fireworks at midnight because all I could think about were all the people I wished I was spending that moment with.
And then I fell asleep. And I worked all of January 1st.
And all of January 2nd.
And all of January 3rd.
And then I started to glaze over. And the days just ran together. And I worked. And then I had ten days off. And I had to spend a large majority of two of those days in the waiting/visiting rooms of a hospital. Which, as many of you know, is not exactly a walk-in-the-park for me.
I have a bad history of extreme panic attacks in hospitals.
Something about spending far too much of my childhood in the wings of a particularly depressing hospital. Coincidentally, that exact hospital where I spent so many hours of my eleven-year-old life waiting for my mother's cancer to just go away, is also the exact same hospital in which I was born.
And where I had my appendix taken out.
And where my dad had a heart palpitation scare.
And where my mom had several major surgeries.
And where she had most all of her chemotherapy sessions, and radiation sessions, and not to mention that was the hospital where I was sitting in the waiting room when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.
And the hospital where I saw my very first dead person.
I don't particularly have fond memories of hospitals.
I digress.
Anyways, this time 'round, it wasn't so bad. And it wasn't so drastic of circumstances, either. In fact, there were several incredibly funny moments. There's nothing weirder than laughing in hospitals, though. It just doesn't feel right.
After that was over, I did a lot of sleeping for the rest of my time off. I felt like I could hardly move most mornings. I watched a lot of Duck Dynasty and tried real hard to finally finish season 7 of Buffy.
I didn't even try to hang out with friends. Truth is, I haven't wanted to see anybody this month. I just don't really have the necessary gumption to carry on conversation. It's borderlining on pathetic.
Towards the end of my mini-vacation... I went back to the beach.
Which was great. And revealing. And hard. And incredibly uplifting, and yet sorely depressing at the same time. And in hind-sight, even though I had a lot of really impactful conversations, and learned a lot about my future and myself that I really needed to discover, I'm not actually certain going back was a good idea.
Because in all honesty, I've been really depressed since I've gotten back.
Some mornings it's been really hard to get out of bed.
I think the hardest thing I've ever had to realize is the fact that you don't necessarily belong where you feel the most at home.
I do not like being where I am right now. At all. I don't like a single part of it. It's been a really big letdown, actually, because I thought moving back home might be really exciting. I thought maybe I could explore all the nooks and crannies of downtown, and I could get plugged in to this church I really liked, and I thought I could reconnect with a lot of old friends that I've almost totally lost touch with....
But it hasn't been anything like that. I never have any desire to go downtown because after living on the coast for the guts of a year, downtown is extremely stressful. I also have no desire to spend the gas money.
And the church I really like? It's good. But it's not a church home. And most weeks I don't even go- because it's downtown, and far, and so I either listen to sermons at home, or ride with my parents to their church, which I don't even like... which just makes me feel more dissatisfied and frustrated because the only church I ever feel truly at home in is over 100 miles away.
And the friends? Nope. Just nope. That's all, really.
But underneath all of the dissatisfaction and discontentment is the simple truth that I 100% know this is where I'm supposed to be right now. That's why I moved home in the first place. I knew it was where God wanted me to be.
And I know that means I shouldn't be discontent. Because where God wants me, is the best possible place I could ever hope to be, EVER.
And I KNOW that.
And so mostly I swallow my frustration and I try not to think about it because I don't want to be ungrateful or unworthy or unappreciative of the good things I have here. A warm bed, parents who love me, two good jobs, a beautiful, rapidly growing niece who is full of gurgles and cuddles and kisses.
And I was doing pretty well until I went back to the beach.
Because I saw these faces- all these beautiful faces of all of the people who I need on a daily basis. At least, I feel like I need them daily. I think about them all daily, anyway. I miss them daily.
And I walked these streets- where every single street corner has a priceless memory. Every single inch of that town has a memory attached to it.
And I stood next to this ocean- this incredible, raw, titan of terror and energy and glory. And I felt so small, and yet so welcomed and so loved.
And I went to church on Sunday morning, and for the first time in a long time I was filled. My cup ran over. And tears streamed down my face- because underneath all of that beauty and balance, my sinful, human soul was crying over and over "IT'S NOT FAIR. IT'S NOT FAIR. IT'S NOT FAIR."
Well, lovers, the truth is it's NOT fair.
But life seldom is fair.
But God is fair. And when the world turns cold, He is never cruel.
And even though I'm not a real huge fan of my life right now, and even though I'm real bad at hiding it sometimes, I'm still blessed.
And God still loves me. And I'm still breathing.
And He is always forgiving. Even when I don't deserve it, because I complain and I despair and I fret and I visibly( and vocally) grow angry, and I stubbornly try to remind Him of my unhappiness, He gently nudges me with a loving Spirit and opens a small window of opportunity in a long hallway of closed doors.
His grace is overwhelming.
And He's a great listener, you know?
So no. I don't know what the rest of 2013 looks like. I know what it doesn't look like, though. It doesn't look adventurous. And it doesn't look like Ireland, anymore. It doesn't look like Adams St. or Avenue T., or Fir St. It doesn't have a 97110 zipcode anymore. It doesn't hold Monday night bible studies with my beach family. It doesn't smell like peaches. It doesn't have a lot of time to watch sunsets.
But what it does hold? I have no earthly idea.
In all honesty, I'm getting the sense that the theme for this year very well may be solitude.
But solitude isn't a bad thing.
There is growth in solitude.
There is acceptance in solitude.
There is melancholy in solitude- but there is also healing.
And there will always be beauty in the breakdown.
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